This was the part I where hated waking up. The part where I've finally lifted off the ground, my arms outstretched. The thrill of flying, of course coming crashing down by the heaviness of my own waking hours. I stared at the ceiling, holding onto the dream for as long as possible. But I guess all good things have to come to an end. So with that I decided to get up.
I stared at myself in the mirror. A 5.5 17 year old, shoulder length blond hair, and piercing blue eyes. I had decided on wearing a pair of denim shorts, and a baggy red tank top. My feet were bare, as always. I sighed. I was skinny. Lanky. Nothing special. I shrugged. And headed outside.
I sat in the huge tree in my yard. The one with the leaves that shielded me from the outside world. The ones that let me peer past their covering to examine the queer place I called home. The neighborhood. It was a friendly place. Although not one for my type. The ones who don't speak don't fit in when you live in a world of noise. And I mean, from the paradise I found in the tree, I could see him.
He was new. He spoke yes. But when he did, he spoke about things that mattered. It was intriguing. Things he was passionate about. I know this because I've heard him. I may be silent but I'm not a loner. Well. Ok. Maybe a little. But that's besides the point. I went to the welcoming party for his family. I sat with my nose buried in my favorite book but I listened to him. Only him. Because he had something worth listening to. He spoke of music. Hope. Faith. But the thing that intrigued me the most was his description of flying. He made it sound like something I had longed for my whole life.
Freedom.
He had given me something I hadn't had in years. An interest. And it was then that I snuck out the back door of his new house, my mother drunk in the living room, and ran barefoot to my own home. I learned a lot about flying that night. But I learned even more about freedom.
I was dragged back to reality by a voice calling me. I looked through the leaves of the tree and nearly fell out. It was him. He waved at me from the yard next door. I awkwardly waved back, unsure of what to do. He started heading towards me. Great. I took a deep breath and jumped down from the tree, landing in a roll and standing, brushing myself off before looking at him. He smiled, leaning against the other side of the fence. It was now that I could really get a good look at him. He had short, dark hair, and tanned skin. Deep brown eyes, and he wore a watch. I could tell he liked watches because I could seen another poking out of jeans pocket. He wore a green shirt, talking about how what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Except bears. It was humorous. And of course, to top it all off, a dark grey fedora sat perched upon his head. I imagined it must be hot. Wearing a hat in July. Suddenly I realized he was talking, so I focused on his voice. It was low. Really low. I could hear joy in it. And see a sense of fun in his eyes. I tilted my head curiously, finally allowing myself to focus on the words he was speaking.
"Hi, my name is Brodie. I saw you a few weeks ago at the party, but you disappeared."
I shrugged. I looked at him. How do I communicate with someone who only knows words?
He furrowed his brow, looking curiously at me. "And you're name is...?" He asked.
I held up a finger, to signal for him to wait, before leaping up into the tree, where my journal lay. I grabbed it, along with a pencil, and scribbled down my name, before jumping down and handing the journal to him. He read it, and looked at me.
"Jamie?" He asked. I nodded. It was short for Jamison but no one needed to know that.
He smiled. "Cool name."
I shrugged. Not really a unique name if you ask me.
He drummed a rhythm onto the fence. I studied his hands. The way he moved them. I scribbled a word on to my journal page. 'Pianist?' I handed it to him. He read it, and looked up at me, a combination of shock and curiosity playing out on his face.
