He told me he loves summer.
He dreamily blabbers about the sunlight hitting his skin, how it makes him feel so alive after hours of listening to a dead-boring professor of a dead-boring subject inside a dead-boring school. He suggests leaving the noisy city and plunging to the cool, blue waters of the sea. Making sand castles on the shore. Dancing around a bonfire with your friends. Strumming his old guitar under a star-lit sky.
Sometimes, his antics will just bring a smile to my lips. When he says he’s fond of the season, it’s as if he’s saying he’s also fond of me. “I love summer!” says his doodle at the back of his Algebra book. I smiled furtively when he met my eyes and I scribbled on my paper: “I wish you love Summer too.”
Yes, I wish he loves me too. It’s not my choice to be named after that season, but I realize, especially now, that having the name “Summer” has its perks. I know it’s daydreaming, but who cares? It’s harmless. It even makes me feel ecstatic, even if in a wrong way.
Wrong? Okay, let’s scrap that part. When will you know that something’s wrong if it feels very right? I don’t usually consider my feelings for him wrong. Not even when he’s talking about that girl.
That girl, clinging to him like a leech, hanging on his arm like a tawdrily-colored Christmas decoration. That girl and her trying-hard-to-sound-sweet voice that was cloying to my ears. That girl who proudly shows off her cheap-looking outfits when in truth she terribly needs to call someone for fashion 911. That girl whom he is truly fond of.
When I first saw her—and I first saw her encircling her arms around his waist—it dawned on me that I’m just jealous (or so said my friends). Everything’s fuzzy inside. I wanted so badly to claw at her hair and drag her to the street, to humiliate her for a reason some would consider too cheap. I’m not one to be involved in catfights but just seeing her uneven smirk and arching eyebrows made me feel so violent. I think I’ll give everything just so someone will give her to me as a punching bag.
I was actually thinking about the extremity of my dislike for her that afternoon when he came up to me. I was slumped on a rust-caked bench, sipping the last of my Coke. He sat beside me, all one-sided smile and bright eyes and unruly but stylish hair, then nonchalantly grabbed the can from me to swig from it. I ducked my head a little for I knew I blushed. I always do when he does this, thinking that he sort of—indirectly, that is—kisses me. I mean, same container and all, you know? My cheeks grew hotter when he returned the can in my hands.
“I love summer,” he sighed, sprawling on the bench, looking up at the sky.
“I know,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “I know.”
He cocked a brow at me. “You know? Since when?”
I shrugged. “Can’t remember. It’s the millionth time you said it.”
“…oh. I see.”
“…so what do you think?” he asked.
“About your love for summer?”
“Yeah,” he said and looked away. “About my love for…summer.”
“I think it’s normal, especially for students like us. We’re all in love with vacation. Actually, I myself am looking forward to traveling this coming March. The white sand beaches in—”
“No,” he cut in, looking a bit irritated. “I’m not talking about that. I mean…well, I thought you know already.”
I flashed a confused look.
He shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re that slow.”
I hate it when he makes me want to assume.
“Spit it out already,” I said, showing him that I’m irked. Or I’m going to strangle you for suddenly giving me some kind of…hope…
“No,” he decided after a long pause. “No way. I’d rather just show it than say something so sappy. Doing the latter is just so not me.”
“I don’t get you.”
“I know. You’re slow.”
I would have retorted angrily, but for some reason, silence seemed to be a great intruder. We sat there wordless for a while, looking up at the animal-shaped clouds. I smiled when I made out a heart-shaped one.
“I love Summer,” I heard him whisper. I noted the emphasis on the ‘s’. Capital letter.
I could barely contain the sudden surge of happiness in me. It took me a while to go down from the little heaven brought about by the oblique revelation.
“But how about…”
“She’s a friend. We did have some sort of history, but it’s never official.”
“Fibber,” I snapped, giving him a mock punch on the arm. “She’ll never act that possessive if it’s just a fling.” Oh, I feel like I’m floating…
Another shrug. “Believe what you want to. She’s actually aware of my true feelings and is just trying to get a reaction from you. Which is quite successful, I think.”
My jaw fell. “She wha—oh, you! It’s a conspiracy!”
He chuckled. “Not really. I think she’s still somewhat bitter about it, but she’ll move on. I hope she will.”
“I hope she will,” I said sarcastically, face curled up in a wicked grin.
He laughed at my attitude and jokingly pinched my cheek. “Once a mean girl, always a mean girl. Don’t make it hard for her.”
“I won’t. I promise I won’t.” Both of us knew I meant otherwise. “She will move on, in time.”
Silence intruded again. I finished my Coke and looked up, feeling how he’s slowly gripping my hand, thinking how beautiful that summer day was.
my pre-planned mini plot didn't come to play here because I think it'll be extremely long (and if it goes that long, Debbie might not read it) LOL, kidding! :) I'll make another one next time when I'm in the mood. The weather's contributing to the building up of writer's block.....but I'll block it. *winks*
I'll doze off for now. :)