Always | Teen Ink

Always

January 24, 2017
By 19-mcgranic BRONZE, Souderton, Pennsylvania
19-mcgranic BRONZE, Souderton, Pennsylvania
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

“Let’s go,” she said as she put the car into park. She took her brunette hair out of its bun. She slid the hair tie onto her wrist then pushed her hair back behind her shoulders. At its full length, it was no more than six inches below her shoulders. Removing the key from the ignition, she reached for the door.
“Are you coming or what?” she asked before getting out of the car. I hadn’t realized how long I was staring.
“Oh, yeah… sorry.” I reached for the door handle and got out of the car. It was a beautiful 1996 jet black Jeep Wrangler. I’d talked about getting one since I was a kid. Naturally, I was extremely jealous when she got one for her sixteenth birthday.
“Nate,” she said a little impatiently. She strode over to me. Still staring at the car, I was surprised when she grabbed my wrist and led me through the dark. I followed obediently, as we made our way through the field of daisies. I couldn’t be in a more foreign place, but I felt somewhat at home. We approached a monstrous old oak tree. The stars lit the limbs as if we stood in broad daylight.
“Now close your eyes,” she ordered. She put her hands over my eyes and led me around the tree. I knew that there was no point of keeping my eyes closed --considering her hands covered them -- but I kept them closed nonetheless. It felt mysterious but in a good way.
“Okay Nate, you can open your eyes on three. One…Two...Three…” I opened my eyes. Without even looking at her, I knew her smile was gaping as she stood behind me.
At first, it was too dark to see anything. As my eyes began to adjust to my surroundings, I noticed something swinging by one of the tree’s limbs. It was like I was a kid again. I couldn’t help but exclaim when I saw it.
“Jesus Alice!”
“Nate,” she said unbelieving “do you even know what it is.”
“Yeah, it’s that old swing we used to play on we were kids before the storm blew it into the branches. But how did you get it down?”
She cracked a smile, “I know some people.”
I walked over to the plank, trying to hide my eagerness as I went. When I got there I sat down and gave a little push to the ground with my feet. I was a kid again. It seemed like it was only yesterday when we were ten years old playing by this same tree. Eight years. Time really flies. It’s funny how your parents tell you to enjoy your life
because at the snap of a finger, you’ll be old. The old tale was coming true right before my eyes.
She strode over gracefully and sat next to me. She sat smiling as she brushed the hair from her face behind her left ear. Our eyes locked for what seemed like forever. I gazed into the pools of sapphires that God himself had plucked for her eyes. The flawless face that held them was free from any freckles or acne. She was beautiful. In the midst of our
staring she broke the gaze. She leaned in and kissed me. I was surprised, but I didn’t object. Her lips were soft but slightly dry. Hands pressed against the back of my head. The kiss grew deeper until I pulled away.
“Alice?”
“Yeah?”
“I think I love you.”
Our eyes looked up into the stars. The silence became heavy, but surprisingly not awkward.
“I love you too Nate.”
“Always?” I asked unafraid.
She smiled and moved closer as if she was about to kiss me again.
“Always.”

  .   .   .
I take her picture out of the hidden compartment of my wallet and free the sadness from the makeshift dams that have become my tear ducts. Tears roll down my cheeks as I set the picture down on the grave.  In all of my life, I had never loved anyone more. She was my best friend since I was six, and later the love of my life. I crouch to the ground, the dirt and dew from the morning grass staining my khakis. I place the bouquet of daisies onto her grave (I remember how much she used to love daisies). I traced her engraved name with my finger before I stood up. I don’t even bother brushing the dirt off my knees. Now standing, I wipe the tears off of my face.
“I love you Alice,” I said. “Always.”



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