Turmoil

Impact

Lorraine

I have never climbed trees in my life. Not that kind of girl, I guess you could say. I am whimsical and willowy, a twirling ballerina in a jewelry box. Not a tree climber.

And yet, here I am. The bark of the branch scratching against my bare legs, this piece of stick, of tree, holding me up meters above the ground.

It's funny really. I am trusting a stick to keep me from falling. But maybe, in life, we all have that stick. That one thing, that if taken from us, will lead to our demise. Will cause us to collapse. A life ring of sorts.

The bowl of ice cream, the vanilla, it's melting, slowly, the creamy coolness turning into liquid. And the night is warm. And the air is soft. And I am sad.

In books, the character is always able to accurately label their emotions. I felt a twinge of anger mingled with hope they'd say. But how do we know that what we feel is anger? That what we feel is hope?

I guess I'm so lost in my thoughts, that I forget that Tim is there with me too. Here, on top of our world, you can let things like that slip your mind. Company is traded for quiet, and that in turn, for silences empty but for our thoughts.

"What are you thinking? "

I blink, slowly, extracting myself from my brain, and look down. Bad idea. I wobble, loosing my balance, feet swinging frantically, before I grab onto the trunk of the tree to keep me steady.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite get that, " I say.

Tim, he's a branch below me. The upper branches couldn't bare the weight of this robust over grown teenager, the muscles bulging from beneath his T- Shirt. So he's stuck, there below me, face upturned, chasmic eyes reflecting the dark sky.

"What are you thinking? " Tim repeats.

I blink down at him. What are you thinking, he says, like that's a question easily answered. Like thoughts are letters, neatly lined up on a page, staring back at you. Like I could just pluck a single though from among millions, like a farmer plucking the feathers of geese. I scoop up some ice cream, hoping he will leave me alone.

But when the bite has been swallowed, he's still looking at me. Looking at me like no one has ever looked before. Intense. So I say the first thing that pops into mind.

"Impact, " I say and the word twists curiously in my mouth, wrapping itself around my tongue and slipping down my throat " I'm thinking about impact, "

Tim has the most amazing gaze. It's like his eyes, they can see things. Like they notice things. So many people in the world have eyes but are blind. Not Tim. His eyes, they're ethereal.

"Impact, " he repeats " what about it?"

I can't fathom where his curiosity comes from. I think, it's stupid, it's stupid to say that there are people who aren't curious about things. Because we all seek. We all look. For different things, maybe, but the curiosity is there. It's there. But why Tim seeks the minds of other people I'm unsure of.

"It's lethal, isn't it? Impact. Two cars crash and both of them change. Regardless of who's fault it is. Or maybe it's the fault of both. Who knows? But they both get bent, twisted, gnarled, " I pause, to see if I'm making sense.

If Tim understands. Instead, what I get is his eyes. Open. Like him. And for some reasons, I'm compelled. His gaze coerces me to go on. And so I do.

"And you see, maybe people, maybe we're like those cars. We meet others, we crash, some crashes more powerful than others, we change. Impact. It means the death of something, doesn't it?"

" A part of a personality, but like the parts of the car, the missing pieces, the damages pieces, the knocked out pieces get replaced. By something new, yes, and we're different, different after each collision."

"But we're able to function. Sometimes better than before. I guess with impact, you never truly know, do you? We're free and we're whole. Free to continue on, to crash again, in different ways. So maybe impact isn't the death of something. Maybe impacts is how we're born, you know? "

Tim stares. My mouth feels dry. And now, once the words are let out of their mindless prison, set free, there's a dizzying breathlessness. Vertigo.

It's coursing through my body. I'm light. I'm scared. I'm exhilarated.

We wait. A breeze lifts up my hair, pats it smooth, and sets it back onto my bare neck.

"Come on you guys! " Atlanta's voice calls from beneath us, a couple of feet below. Two worlds away.

"We finished our ice cream, come on, we're going swimming, "

As quick and agile as a monkey, Tim clambers down the tree, feet sliding naturally from branch to branch.

And when he's gone, I'm left with his gaze, drilled into me. And with the knowing that this stranger, this person, has opened up my mind like a rusted door, seen inside and left, without touching anything.

Without disturbing the natural way of things. And without asking why. WIthout asking why it was impact that I was thinking of, at this precise moment in time. Maybe he didn't need to know. Maybe he didn't want to.