A Rush of Summer

Beat Five

Summer:

Some have confessed to a feeling of intuition, others have experienced a flood of realization; awareness. The movies, books, television shows, news articles, and hysterically crazy nut jobs have admitted to knowing something before it happens whether it's true or not.

To be honest, I'm not really sure if I believe in foretelling future events, but as the elevator doors sealed shut in front of me, as the wheels of my chair stopped squeaking on the tiled floor, as the levels dinged by us and I replayed  Nathan Hall volunteering to escort me back to my room, I knew for a fact that the days to come would be different because of his small decision. Don't ask me why, because I wouldn't be able to tell you. The only thought fueling my suspicions was  a hum in my brain, this continuous line of anticipation. This voice deep inside of me was screaming to wheel off of this elevator as fast as I could, but a small, very miniscule part of me was whispering that something good would present itself if I just kept calm.

So using logic, and the fact that I have nothing to lose at this point, I chose to listen to the murmur instead of the full-fledge shout taking over my brain.

"Not that I'm trying to brush off your hospitality or anything, but I'm pretty sure one of those nurses would have gladly wheeled me up here," I tell him.

There is silence. It envelopes me once again, and I wonder whether he's going to slaughter me like the screaming part of me had warned, or if he truly has no response or explanation for his actions; either way I feel like the idiot here.

"I didn't listen to your presentation or lecture, whatever you want to call it," he spits out.

"Excuse me?"

"Like Jake said, you gave a seminar at my school, but I honestly didn't listen to most of what you we're saying."

I had heard this before, if not personally, it would be through the grapevine. Small whispers. short glances, constant nagging at Mallory to tell me what someone had said to her about me. I had learned that it was something  I couldn't control, and I didn't care.

"That's alright, because out of the two hundred or so people that didn't gain from my testimony, I know that maybe there's a chance that two did, and that's all that matters. It's not about the-" he cuts me off.

"But out of an entire hour,"-he continues-"I heard one particular line that everyone has heard at least once in their lifetime. You said that most likely more times than not, people will judge you by the paper covering, and chosen font that you wear. You twisted the metaphor to fit your own experience."

The doors slide open and he wheels me out. I feel the sting of his words as they travel down, down, down to the very depths of my stomach.

"It was just two minutes ago that I found myself being sucked in by the typical stereotype that scans a books cover and moves on. I was curious, Summer Hastings, why someone that looked so healthy two weeks ago could be holed up in a hospital."

I have no words to give him, I've ran out. This perfect stranger has taken them from me, ran and hid them far, far, far away where I won't be able to find them. So instead of verbally directing him to where he should wheel me, I point instead, my eyes staring straight forward the entire time.

When we make it to my room, he stops right outside of the doorframe, and locks the brakes so I stay in one spot. He faces me, his green eyes never wavering from mine. I feel frozen, heavy, breakable in that moment and I have no idea why. He starts to leave, inch by inch, foot by foot; and I have a sudden urge to stop him. I want to scream something absurd like, halt!

"Any cover can be as beautiful as the day is long, but the pages inside can be withered away, crumbling to pieces as we speak," I slowly whisper.

I see his frame come to a stop, his back to me. I can barely see the small lift of his body as he inhales and exhales. I can almost recognize the beginning of his body turning, until he doesn't.