When I first told them how I met Thomas, they didn't believe me. Their reactions told me all I needed to know about continuing; my mom, usually naive, found my tale somewhat cock-eyed.. My sister, Marissa, thought I was joking, and proceeded to laugh hysterically, stopping only after realizing I hadn't joined her. My dad said nothing; he had been dead for five years at the time. So I dropped the subject and walked to my room, thinking of the events that had occured over the span of the past few hours.
It had all started when I was walking through the woods randomly, thinking about how poorly I was doing in English class, and I heard a child's voice, humming a lullaby off-key. I looked around me, a tad spooked when I saw nothing. The humming continued, though the song changed. I kept walking, thinking myself crazy, and, after turning the corner around a small hill, nearly collided with someone.
I had gracefully fallen on my face, and the guy I had ran into still stood. I'd lept up, brushing dirt and crumbled leaves off of myself, noticing the human bumper car. He was approximately six foot, taller than me by six inches, and roughly seventeen, judging on looks. I briefly wondered if he had been humming, but my suspicions were readily quelled when he asked me if I had been hurt. His voice was far too deep to be the child's voice I'd heard minutes before. Was still hearing as I answered him with a 'Yeah, fine,' and he offered his hand to help me up. I had taken it gratefully.
This stranger's hand was oddly cold, putting me in mind of winter break as a kid, and he pulled all of my hundred-and-five pounds off of the forest floor effortlessly. I could see the many muscles and tendons wriggling under the tight tee-shirt he wore as I righted myself. I had planned to ask his name, but he beat me to it. " Hey. I'm Thomas." He said, sticking out his hand. "Were you humming, by any chance?" He'd asked.
Thomas's voice was smooth, and laced with a slight European accent. I'd offered a negatory mumble, fascinated by him, and eventually uttering my name in turn. Suddenly, his brow had furrowed, and he had tilted his head, much in the way of an intrigued dog. Then his face was turned upward, looking at a tree branch hanging stealthily overhead, and the child perched, legs swinging, upon it. The next half an hour or so was spent trying to coax the young lad out of the towering oak, to no avail, as his family life was hell; his mother had made him eat his brussels sprouts.
Eventually, his mom had come looking for him, and in promise of ice cream, the boy made it safely to land. The mum thanked us endlessly for not letting her Davey get hurt.
Then I was alone with Thomas.