Peyton Lysander

When We Were Six;

Peyton watched the clouds fly over the pale blue sky. I wasn’t sure if he liked them, he seem to frown when they stopped moving. His skin shone under the sun, his lips pursed together and his freckles dark against his pale cheeks. His shorts were ripped at the knees, grass stains on the seams, the ends fluttered in the soft wind. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, his chest was tanned and his ribs slightly stuck out.

There was red slide near Peyton’s favourite tree. The slide was showered in shade. He saw me look at it.

‘Race ya’ He grinned.

‘You’re on, Peyton!’ I sneered.

Peyton won, he always did, I liked to watch his small legs pumping. His hands swinging by his sides. The beads of sweat pulsing down his back.

‘I won’ He said, not boasting ‘One day, I’ll let you win Taber’

I smiled ‘Why?’

‘Because I want to’

He told me I was going to change the world one day, and that I was special. Sometimes he would smile and say that we would make history. Everyone would know our names one day.

When We Were Thirteen;

His scars were clear, written on his cheeks, staining his ears and flickering on his lips. His green eyes glimmered with yellow, freckles dotted his arms. He liked to touch his arms, stroking the skin that wasn’t lined with the story of medical bills, tests and operations. He wore lime shoes, that trudged over the crisp grass in the summer. The kind of lime green that makes a kid stand out when you scan a crowds legs. The shoes you wish you had in grade two, but your mother couldn’t afford them. They were right there on Peyton’s feet.

Peyton wasn’t always scarred. I once remember his skin, like milk, shimmering under winter sun. I first saw his scars on a Monday, dark clouds looming over the hospital. My mind raced over scenes, I couldn’t remember how he got those scars. He was nine, green eyes dull from the medication. His skin grey, covered in red lines, bruised near his eyes. But I still loved him, I still needed the sound of his voice.

His middle name was Lysander, it rolled off your tongue. He told me it was from a play by Shakespeare and his mother had chosen it. I had never read anything by Shakespeare, but Peyton had.

His mother died when he was seven, she was in a car accident. His father was a strong man, with eyes that melted like honey, his lips were tight, his brow creased and his nose was littered with freckles. Peyton loved him.

His father got sick when Peyton was eleven. His golden eyes faded to grey and his lips flushed pink. His strong arms weren’t sturdy after the pills, he laid in the same spot everyday, covered in the crisp white sheets of the hospital. Peyton visited him a few times, smiling when his fathers eyes lit up and giggling when he gave his father a new get well card. He got better eventually, but he was never as strong as before. His eyes returned to a honey colour, but now they told the story that he was afraid to speak.

He lived in a cottage, painted green and covered in the rainbow of Peyton’s garden. The medication kept in a locked cupboard above the constantly leaking tap. Peyton didn’t like to take the medication. The drain from his sink must be clogged with pills. His room was bright, orange curtains hung from his window, books scatted across the soft blue carpet.

He was smart, yet he never answered. His silence made him mysterious, his eyes were littered in secrets, the words he never spoke. His heart used to beat erratically, he told me once.

He said ‘It’s so I’m not just like everyone else, my heart told a different story’.

When We Were Fifteen;

The night was dark and the stars hung above us. Peyton’s skin seemed soft in the dim light though my hands ran over the bumps. He smiled, his bright teeth slightly crooked. His hands lay in the long grass, dew streaking his fingers.

‘Can you even remember?’ His eyes bright under the moon.

‘Remember what?’

‘The accident, do you remember how it happened?’ His legs were cold next to mine.

‘No’ I shook my head ‘I was only nine’ My heart thumping in my chest.

‘But I remember’

‘I forgot, Peyton’

‘You attacked me, you did it with your scissors, those little red ones with blue handles, you did it because I was using you crayons’

‘That’s not funny, don’t lie like that Peyton’

‘But Taber, you did, it’s okay, I forgave you’

‘No’

And I ran home.

My mother lay, watching images dance across the screen. I sat beside her feet.

‘Did I do that to Peyton?’

She nodded. ‘But you were nine’ She left the room.

Nine. I wonder what excused a nine year old of everything. I wondered why I would hurt him. In my head I played words, smells, actions, things that Peyton had said. The lyrical tunes that stung his mouth, the way he used to hum to songs he hadn’t heard. His blonde hair, flicked with ginger.

Taber, its okay.

I let his voice stain me, as pills pilled at the back of my gagging throat.

When We Were Nineteen;

He lived in the same house, the green paint was stripped off in places, worn down from the rain. The garden overgrown with weeds climbed up the wall reaching the roof and thriving on the deep sunshine. The wind fluttered through me, my long brown hair flowed down my back, my dark green eyes quivered with tears.

I hadn’t seen him for years. I remembered faintly the last time I saw him, I was ashamed to see him, I was scared I would hurt him again, though over the years I had regained my courage and was convinced today I would forgive myself.

I knocked, my fingers tapping lightly. His father answered, his light brown eyes watched me carefully.

‘Taber, my dear’ His voice supple and a smile quickly jolting across his face.

‘Dacey, nice to see you’

He led me in, the tap still dripping, a fan was whirring somewhere in the house and the familiar sound of Peyton floating down the hall. Dacey told me to knock, he would answer. I nodded and did as I was told.

The door swung sharply open, Peyton went to say something, but stopped. His green eyes still flickered with yellow, his blonde hair long running down his shoulders. Though they were light, freckles still speckled his arms. His scars had faded, they were just lines running through his features.

‘I didn’t mean to do it’

He smiled ‘I know, I forgave you years ago, I never actually hated you for it’

There was a pause, a long silence, he still smiled, I don’t know if I was or not.

‘I love you’

‘What is love?’ He grinned.

‘It’s when you ache when someone is gone, and you ache when someone is near, because you just want them in you’re arms’

‘Then, I love you Taber’

When We Were Thirty;

We were high up, Peyton and I. I didn’t want to open my eyes, but when I did, I was scared to close them. Lights flashed over the carnival. We sat at the very top of the wheel. I could barely see my kids waving on the ground, standing with their grandparents. Nobody down so far, realised that something was wrong.

There was a mechanical sound, no words could really describe it, metal grinded together, I felt myself roll.

Stupid Ferris Wheel. I knew I was going to die.

The last thing I remember was Peyton’s voice whispering in my ear.

‘I love you more than words could explain’

He gripped my hand.

God told me I died smiling.