He asks me what I'm thinking.
I want to tell him I'm trying to preserve this moment. To make it last as long as possible, and to remember every detail that I can.
I imagine him asking me why I'm doing that. I don't really have an answer. Maybe because it's night, and it's dark. Both tend to make me particularly thoughtful. Maybe I just want to hold on to it, for rainy days and such. Maybe there's just so much to feel, and to be, at this moment, I just want more time to feel and be as much as I can.
Basically, I don't know what I would say if he asks why. And so I don't answer his question. I shrug. I say I don't know. I say not much. He starts talking again, and I allow myself to be lost in his stories, and his thoughts.
The only slight downside to tonight is the breeze. It's a little stronger than I'd like it to be, and it's chilly too. But it smells like summer, so I know it's a friend.
I've never sat in the playground on any of my night walks before. But when we walked by, the tire swing looked very inviting. Even though I'm wearing a skirt, I walked over to it and perched on one side, folding my skirt underneath to keep it still against the breeze. He sat on the other side, and soon started slowly turning us with one foot.
I'm alternating between letting my one foot brush against the ground, and holding it against my leg to keep it from getting too cold. It doesn't work too well, so I go back to brushing it against the pebbles in the playground. I can feel my feet gathering the dust that always clings to them, and it feels familiar. I'm playing a game with myself. As he turns us, his foot creates holes in the pebbles. When I come around, I smooth them out. He keeps making holes, and I keep smoothing them out.
The night isn't extraordinary, as nights go. I mean, it is, because all time I spend with the night is extraordinary. But as far as sights go, it's pretty plain. The sky is clear, but there's never may stars in the city. The moon isn't full, so there's no moon shadows. There's just beautiful darkness, broken by street lights and the glow from downtown.
Some noisy guys walk by. They pay no attention to us, but they break the natural sounds of the park at night. We let them pass, and I'm allowed to listen to his talking again in peace.
He's sitting with his back to me, which is keeping my back warm. But apparently I've said something shocking, because he turns to look at me, and then turns around so his chest is against my back. I suppose this is just as good. Now his arms can keep me warm too, even though I know he's colder than I am. I can feel him shivering.
After many rotations of the tire swing, I start getting bored of seeing the same scenery, in the same order, and thinking the same thing every time I pass it. I close my eyes.
The breeze is still cold, but the smell of summer is still there, so I know it's still good. Every turn the breeze blows my hair into my face, and I can smell it. It keeps my face warm, and it's familiar. I sigh, and lean closer to the chain I've been holding on to. It smells like metal, like the playground, like smiles and laughter. All good smells.
But it's still cold. When we get up to go, my feet are sore from hanging in the cold air, and it almost hurts to step on the pavement. But it's worth it. I could have waited until it was warmer. And I could have gone alone. But as far as first summer night walks go, this was a pretty good one.
"Don't interpret my stomach noises."
1 year ago