Feet traipse down the concrete, toes of shoes scuffing the rough grooves. Directly behind the park bench a Magnolia tree is sucking the life from the ground and taking it for its own use. I imagine its roots beneath my feet, forcing through the dirt, burrowing like some sort of frantic, crazed animal. Said roots rest for a moment, expanding and contracting slightly with panting, dog-like breath, only to seconds later resume their aggressive exploring. But of course, all of this happens underground and out of sight.
I draw my legs up to my chest and gaze across the way with glassy eyes, my chin on my knees. My fingers interlace on the other side of my folded legs and each hand holds the other tightly. The Magnolia groans in the breeze. The water sparkles across the pond in the distance in a shimmering strip of gold and I squint, my eyes aching from the bright light. The Magnolia similarly shakes.
He walks a good yard or so past the bench where I am planted before he stops, frowns, turns his head. I see his facial expression slide into a grimace, whether because of a sore neck or for his distaste at seeing me on the creaky wooden seat, I don’t know. Either way, he backtracks until he is in front of me, in line with the Magnolia and I. My eyes flick to him casually, then I gaze back at nothing as if he were not worthy of more than a glance. He hesitates, then sits down beside me. The bench howls under the added weight.
“Are you okay?”
I shrug with one shoulder, then the other, as though too uncoordinated to synchronize both shoulders at once.
“You’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, right?”
I turn my head and rest my cheek on my knee. My face is pointed toward him, but I am avoiding his eyes and watching the processions of others through the park. The sweet, sticky buds are unfurling into wrinkly leaves, similar to any mammal infant; few things are beautiful the moment they are exposed to the world, and they usually take time to develop the radiance they will later posses.
“How are you parents doing?”
I close my eyes, but the orange and yellow of the sun shines through, making patterns on the inside of my eyelids reminiscent of the autumn foliage that will arrive in two seasons’ time. I allow my eyes to open again, and to focus on his nose rather than look him in the eye. A light trail of freckles climbs its way across the bridge.
“They’re fine.”
I am surprised at the sudden dip my stomach takes when I utter these quiet words. Unlike when you ride in a car and go over an unexpected hill and your stomach does a sort of back flip, my insides feel as though they are getting sucked down a round, dark hole, swirling dizzily in a whirlpool on the way down. The blatant lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
“And your sister—?”
“Perfect.” Never mind that her sobs bled through the wall between our bedrooms last night.
We sit in a silence, for him awkward, for I a sort of horrified stupor. My eyes stare straight ahead, glaze over.
“I’ll miss him. We all will,” he says.
My eyes round and look to his face. A blossom floats down from the Magnolia tree as a tear slides down my cheek.
The bench groans again and he slides over, closer to me. Instinct tells me to in return move farther from him, but my fingers, bent in among the folds of my pants, holding my legs to my chest, stay stationary as stone, and my feet don’t so much as twitch in reaction.
His arms wrap around me in a gentle, careful hug and my cheek is rubbing the shoulder of his shirt as I cry into his neck. There are no words as the wind picks up harder and we are lost in a shower of petals and blossoms that contain a hint of a pale pink blush.
