Our Little Cherry Blossoms

twenty. vines

ＭＡＹ (( ＣＡＳＥ ))

Sometimes, when I burrow my hands into my pockets and grasp at the bottom of the pouch, hardened grains of sand or crumbs would lodge themselves in my nails. I'd raise my hand up to my face and curl my fingers into my palm - just enough to see what nuisances were in my nails. Now, my pockets are clean, even though I constantly fill them with incessant junk that will never be used. Half of the curios I shove into these pockets are discarded right before I toss my pants in the wash. The other half? Dried cherry blossoms, scattered on my desk...

"Lark!"

I called buoyantly, arms loose and hanging at my sides as I stood by the door to our english classroom. Students hustled folders and books into their bags and scuttled out the room, chittering amongst themselves. I stepped aside once everyone had left and closed the door. Lark spared me a glance as she slid an english assignment into the mouth of her backpack, her sudden viridescent gaze leaving me half-speechless. Biting back a juvenile grin, I leaned against the pale wood of the door.

"La-ark..."

I sang softly, folding my arms and watching her sling the pack over her shoulders. She rose her eyes to meet mine and mimicked the puerile expression I must've been wearing. Oh, how could such a placid girl be so brazen? I thought to myself, quietly praising my exemplary use of what vocabulary I had stored in this exemplary mind. Heh.

"Where are we going?"

Her voice, smooth as peach fuzz, dripped through the air like cured honey, thin and sweet. Pushing myself off the door and standing upright, I grasped the handle and pulled it open, gesturing for her to leave first.

"It's not far."

I assured her, joy silently swelling at the back of my throat. Tentative, she walked towards me and paused before heading out the door, a tint of incredulity blinking in her forest of green. Feeling the corners of my lips rising in an invariable smile, I returned that blink and ushered her out the classroom, hand resting on top of her backpack. It was all I could do not to hop along beside her. Exiting the air-conditioned hallway, we were met by a crisp south breeze, whispering promises of thaw as it swirled decadently past our ears. Together we walked through the birds' twittering affectations and discordant hums of chatter from students we passed by. A familiar phrase drummed curiously in my ear for the entirety of the days that followed that wet morning in March, a phrase which continued to echo and bounce off the tongues of my classmates.

"I didn't know they were together."

The day of that crisp south breeze, I decided to reply to that statement, but instead of a reply...I suppose it was more of a challenge. I allowed my hand to fall from her backpack and quietly closed the space between us. The drumming in my ears slithered down to my chest, the beat as strong and vibrant as could be. Slowly, my hand moved across the space, fingers wavering as they reached out and touched hers. An instantaneous jolt of electricity streaked through my veins, vines leaping from the base of my finger - lush and vigorous - it climbed across the marrow of my bone in a desperate flurry and engulfed my ribcage with its suffocatingly gentle tendrils, flying towards my drum and gripping the mallet ever so kindly. Lark's fingers stiffened. Ignoring the fear creeping at the back of my mind, I slipped my hand into hers and tightened my grip.

I'm never letting go. I breathed softly....to no one in particular.

The moments that scurried away turned into seconds, and I was beginning to think that she'd remain stagnant, that it was only a matter of time before she - tightened her grip. That single gesture increased the strength of the vines tenfold, its clutches nearly bursting the drum which was now at its mercy. My mind was devoid of all thought and deluged by irrational jubilation, but as her beautiful song sounded next to me, my euphoria suddenly became but a dream.

"We're not ready."

...and very morning, I would cup these blossoms in the palms of my hands, as a bittersweet reminder of our promise.