In Between

The summer sun beats heavily on the back of my t-shirt, maroon red and a size too large, the sleeves spilling off my shoulders and going past my elbows, weightlessly it floats through the air. Impulse takes over and instinct engaged, doubts creep in like shadows against the mountains darkening the winding road ahead. 

I sit but I do not rest. 

I lie down but I do not rest. 

I close my eyes but I do not rest. 

I dream but I do not rest.

I wake up and I do not rest. 

May is the friend who is positive regardless of life's tragedies and crappy plot lines consisting of way more canyons than mountain peaks, rock bottoms than cloud nines. She wears a yellow sweater everyday to school, some lighter, some darker; she lights up the hallway as she walks down to her locker with an innocent smile on her face that personifies the often used phrase, "It's okay not to be okay." A rather hopeful message, she says. Signifying that there are bound to be good days after the bad, a rainbow after the storm; she stands underneath the rain with a smile, fully knowing that the clouds will soon clear and an endless streak of shimmering colours will appear in the sky. May writes screenplays for films that she'll never direct; each character a piece of herself that's more hopeful than the next, a new schoolboy, an enthusiastic English teacher, a kind bus driver. 

May also plays sports on a regular basis, although he's not very good. He's actually very scrawny, and short for his age. He tends to be the least athletic yet the most excited to play in whatever game he finds himself in, win or lose, he's there for a good time. He wears shorts on warm evenings and sweatpants on cold mornings, he owns a single pair of runners he's had since the seventh grade. He greets the same people in the same hallway at the same time each school day, not once forgetting his routine; he cares too much for them. A piano prodigy, an early bird who's always sleeping on the floor using her jacket as a pillow because she says, "it's comfortable," and a fairly tall, well-built boy with broad shoulders who's in the same I.T class. May walks without worrying about how he looks, how messy his hair is or if his shirt is tucked in or not. He makes his way without a care. He plays drums and spends most of his time in the music room with whoever's there at lunch, usually his jazz mates. It's his dream to play professionally, but he doesn't obsess over it, he simply wants his music to make others feel loved. 

May has passed me many times with many different faces; each a little bit more beautiful than the last. 

One thing they all share in common however, is hope. 

The same yellow sweater, and disheveled hair. 

May is believing the best in me, and building it up for what it is rather than what it is not. 

She's there even when she forgets, he smiles even though he's not quite sure why. 

It's been a while since I've seen them. Maybe it's their faces that I see in my dreams, that I feel in the air moving with the heat of summer. The woosh of the trees that move along with the breeze, us seated in a wooden bench. Perhaps May is trying to reach me, and perhaps I am too far to be reached. But I won't be discouraged. After all, maybe it's not a matter of 'never' but a matter of 'not now.' I'll keep writing until April arrives, and write even more when it passes. I'll write more about May, her screenplays, his music gigs. Keep the door open for me until I arrive, I'll see you soon. 

A broken stereo plays the same ballad all throughout the warm night, he hums along to the melody as she comes in with the corresponding harmony. 

Closing their eyes, they sit in each other's presence.

The same blue voice carrying them away to the stillness of spring, broken by rays of sun, and pulled together by the wind. 

Island in the Attersee, Gustav Klimt, 1902