Her soft, petite hand wraps it’s fragile fingers around mind, and for a few split seconds I simply could not breathe. Sparks like the lights in the trees surrounding clutter my vision as her tinkling laugh reverberates through my sense. But, of course, just as quickly as the ever-so quick beating of my heart starts up the spin cycle, it ends, and I am snapped back to reality.
Noey Andrews has been my best friend since birth, and those fleeting moments of pure joy have come and gone for the past six years of our friendship. Sweet, sweet Mother Nature has torture my poor soul by letting me sit through the transformation this girl I shoved in the mud at age 5 went through to becoming the magnificent goddess-in-progress elegantly dancing about the trees above my head. Looking to the black skies I honestly wanted to scream, “I LOVE YOU, NOELLE KAYTLIN ANDREWS!” at the top of my lungs. Even though I am forever Lucas Maurel: her trustworthy, like-a-brother, next-door neighbor, friend. Nothing more could be seen in my future, while she daydreamed and drifted on the way she always has.
Exhaling, a cloud of breath floats in front of my face. I grip a branch, step off the familiar rocks under my sneakers, lift my 128 lbs of weight in the air. For about a heartbeat, I’m flying. Soaring. My hands find another friendly limb midair, and my ragged jeans soon enough find their seat. I catch my breath, lean back, close my eyes… Inhale… Exhale… This is home. First weekend of Winter Break, like every other, amidst a mighty oak with Noey. Pure tradition, we’ve never broken it, not a single year since we were old enough to know how to sneak out of the house and climb a tree. Alone with our tradition, relaxation, and love, all is at peace. I turn my head, blinking to adjust to the darkness once more, and see her staring up at the stars; mousy brown bangs falling in her face, mingling with elegant eyelashes that guard her deep pine green eyes, and those hands… Gripping the thick, rough limb under her thighs. Time pauses for a minute or two while I sit there, looking over her figure, bare legs (down to her calf-high beige Uggs), and tiny arms swallowed by an over-sized grey hoodie. Her feet swing rhythmically back and forth, and I wonder how she’s staying warm…
“Hm?” she chirps, cocking her head slightly to focus questioning eyes in my direction. Confusion hits for a fleeting instant, before realization follows letting me know I was thinking aloud. I can feel my cheeks burning as I fish through my sleepy thoughts for an explanation.
“I, er…” I stammer. She shifts her weight, “Just, uhhh…thought you must be, erm… pretty… cold?” Swallow. Breathe in, out. Count to ten…two…three…She giggles, just slightly, and when I look back up at her, she’s smiling. Those little grey shoulders kind of scrunch together, and bare knees are pulled up to her chest… She closes her eyes and rests her head on the oak base separating us, and starts to hum. She is a strange one… I’m thinking, before I catch on and find words to match her tune.
“Do you remember where we used to sleep at night…” I chime in softly, barely even a whisper.
“I couldn’t feel you, you’re always so far away,” hearing her fluttery, dreamy voice I can tell she heard me anyways. I can only respond with the next line.
“I don’t, don’t want to take you home,”
“Please don’t make me sleep alone…”
“If I could, I’d only want to make you smile,”
“If you want to stay with me a while…”
There was silence, and some leaves rustling, and I wanted to tell her I did. I needed her to know I would stay with her as long as ever, and we could talk and sing and she could fall asleep, not alone, but in my arms… But by the time I turned to face her again, she was gone. So I ended up walking home alone, climbing up to my second-story window, and watching those same stars wink at us the same way they have nearly every Saturday night for over 11 years.
Then I jumped.
I woke up to a sorbet-colored sunrise, sprawled out in the gravel by the lake. My back was killing me, while my conscience whined that my mother would be, too, once I got home. So, I didn’t. Go home, that is. Instead, I tossed the grass-stained windbreaker to the dirt, and ran.
Not too much longer after waking up, I found myself back in the oak branches. Normally, after a long, tiring run, my head is cleared. Not being in a very “Normal” mood, my thoughts were nowhere but streaming the topic of Noelle. By now, I’m frosting over from the cold, hands purple, numb, and vibrating in my pockets… Wait. Pause. Rewind. Vibrating? Oh, yeah, phone. Back pocket. When it registers, I can’t breathe. Noey! I jerk the cellular device out of my pants so fast I expect the pocket to rip from it’s seams. Not like it matters, I can talk to Noey… But no, it’s only mother. I swallow and disappointment turns to fear. Ohhhh jeez… Hit ignore, jump from tree, run home. Best solution I can think of while half-frozen, without-a-doubt, so sounds like a good plan to me. Too bad I don’t end up making it home.
I can’t think of a single explanation of why the night before effects me so bad. There’s no hope for me to think straight, or even find my way home. I just keep ending up somewhere different. For example, halfway down the street to my house, I remember my windbreaker by the lake and turn around. Then it’s like a blinked, and I’m sitting in the park, wrapping my icy fingers around the metal chains holding up the red plastic swing seats. My head finds its resting place just above my fist, and shutting my eyelids I can almost hear Noelle’s laughter… I ease myself into the plastic seat, too big but not caring, and push off from the ground. The creak of rusted metal reminds me of 8th grade Homecoming, of her crystal blue dress and perfect curls fluttering through the air as she jumped into my arms. Why didn’t I tell her then? I’m thinking, How has she never known? I know the answer, and it’s almost enough to make me sick. Matthew Burjess, some baseball playing, skateboarding jerk who ditched her at the dance to make out with Anna Colloway. Some guy that I knew for years and had to watch her cry over. Typically, cradling her in my arms, seeing puffy red eyes half-laughing, still sobbing, I wanted to pull her freckled face close and just… kiss her. I didn’t, though. I didn’t kiss her or try to make any kind of mood, despite the eyeliner and lipstick and glittery blush. Because no matter the moonlit beauty I was holding in my arms, Noelle Andrews did not need a boyfriend or a love or a kiss right then. She needed a friend. Knowing that, I sucked up the hormones and spun her in circles, not stopping until we were too dizzy to continue and found ourselves laughing in the woodchips, sides splitting, when I promised to beat up Matthew the very next Monday after school.
“Oh, Lucas, please don’t…” She tried egging me out of it, not too sure if I was kidding around.
“No, I’m serious,” I turned on my side and propped up on my elbow, “He needs to be taught a lesson. No one leaves my best friend waiting.” I admit, not the most clever thing to say. In fact, it’s embarrassing even thinking about that conversation, but it was worth her laugh. Oh, her laugh…
It's lovely.
The word "it's" is 
