Loving the Sun

Apollo has always been my favorite Greek god and I caught myself musing. What if, had the Greek gods been real, long after the fall of Greece, the gods continued to disguise themselves as humans and walk among us? In this piece, Apollo can't speak English, whereas the girl does, so there's no dialogue. I wanted to see how much I could convey without dialogue, and to explore an idea without actually defining it.
Tell me how you think I did! I'd love feedback.

The sun plays on your sandy hair and I can’t help but smile as you glance over your shoulder and grin at me.

Today is the perfect summer day—I’ve got nothing to do, and you’ve got nothing you deem worthy of doing, not on this day, when the sun is so warm and you can hear the lively tunes of a guitar somewhere in the town—and there’s nothing better to do than spend it together.

We race down the hill as the quiet whirring of our bicycles mixes with the chipper voices of the birds above us.  The wind pushes her fingers through our hair, forcing mine to fly from my face and stream out behind me. I laugh a little, and I imagine I can see you grinning too.

You cut quickly off of the path, disappearing behind the dappled green trees, and I follow you.  I find your bike discarded by a large rock, and I hop off of my own to join you on the little dock at the pond, face upturned to the sun and eyes closed. A few ducks paddle lazily by the bank on the other side, and I watch them as you breathe in the sunlight, my soft hand brushing your rough, tanned one.

I look at you when you nudge me, and your eyes dance for a moment before I nudge you back.  Humming a fragment of music, you move your hands to the space on the wood between your knees and allow yourself to fall forward. You take a slow and graceful dive into the pond, shedding your shirt as you break the surface of the water.

It hits the dock with a heavy, wet sound next to me and I dip my bare feet in the pond. The water is cold but inviting, slipping around my toes easily.  You shake out your wet hair and wave at me, calling me to come in too.  The leather chord around your neck doesn’t look wet, nor does the the golden pendant of a sun resting against your sternum.

I know my time with you is limited.  Letting down my hair, I stand on the dock and adjust the anklet that you gave me, swiping my fingers over the sun briskly. I dive in too, coming up for air close to you, and you laugh and brush my wet hair out of my face.

You don’t say anything to me, because you never do, but I’m quite sure we can understand each other anyway, and so I don’t say anything either.  The pond speaks enough for the both of us, the water telling stories as we swim and float and laugh in it.

The sun dries us out as we lay on the dock, your arm under my head and my hands on my stomach. You sing a little, like you’re prone to do, and your voice is the loveliest voice I think I’ve ever heard, even though I can’t understand a word of what you’re saying.  After a while, we stand and ride back to town slowly, our hair still wet, your shirt tied lazily to your handlebars.  We stop in the woods again, when the guitars are loud enough for us to hear, and we dance in bare feet. The light reaches us through the leaves, and only the trees are there to watch us move with the music.

You pull me close to you, and hug me for a long time, and then you step away and smile at me.  I smile and wave, and you pick up your bike and walk it deeper into the woods.  The woods absorb the sound of your feet as soon as you’re out of sight. I don’t know where you go, but I do know you’ll end up on my porch tomorrow or the next day, perhaps, and we’ll do everything all over again.

The sun dries my hair tenderly as I bike back home. You are a wonderfully exciting one to love.

The End

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