As I entered the restaurant that served breakfast in the earlier hours of the day, it seemed to be entirely filled with water, so much, to the brink filled with water that the windows were about to burst. I was directly approached by a young woman with a fixed, pretty smile and a long brown ponytail. Her cheeks were blushed like jasmine blossoms.
She didn't seem to mind the sudden flooding.
She seemed to ask me for a reservation.
Her words travelled slowly through the accumulated mass of water. I couldn't find a way to answer.
I felt a hand being put on my shoulder. A big hand. A strong hand.
That seemed to dry out everything. Suck it up into the void.
„Reservation for Will", the hand said.
It apologized for being late and asked me if I had to wait long and explained that they couldn't get out of work earlier.
We followed the waitress to a corner of the restaurant.
To a booth, surrounded by glass panels, ridiculously huge plants and a lot of warm light.
After we sat down, for the first time, I saw the hand's face.
It was the face of a child that had somehow grown old.
The sky was purely white. I didn't know if it was because everything started turning grey outside and the summer crumbling in its early days or because that's all I wanted to see.
A blank canvas to project my thoughts onto. Look at my memories as if they were movie scenes.
The silence between the hand's owner and myself gave me room to doze off.
-
The flooding had started on Tuesday when I went to school again.
Continuously drowning as I was looking out for Linda.
I found her during lunch break. Or she found me. I think we were both out, looking for each other.
She wasn't as upset as I thought she would be. She was calm and collected and said a lot of things about wanting to make this work.
"Not in a romantic way", she added.
I felt bad about feeling relieved.
I felt bad because it seemed like I got away way too easily for causing chaos.
-
In the afternoon, I stopped by the library. Walked past Nancy, as always so immersed in her work, I apologized, but I don't think she even heard it.
Pedro was on the second floor, talking to the shift manager, to whom I apologized as well for missing work but he said he was just glad to know my stomach was better now.
I joined their small talk for a little while and after he left, Pedro took me into his arms.
"You don't know how much everyone was worried, do you?", he asked me.
His words lowered the sea level for a short amount of time. I stuck my nose out of it to breathe.
"I don't. And I'm sorry."
"Do you want to know what I think?"
I nodded as strongly as possible into his broad shoulder. Snuggling into his wide, white pullover. His curls on my neck. The smell of his home. Even though I only vaguely remembered it from the few times I was there, it even further lowered the surface level because it wanted to be perceived.
YOU ARE READING
What do the stars feel when they look at Us?
Teen FictionBen starts to care. About you. About people. About his girlfriend. About feelings and being a person. Growing up. But it's difficult. Seemingly, especially, for him. And he's failing. Miserably. So he's starting to look for answers in the stars. Mos...