A gust of zephyrous wind caresses the landscape amorously, stroking the distant pastures and coercing the trees into a frantic dance. There is a sense of urgency in the air, as if mother nature is impatient. The skies are marbled, and a dash of grey hints at a storm to come. The long, lonely path is scattered with scarlet leaves. Yet, despite this anxious backdrop, the two individuals strolling down the lane are unperturbed, even tranquil. Both are of similar stature and height, that is, tall and lanky, but the boy exudes a particular grace.
“Life is so dull nowadays,” the girl sighs. “It seems like the stagnating qualities of adolescence are beginning to rub off on me. I should be having the time of my life, yet, I cannot. Although my life is just beginning, I can’t help but think that I’m letting it all slip away. Don’t you get that feeling, August?”
“Aw, c’mon Jaimie,” the boy prods. It is apparent that he is much more light-hearted than the girl, yet not entirely unsympathetic. “There must have been some interesting events in your life.”
“Far and few between,” Jaimie answers heavily. “I did read in the papers that some woman jumped in front of a subway train. Funny, because I believe that explains the long delay yesterday when my Dad and I were heading into the city.”
“That’s sad.” August is beginning to tire of this subject, and Jaimie’s gloom has a weighty effect on him. “So they think it’s suicide, huh? Imagine...someone’s life snatched away in a split second. Yesterday, a family mourned, for a person with a mother and a father and possibly siblings was killed.”
“Huh.” The response is flat and contemptuous. “It wasn’t like somebody murdered her. She had a life, a precious, beautiful life, and she chose to end it. It might be sad, but I’m not going to lament a deed done by her own hand. Things would’ve been better after a while, I’m almost sure. Yet she was cowardly, not brave, when she jumped. She couldn’t bear it anymore, eh? There are thousands of people in this world who suffer, who have scars in their hearts, but they deal with it. They go on with life and find the little silver linings. Why couldn’t she?”
“Do you know of misery?” This simple question haunts the silence, as August sheds his amiability and assumes a serious attitude.
“Oh, August, this isn’t what we should be talking about. It’s too deep for me. How’s school? What are your favorite subjects?” And so Jaimie ventures into the realm of trivial things. They exchange opinions on teachers and comment on the daily life of a student, moaning over saturnine teachers and lost opportunities. Occasionally, though, moments of solemness permeate the fabric of the conversation, as if both Jaimie and August just can’t help but court anguish.
“You know,” Jaimie confides, “there are the white-washed Twinkies and the Anime-obsessed, cutesy Asian girls, as well as the quintessential hard-working nerds. Yet, all of them seem to be floating in a dubious, directionless sea. I could sum it up in a modern way: hashtag identity issues. None of these people are the epitome, the ideal; in my mind, that description is reserved for a well-rounded, emotionally healthy and self-assured person. When all the pretenses are stripped away, none of the Asian people I know are like that.”
“Uh-huh. And don’t you feel that miscommunications are the basis of greater misunderstandings? It’s like the whole lost in translation thing, yet in some cases, the misunderstandings aren’t even transcultural. It’s just that some things are so hard to articulate.” August’s elocution is powerful and earnest.
“Yeah. Hey, race you to the next bench.” Jaimie lurches forward as if to break into a sprint, and August falls for it. His strides are long and swift, so by the time he realizes Jaimie’s still in her original position, laughing, he’s already quite far away.
“Girls,” he murmurs before rejoining her, taking this opportunity to point out her tomboyish way of dress and her lack of elegance. This might have stung Jaimie, but she feels giddy and light-hearted. For the past several hours, she has been able to drop the frozen mask that perpetually lies on her face. He has an unusual charisma--no, not charisma, for that implied a degree of artificiality--but a warm and playful mindset that thaws her in a way that not many have been able to. So when August throws out what was meant to be a pointed barb, she silently acknowledges the lack of malice and snorts. His quips and frank conversation make her laugh, freely. On one level, she is living blessedly in the moment. The energy of the wind exhilarates her. On another, more subconscious level, she realizes that he has connected with her in a meaningful manner, and she laments the fact that they will see each other scarcely after this evening.
“So are you going anywhere this summer?” Jaimie questions.
“Yeah, Paris. It’s touché, but I feel like my mom wants to see the famous Eiffel Tower.” August’s mother is an effervescent woman, as lovely as she is accomplished, and her unintimidating extroversion was no doubt passed onto her son. Examining Jaimie, August notes the radical change in her personality from several hours ago. Before, her lips were pursed and her eyes were carefully cast towards the ground. She had conservatively taken a seat in the family room, as their parents, old high school friends, had chatted. Gradually, though, August had tired of just sitting there and had resolved to make her talk. It had worked, and now she gestured fervently at some distant point in the scenery. Eyebrows arched, a wicked smile on her face, she talked on and on.
“We’re almost back to your house. These several hours have passed quickly.” Jaimie remarked, hating that she had inadvertently admitted an overzealous pleasure in their interactions. She knew, with clarity, that she was no one special to him. The best part of him was that he welcomed anyone and everyone with open arms, and it made her want to laugh and cry at the same time. Over the years of her childhood, at intermittent periods of every summer, their families had some kind of a rendezvous, and August had morphed from a naughty child to a more mature and well-intentioned, but still whimsical, teenager. But this is no time to indulge in her insecurity. Carpe diem. They have already reached the house. As Jaimie and August enter the dimly lit domicile, August speaks.
“I’m moving to Texas.”
“Oh.” On second thought--”Texas?! Land of the Obese?”
“Don’t judge. There’s more to Texas than obesity, and plus, they have some pretty good schools there. Anyhow, some company offered my mom a good position, so we’re definitely going.”
“Won’t you miss your friends, your hometown? I imagine that uprooting is difficult.” Jaimie realizes, now, that the infrequent visits during the summer will cease altogether. Her vague premonition has come true, and this is possibly the last time they will see each other for a long, long time. Maine is so far from Texas, and their parents aren’t joined at the hip like they used to be.
“Affirmative,” August replies softly. “I’d like to say no. The people at my school don’t like me much, and plus the curriculum is too simplistic for me. But there’s still nostalgia, you know? There were golden friendships, disappointments, sorrows, and bittersweet moments. I grew up her. So yes.” Jaimie mourns the fact that such an infinitely tender passage of understanding occurred, yet it was to be rendered null in a while. But mourning didn’t do a damn thing. August is so ambitious, so bright, and he’ll fly away into the horizon of tomorrow, leaving her in the ashes of the past. Meanwhile, she’ll be stuck at that monotonous school of hers, breaking down day by day.
I do know of misery, she thought softly, wishing with all her heart that he’d turn around and hear her pleas. But he simply walks on, away from her, towards the setting sun.
