The sun was bright and the breezes always lively. The brightness of the day and the calming scent of honeysuckle drifting through the air blanketed the five barely adults in contentment and security. James Lawrence sat in a hammock, hung from two oak trees in the backyard of his best friend, Chris Dupont. Christopher sat beside him, trying to pull himself up in the old, sagging hammock, to stop being crushed in the center beside James. On the dry, browning lawn in front of them, their friends Anne Marrow, Bianca Luciano, and Will Turner played croquet. None of them were very good and they didn't seem to know the rules.
The simplicity of their lives was not to be discounted. Life at such an age lacked in depth, but simplicity allowed for meaning barred by the complexities and responsibilities that the future would bring. These moments remained so pure in character that their sitcom quality would soon be smothered by a future of shattered simplicity.
"Where's Eleanor?" asked James, shattering the silent summer paradise.
Chris sighed, "Vacation, again. One more month of summer until we all head off to college and she's going on vacation after vacation like she..."
"Stop your whining," Anne cut in, dropping her croquet mallet and flopping down on the grass beside the hammock, "You know perfectly well that she wasn't the one who decided to go on vacation."
The croquet game dissolved, doing so easily as none of them had been very invested in the game to begin with, and Bianca and Will plopped down beside Anne in the grass.
"Who didn't want to go on vacation," asked Will with mock amazement.
"Eleanor," said Anne, rolling her eyes, "you were literally three feet away."
"Why'd she do that," asked Chris, only half serious.
"She never actually said she didn't want to go," groaned Chris, "James just said we couldn't know..."
"She was complaining about it the other day," piped Bianca.
James looked over at where she sat. She had been contemplating things for sure. She was always contemplating, zoned out, yet attentive, eyes drifting, yet focused. She would always push her curly, dark-brown hair away from her wide, brown eyes, and stare intensely at nothing at all. Strangers often thought she was simply being rude and not paying attention, but she was really just doing the opposite: listening as intently as possible. He watched her eyes as they remained still and unblinking as if to show off their twinkling irises, somewhere between mahogany and hickory. He realized that he hadn't been listening to the conversation for quite some time now, but he didn't care. He just wanted to soak up the warm summer days while they lasted.
YOU ARE READING
Yesterday's Gone
Narrativa generaleYears ago, they were all happy, a family not constrained by the limits of blood. Now, they barely know each other. None of them have spoken in years and the joy of youth has been crushed by the reality of life. When their paths all cross once more...
