The Journey

A short love story between a young boy and a young girl.

It was cold. 

That much he remembered. The day remained so foggy in his memory. But how could he forget?

It was a day of beauty. He knew that. He remembered how it started...

She was running. Running away from him, but not for a bad reason. She was racing him, racing hi to the swings. Her slender frame always had astonished him, how fast she could move it. He had known her for all his life, now, yet she still always found a way to amaze him. So naturally, she reached the swings far before he did. She hopped on the right swing. Her favorite. It was a blue swing. That much he knew. She had asked him to push her, to push her as high as he possibly could. It was only natural that he oblige her. So he did. He pushed her forward on the swing as hard as he possibly could, and she flew, oh, she flew! She went high up towards the heavens, her auburn locks of hair coming untangled from her short braids the faster he pushed her on the swing. The setting sun looked golden, and as she turned to look at him, laughing, as the sun glinted off of her hair...

They were just children then, and neither of them realized what was brewing in their hearts.  They played together all the time, and spent every waking moment that they could being  together. They had a friendship deeper than any other friendship that existed, a connection between the two of them that neither of them understood. They never even realized it.

He walked down the halls of the strange new school. The building was large, and so were the other children in it. He felt like the small new kid, scared and afraid of what this  step in his life was to bring. He had six teachers. Six! Instead of one teacher that he stuck by all day, he had six whole teachers. He was terrified. But what he was terrified of the most was the bullies. He had heard rumors of twelve-year-olds who picked on kids his size. He was thinking of this as he walked down the hall, as his books suddenly were ejected from his hands. He turned, staring in to the sneering face of an older boy. The boy threw names at him left and right, calling him by every moniker known to a twelve-year-old. The boy had no idea why this older boy was being as cruel as he was. All he could think of to do was cry, weep a river of tears that would finally drown his sorrows in their murky, salty depths. He ran. He ran, fast as his legs would take him, down the hall. Stinging his back were the older boy's comments, the cruel, jeering cheers of the older boy's friends. His brand-new Batman lunchbox had been long forgotten. It was a paragon of a childish virtue, a steel fortress of childhood, and now it lay forgotten in the middle of the hallway. The boy ran, careening  around corners, and bouncing off walls like a pinball machine. He finally found it - the band storage room. He burst in to the darkest, dankest corner of the room, and cried. The boy cried, cried harder than he ever had, weeping tears of pure sorrow, the likes of which his small body had never encountered. Then, a click - the door had opened. The boy turned, shocked, afraid of what was to come, of who would discover him as fragile as he was. She was already by him before he had finished turning. He gave a choked sob, caught somewhere between a sigh of relief and a sob of anguish at her seeing him like this. She didn't say a word. She sat down next to him, slipping her small hand in to his. It was an almost magical effect. Her small, nimble fingers laced between all five fingers on his left hand calmed him
beyond words. He stopped crying as suddenly as he had started, staring at her eyes. She had eyes of the purest blue, and they bored into his soul the longer she looked at him. They locked eyes, hands warm against each other, sharing a bond that no child in this strange new building knew of. They were together, against all odds, fighting a wave of darkness and challenges that this step in their life brought. The small, laughing girl on the swing would be there for the boy, just as the boy's hand would always feel familiar in hers.

She could feel his dirty breath on the back of her neck. He never left her alone. He had AP chemistry with her, Trigonometry, and French, and she spent each of those periods mentally undressing her with his eyes. She felt violated. Why should the girl have any reason to resist him, though? He was muscular. He had girls lined up at his door for him. He was captain of  the varsity football team. He was the all-around jock ever girl dreams of. She was a nobody. Well, to him she was. She was the perfect student; she was beautiful. She was a brass player. Musical as anybody could possibly be. She had a knack for languages. She was set to be valedictorian. Even as she was above an alcohlic football player, why should she choose to resist him? He was Mr. Perfect-Man, Mr. Right, in the terms of a young woman's eyes. These thoughts all coursed through his testorone-fueled brain as he stood behind her in the hallway.
She had just gotten out of a club meeting, and he had waited around for her. She froze with panic; his bulk blocked any chance of escape from the small, cramped locker space she posessed. He stood close to her, looking her in the eyes. In the end, it must have been her eyes that snagged the football player's attention - brilliantly blue, signaling an intelligence unmatched in her class, signalling a beauty unmatched by any other girl in the school. Sparkled. They  sparkled in the sun. He moved his lips, saying something to her. But she didn't hear it. All she heard was the blood rushing to her head, her panic taking a grip on her. He saw it. From down the hall, the little boy who had pushed her on the swing, the boy who cried in her arms,
he saw the football player moving in to kiss her. He heard her scream, knew nobody was left in this wing of the school who would help her. The football player had pinned her arms against the lockers as the boy charged down the hallway. He was in a scarlet fury, the boy was. He was enraged at the thought of the football player taking advantage of her. His right arm was cocked; he was within swinging range. His fist rippled through the air, arm shooting out as a metal piston in a steam forge. It collided with the football player's face, shattering all thought, sundering all reason left in his head. Never having seen it coming, there was a savage thud as the player hit the floor. Sobbing, terrified, the girl collapsed into his arms. This was when it hit her. This boy, the very boy she had grown up with...she felt a stirring within the deepest caverns of her heart for him. She flashed back to the day on the swings, how the sun had struck his eyes as he pushed her, glinting off of them in a way that made the 
girl melt on the inside. As a child, she had not known what this feeling was. She never could have fathomed the depths to which this feeling existed. She realized, now, sobbing in his arms, that it was where she was meant to be. She realized that the events they shared, the tears and the joys, had built up to this love. It exploded then, catching them both in a  rippling wave of emotion that fused their hearts together in a matrimony unmatched by the most adamant couples. She had pulled away. He didn't have to turn her face to his to kiss her;  she had already felt the wave, realized that they both felt it, that they shared it. As he reached for the smallest part of her chin, she was already on a crash course with his lips. 

The ceremony had been beautiful, she remembered. Her dress, the purest of ivories, had flowed long and beautifully. Her bridesmaids, his men, their relatives, all gathered for this day that they had long forseen. The two were meant to be married. Neither family was surprised; they had realized many years ago that the pair had already bonded themselves in the tightest of  friendships. She thought of this on her rocking chair. She thought of how handsome he looked,  how his eyes had told her everything she wanted to know. They had told him he was hers, body and soul, and that all she had to do to acquire him was to say two simple words. They
had exchanged words, vows, jokes, sentences, stories, and experiences over their lifetime of knowing each other. They had seen each other through depression, deaths in their families,  births of children, graduations, marriages, grandchildren. They lived with each other through war, peace, civil unrest, arguments, fights, and times in which they simply sat. This was one of those times. She simply sat, reflecting upon her life with this boy. Her wisps of hair, the purest of white, waved simply in the breeze. The sun had been making its descent over the horizon for quite some time now. She realized this was where she wanted to be. As his old, fragile arm slipped around her, she was reminded of the time in her high school years, how comfortable and perfect it had felt to her to be in his arms. Her heart yearned for him 
then, and it yearned for him now. She laid her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes to the heartbeat in his neck, that heartbeat that was the most familiar rhythm to which she lived.  Peacefully, the two sat, watched the sunset, reliving a lifetime of joy that they had experienced at each others' side.

The End

1 comment about this story Feed