"Trust me," he whispers; his hand is outstretched toward me. I glance beyond him, and see only darkness.
"This doesn't feel right." My voice sounds tiny in this vast forest.
"Coward." He smirks. I glare at him playfully, but secretly I am terrified. I look at his hand, palm upward, inviting me to take it. His fingers curl gently, as if my hand is already inside his. I follow the creases in his hand to the veins in his wrist, up his arm to his sure body. He's so spontaneous and confident.
I take a look around me once again. Everything else is definite, and brightly lit...everything but the area beyond him, where he's headed.
"I've been down that path, before." I point toward a familiar area, which is a little boring, but it's safe.
"So have I. I've been down all these paths; all but this one. I'm going with or without you." Something flashes through his eyes, but it's too quick for me to understand. "Coming?"
I look once again at his hand. Right then, it seems as if it's the only thing that exists. I keep staring at it for what feels like minutes, but is probably only an instant. It seems to be getting closer to me; I realize I am stepping toward him. With the feeling that I have no control over my body and I am watching my own actions, my hand reaches out and unites with his. Our fingers latch together as if we are never letting go.
And now we are running.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
I examine the back of his neck, the way his hairline makes a "v". I watch his shoulders rise and fall with his breathing; I try breathing with him.
He turns around. His gaze holds mine for only an instant, but it's enough time to be intoxicating.
I look up at the ceiling. There's a tile with a browning corner. I try to think of why it's become that way.
As my eyes return to my desk, I see the side of his face, ever so briefly. I think he's smiling, but I can't be sure. I'm too afraid to look again.
For the rest of the hour, I keep my head turned away from him. My eyes shift strictly from my desk to the professor for the duration of class.
I glance at my watch. It's time to go. I move to pack up my bag, but suddenly there is a figure in my peripheral. I follow the familiar blue shoes up his jean-covered legs, then to the buttons on his plaid shirt, eventually leading to his face. He looks like he's about to smile, but I don't give him the chance. I avert my glance down to my books again, and finish packing up my backpack.
The crowd of people flows out the door, and sweeps him away with them. He's gone.
Once I throw my backpack onto my shoulder and stand up, the room is mostly empty.
I open the door to a nearly vacated hallway, and sigh.
On to my next class...