Short Stories

First Time

The first time he saw her was at the tree. She was sitting on the tire that hung from a branch, staring out into the gradient of red and orange hues of the atmosphere above them. He took in every feature of the beautiful aesthetic. How her strawberry blonde hair whipped around in the wind, how the colors in the sunrise set off a beautiful smile on her lips, and how her eyes reminded him of the hot cocoa that he would have in the winter while sitting next to the fireplace and reading Harry Potter. That was the first time he saw her, and he kept having these first times as they both went to that same tree every day at the same time. The first time he made eye contact, and cowardly looked the other way. The first time she told him her name, Emerson, she spoke while brushing her short bobbed cut hair out of her face. The first time they shared their favorite music. The first time she texted him. The first time he shared his drawings with another person. The first time she sung to another person. As the summer days went on they became closer and closer, the first time she had a friend, a best friend, a boyfriend. They would talk for hours without end, but then the question came up. The first time she wondered why did he visit this tree every day when the morning was just breezing in. He said,"My grandfather planted this tree the day I was born. He said the first time I opened my eyes the sun started to rise, so he would come here to watch the sky every day without failure. He's not able to come around anymore so I decided to take up his place. He's my hero." She watched as his mouth formed the words that danced in her head. "He sounds amazing, I would love to meet him one day."
"You can meet him right now actually."
"Really? Where is he?"
"Look down."
He saw her gaze fall to the ground in confusion, then watched her features slowly resemble something of a realization. His grandfather was buried under the tree, where he could watch the sunrise of opening eyes for the rest of beautiful eternity. Emerson's soft eyes had a look of sadness draped over them. She crouched down and spoke one sentence,"hello Mr. Grandfather tree, you created sunrise."