The Boy

So, I was listening to The Cure and was inspired to write this story. Hope you enjoy.

The Boy

  It all began with the boy.

   When she was a girl, Mary used to hang off the window ledge, listening for the squeaking sound of his bicycle—the chain whispering in the dying wind.

   The world looked big from where she sat; the trees blowing their leaves like a shower of fairies. Here she could imagine what it would be like to fly. Instead of a bird, she wanted to be a paper airplane with its irregular wings and stiff body. She imagined that when it fell, it never felt pain.

   The chains ran their course until she could see the boy in the distance, his dark hair blowing in the breeze. He was the only one to talk her down from the edge of the world and she listened, took his hand and ran down the dirt road to the lake at the first turn.

   His eyes are the color of mud, but it did not bother her. All she saw were the wildflowers that grew from that mud—their beauty and grace all flowing together, harmoniously.

   The boy convinced her to take off her shoes and plunge her bare feet into the cold water. Her toes grew numb until her body accepted its fate and slowly let loose the shackles of the frigid ache and met those muddy brown eyes again.

   The boy stood farther that she could reach, his soft tendrils of dark curls nestled around his smooth face. Mary never knew fear when he was near. She never knew life without his presence.

   His lips are blue from the cold, but he smiles and she moves forward without thinking, the water rippling around the ruffles of her summer dress.  There he stands, without a word; without a sound and she realizes that he has never spoken to her. But even in his silence, she felt she would recognize his voice anywhere. He spoke to her heart without words, just gesture.

   When she reached the boy, he spread out his hand and ran his fingers through her blonde hair and moved closer until his blue lips were warm against hers. How young she is to be feeling true love’s kiss! But within her, the small child sang with reverence for the boy with the muddy brown eyes and her heart soared above the cottonwood trees and into the distance…a paper airplane.

   Where her home existed was within his chest, stretching out for eternity. But she wondered while she—a mere child—lay in his arms, why no one else saw him.

   It all ended with the boy.

   In the distance thunder rumbled and dark ominous clouds blocked out the sun. In the distance, the birds began to sing frantically, but she did not hear them; the warning that with the sweet comes the sour.

   The boy pressed her against his cold body and she could hear his smile as the lightening crashed above their heads. But there was no fear, only peace.

   Below a tree on the bank of the river they rested upon, the water reached their toes and churned with ferocity.

   The town spoke of her often…of the foolish, pretty girl with golden hair. They spoke of the shame and of the poor parents who are no longer burdened with the little girl who wondered into places she was never meant to go.

   But the boy was there, arms spread wide and another seat on his bicycle just for her.