seasons

3: petrichor

Song: Hunger of the Pine by alt-J

The sidewalk's cement was a dark gray color from rain. As I walked with my twin, Cameron, I saw her backpack. It hung loosely on her shoulders, decorated with metal pins and embroidery.

She saw me and the curves of her lips twitched upward, revealing a toothy smile with a small gap in the front. Her hair curled down her back like a river of untamed waves as she danced through the potholes filled with murky water in the street. Her overalls sagged and hung limply near her ankles where the water kissed her skin. I remember she had a bright orange sun hat on, despite the fact that it was late Autumn and the clouds overhead blocked most of the light. Our eye contact was just as intense as when I first saw her months ago in our high school's dusty library. Her glasses moved down the slope of her nose, and she pushed them up with her fingers, turning away from me.

A force from a hand against my arm brought me back to reality. Cameron's sea-blue eyes questioned me as his voice joked, "Earth to Emerson."

I stared at him blankly, and he chuckled,

"I asked if you finished the French homework yet. Geez, you must've pushed it today at soccer if you're this zoned out." He ruffled my hair, and I scowled back at him.

"I'm fine Cam, just enjoying the weather after the rain. It reminds me of her sometimes, you know?" I said, bumping my shoulder against his.

We weren't identical twins, but we were the same height and looked nearly exactly alike, minus my longer hair and his stubble. Our faces grew the same way, tanned, despite the lack of sun in Bridgeport and our eyes held all our emotions. We both had a dimple on our cheek when we smiled but it wasn't often seen. We weren't incredibly emotional people unless it was towards each other or our sports. We didn't need to be, we only had each other and it had been that was for quite some time. We weren't always alone, but Mother dipped, Dad works in Australia, and she left us too. She promised she wouldn't, but I guess not all promises are meant to be kept.

His smile faltered at the mention of 'her.' I turned my attention back to the street ahead of us, where my latest fascination was dancing only moments before, and sighed.

The fall season was beautiful in Vermont, but it made me sad at the same time. It was a reminder that everything dies at some point; and a reminder that death can be beautiful. The leaves that glistened against the trees were a whirlwind of oranges, crimson, and gold against the deep gray sky. It was silent, then a splash ahead, created by the new girl's feet dancing through the water, made me draw in a quick breath of air. Again, she found her way into my mind.

Sometimes, I wondered if the new girl, who's name I hadn't bothered to find out, saw what I saw in the leaves; the beauty and the pain of nature fulfilling its course. Maybe she just saw art, life, or just leaves. I never knew. I just saw a fraction of her. I saw her paint-splattered overalls that never quite fit and her red and orange striped shirt. And these little pieces, these fragments of her, seemed to make my brain even more foggy with thoughts of this strange, pale girl.