I didn't talk to you for rest of the year and all throughout the next.
The science teacher changed the seating chart. The class lines up against the back counter as she calls out names, one by one, to point them to their seat. I hear my name and make my way to the desk. I hear your name, and then you're in the seat next to me, setting down your backpack. I busy myself taking out my materials.
A lecture later, we're handed worksheets to learn about the solar eclipse happening in a few days. A map of the states, with the path of the eclipse marked by a wide swath of gray, reads, name the states in which the full eclipse can be seen.
Next to me, you spin your pencil furiously, chin resting on your hand. I list what few states I can remember and rack my brain for whatever it can remember from fifth grade.
You tap my paper. Do you know what state this is?
I smile a little. No, sorry. I barely remember any states.
Me neither.
A pause.
Hey, I think that's Oklahoma. The weird one that looks kinda like a wheelbarrow.
Oh, yeah. You nod. Thanks.
I look back at my paper. Occasionally we throw state names back and forth, trying to match the name with the state.
A seed of hope reaches out a timid root into my heart.
YOU ARE READING
Playback
RomanceSome days, I want to hold on to you, any part of you, lean on you and borrow your warmth. Others, I'm content just knowing you exist in my life. Playback to all the minutes and moments I spend with you. == © aster 2018
