In Which A Million Different Things Happen

Mascots

You know the things that happen to humans? Good, bad, rushing into a truck, holding hands in the middle of a campfire session, getting angry over simple cussing, all those kinds.

Self designed, all of them. No role of anybody but us. We, the creators, we, the destroyers. The enemy, the savior.

It doesn't take much for one to see here that my faith in God does not exist; neither does my faith in love – something that might not even be obvious. But what is life without love?

What is life without love for aromantic people? For those who can love, but not be in love with someone, anyone?

My thoughts are cut off short as my father knocks on my door, signaling me to hurry up, and I quickly fasten my belt to my dress.

A white dress is what I have decided to wear tonight, loose at the waist and down till my ankles, with a very conservative neckline but no sleeves. It clashes with my red hair, and I have no doubt that this will be my night to shine with nobody watching me.

As I run to the door, he calls out, no doubt, being the too worried, possessive parent of a seventeen year old, and I turn back to listen with the most airy look I can manage to show him I am but only half listening.

❝Be back on time, Erin. One and a half hour only. And remember - no company. I don't want to see you with any boys.❞

Does that mean I can have a girl with me? Or 'no company and no boys' mean no girls, but specifically no boys? Yet I nod, stifling a smile for I know Bryan will be there at the beach with me - he does not count as a boy because he's my best friend, even though he has a dick. Then I move out.

It's a cool night, not cool enough to be classified as cold. Well, not really. But as I cycle fast towards the beach ringing the bell on my cycle so that everybody hears me in the silence, it hits me everywhere and becomes cold soon enough.

The plastic flowers in the basket of my cycle flap about in the wind and remind me of the day when Bryan had called me a mushy romantic person - the day I had self established me as an aromantic body.

❝Here too soon, Banana. I was wondering where you were.❞

❝I can either be romantic or I can be crazy. Don't you dare define me into two categories.❞

Of course he knows I'm joking. I go and sit by him, leaning my head against his shoulder as his arm comes around my waist.

❝It's often been said that romantic people do crazy things for love,❞ he says, ignoring what I said about being labeled and categorized.

❝I wouldn't be too sure. Do you define romantic as a person who falls in love easily, or with every little thing? With things or with people?❞

It's complicated. I can't put into words what romantic really is, and dictionary definitions are so outdated.

❝Aromantic people, I think, can fall in love only with books, and maybe other things, not that I've given much thought to it. Romantic people, I think, fall in love with every possible noun they can, as soon as they can, and as deeply as they can.❞

This makes me smile a little as his arm moves around my waist. I shiver a little. It's cold and I lean into Bryan just some more. It's surreal how we can fall into conversation so quick - never an awkward moment. He's my best friend, after all.