Crossroads Under the Oak

As he took another drag of the cigarette comfortably sitting between his strong fingers his eyes seemed to glaze over. The moment the hot flame had kissed the tip of his cigarette he had made sure to move a meter away from me, making sure the smoke and its foul smell would not reach my nose. Of course, at this point, I didn’t care. I’d gotten used to the scent it was all around him. His chequered shirt I had borrowed that one time, his entire room, but worst was his bag. It reeked more than I was comfortable with still. He brought it everywhere though and I found a strange comfort in its rhythmic bopping on his back when we walked side by side.

   His foot started tapping the ground, a reminder of his constant inner turmoil. Otherwise, he was completely still. Eyes locked on something far beneath the ground, somewhere I couldn’t reach. When I had told him that his eyes were quite pretty, he’d been surprised, thankful, but surprised. He’d apparently consulted a friend who’d told him straight up that his eyes were quite ordinary. And I guess they might initially seem that way. Once they glaze over with thoughts it was a different story, one I still couldn’t figure out, maybe a never would. That’s part of the beauty. Although quite ordinary in colour (dark brown) they had a depth I’d never noticed in someone else. I loved how they seemed to squint slightly yet still look fully relaxed, how the bags under the eyes stood in contrast to his otherwise alert gaze, how when they fell upon me it felt like they could see my soul like maybe he could tell me who I am.

    Sadly, he didn’t like what he saw. Or more precisely, he saw a lot of good and a lot of potentials, but to him, I was still a kid. I guess he’s right. He had done things at age twelve I had still barely considered. When I had spent all my after-school afternoons watching mindless kids shows on television he had devoured classics and expanded his mind with philosophies I had yet to meet. I really was just a kid, something I’m still having a hard time coming to terms with. And he was something quite else. No wonder he’d never date me. Although I was only a year younger than him, I might as well have been his baby sister in his eyes. When the spring leaves around us are done blooming, when they’re done falling to the ground, I’ll be ready. I’ll have learned everything I would need from him and his world that lies so far from mine. When I’m done learning I can live without him. I guess I wasn't ready to say goodbye to the 'me' I could see in his eyes. The one who goes to wild parties until eight in the morning, the one who does whatever she wants whenever she wants. The one I’m scared I won't ever be.

   As he repositions himself at the base of our usual smoking-under oak tree he tears me out of my thoughts. He has a way of doing that with great success when nobody else can. Brown eyes investigate my own, suddenly aware that I’d been looking into his. Eyebrow raised in a question. I asked him what he’d been thinking about. “The ocean, the shape of the roots snaking over the ground looked like waves,” I remembered his current favourite colour was that of greenish-blue like the water at our local beaches. Although I was quite sure he hadn’t been near the sea in a long time I fully believed he could imagine the shade better than I would be able to even if I stood with my face towards the ocean horizon. Seemed to me he remembered everything, his eyes heavy with age in a way only too many painful memories and truths could.

   He was not a good person. He was adamant about that. But I seemed to forget quite easily every time he’s being more considerate than any friend I had ever had, maybe even every friend I would come to get. Or maybe he just paid more attention, saw my needs even before I realised, they were there. According to him, his thoughts would be more than enough to pin him as the bad guy, even if he acted like a good guy. He said that made him worse, the illusion his actions created making him seem better than reality. I was adamant that his will to do good was exactly what made him good, but like everything else, nothing I could ever say would persuade him to believe differently. I was tired of being on opposite sides, so I decided to get up and squat down next to him, carefully laying my jacket under me before sitting down fully. His perplexed look prompted me to tell him I didn’t mind the smell. Of course, he knew that wasn’t the full truth, but must have come to another conclusion by himself for he decided to stay. The beard surrounding his lips had grown unruly, something he seemed to not intend to change. The leaves around us would surely fall in some months but there was no telling when he decided to do something.  

   Minutes went by as we sat shoulder against shoulder, his thigh against mine. Giving each other the wordless company, we sometimes needed when getting lost in our thoughts. The crisp air caressing my cheeks reminding me of last week at his apartment. Sounds from creates in various directions sent my gaze travelling to locate the source of each one. Aware of what was going on in my head he decided to move in front of me, his face uncomfortably close to mine. A long drag from the cigarette. He was careful to turn around before blowing out the smoke. I told him he didn’t have to do that. He countered that he knew, but he wanted to not make me uncomfortable. After a bit of back and forth, I convinced him it was okay with me and from then on, he blew straight in my face. And I inhaled it all, wanting to savour every part of this afternoon, not knowing if something like it would happen again. We had talked about me trying to smoke before, but I hadn’t ever done it. I was considering doing it now, maybe this would be my last chance to share a cigarette with him, visit part of his world. Prove to myself I could break my own imaginary rules.

    He must have caught me staring at the cigarette because he turned it around and presented it near my mouth. My heart started racing with panic and excitement, not sure which feeling was stronger. I wanted to do this, even if this would my first and last taste of cigarettes, just to have this small sacred part of the ‘us’ that I knew would never be. But I couldn’t get myself to take it. Enough time had passed, and he turned it back and placed it between his lips again, sure that I wasn’t going to do it this time either. And I suppose he was right. Even though I loathed my indecisiveness. Tears filled my eyes and he instantly noticed, asking me what was wrong. And I told him. How I was scared I was never going to get this opportunity again. He didn’t get that I meant another time alone with him, not realising what I was planning on doing to save my heart. It had fallen much faster than the leaves, but maybe I could pick it up before it would start rotting. He told me how I would have plenty of time to have a smoke with a handsome boy, that I would probably even have eight to nine times more with him at the very least. And as we got up and walked out of the forest side by side, part of me believed that. Part of me wanted to stay a bit longer. But I knew we had reached our crossroad and he would turn one way while I would turn the other. He would stride down the street decisively, while I would walk with tiny unsure steps, looking backwards repeatedly. I would wonder whether he noticed I had left it side, whether he would know why if he did indeed notice, and yet I would still hope he wasn’t aware of how my presence had left him while his shadow still followed me.