Bursts Of Words

The Golden Field

"The sky didn't always have that gray tint, did it?" The dead grass was sticking like needles on my legs, back, neck, and body. It had a golden brown look to it when I approached this spot but that doesn't make sense. If it's dead why does it seem so, well, golden?

"Remember when we would gather up all the leaves in our yard at our old house and Dad would have these nice neat piles of leaves from what felt like the thousands of trees we owned? I was what, 4? 5? That would have made you 5 or 6 then. No, I was 5 and you were definitely 6." I chuckle remembering the memory almost vividly. It's when I got the scar on my eyebrow.

"You decided that when Dad went inside it would be a good idea for us to jump in it. I know you would argue with me when I tell you that I said we shouldn't. He went inside and like always, you convinced me to do it with you. We walked several feet away from the pile of leaves that leaned up against the tree. Surprisingly, you took my hand. You counted to 3 and we ran, full speed ahead into the many colors of the fallen leaves." I felt a drizzle hit my face.

"I of course collided with the tree and scratched my face. You laughed having not seen what happened to me but when you did and you heard me cry, you pulled me to your side. I was practically yelling in pain but you told me to be quiet so that we didn't get in trouble. I couldn't stop crying though. You told me to lie down and look up. The sky was gray. Just like it is now. You remember that?" I paused and a car whizzed past on the highway next to me. The highway that betrayed me.

"I ended up getting stitches. You got in trouble. What a surprise; Ryan, back at it again with the dumb ideas. It took us hours to clean up the leaf piles when we got back from the hospital. You kept jumping in it again and again." The wind blew across my face and I felt the scar that intercepts my right eyebrow tingle, like it was laughing at the memory. I know Ryan laughed.

"I normally hated when you held my hand. Mom made us when we would go out in public so that we didn't lose one another-" I choked on my words. I steadied my breathing.

I have to finish this, I told myself, for him.

"You would always squeeze my hand really hard when we argued or when I wanted to walk the other way. Looking back at it now I thought you were just being a jerk because you kinda were. But you were also trying to keep me safe." I felt a deep sigh soar out of me and I paused, trying to regain my composure.

" How about the time when we were being babysat by Grandpa and he fell asleep. The chocolate bars and candy from Easter was in the tall cabinet and since all we could hear was the sound of snoring, we whispered a plan to get the baskets. You said you would lift me up so that I could grab it but we knew it was because I was taller than you at the time. What were we? 8 and 9?"

"Times weren't always like that though. Remember when Mom put us in that stupid ballroom dance class when we moved so that we can get to know the other kids? God we hated that. We hated that school come to think about it. Middle school sucked. I was just starting 6th grade and you were in 7th. We left all of our friends and Mom and Dad tried to make us happy by buying us new stuff and getting us involved in sports and activities. Mom wanted me to do theater and Dad wanted you to do football. And what did we end up with? You did swimming, baseball, honor society, youth groups, camp counselor, and art application classes. You took all these crazy classes to prove how smart you are and it irritated me." I chuckle because it makes me laugh how much I cared. "Were."

"I didn't do anything. I couldn't do anything. I'm not good at anything. I'm not smart and athletic. I'm sure as hell not an actress but I'm good at wearing masks, you always said. You always supported my in art though. Even when I knew I would never last in the art world, you were there in my room, sitting on my bed telling me that I should enter my art class piece into the art gallery but I couldn't. It sucked and I didn't have a name for the crappie painting of a wheat field." The lump in my throat began to grow larger, "Mom and Dad praised you. You did crazy calculations in your head, you could recall Shakespeare on the spot, you could tell me the answer to any question I asked. You played in every game and your teammates praised you for your skills. Dad and Mom would never miss a single one of your games or induction ceremonies. But I did. I "missed" everyone of them. Mom and Dad thought I was at home doing homework even though I was out with which every guy was open. You were out filling in college applications and I was out finding out the best hideouts to smoke. Tobacco, weed, anything, I tried it. A's, B's, you had it." I felt the irregular raindrops form into a consistent mist. Consistent, something I never was.