Written for theSummer Romance contest on Figment. Please go over there and heart it for me please please pleeeease. I need Maggie Stiefvater to read something from me. It's like a physical NEEEED.
The first time I experienced what infinite feels like was when I was fifteen. I didn't know it until after The Great Happening—as she often called it—but by then I was just happy to at least know.
It was a little after the middle of summer when she led me up to the big hill. It's formally known as Makeout Point, as per dubbed by the kids in my town from the early 80's. The name just stuck I guess, but I don't mind. I'm attracted to cliché's.
Maybe that's why I liked her, or why she liked me, but she proved herself more than a cliché. She probably thought she was, but anyone who's ever had the pleasure of knowing that beautiful pint sized pest knew she was something more than she made herself out to be.
She begged me to drive her out to Makeout Point, and I gave her that look boys give girls when they make a suggestion like that. And of course she rolled her eyes at me.
It's not a big hill, so to speak. Most of the way up is by car, but the small venture by foot to the top had her huffing and puffing. I pulled her onto my back and she laughed, relieved and embarrassed at the same time. She was so small, like a little bird, but her skinny limbs were a vice around my shoulders.
At the top of the hill is this huge maple tree. It's so out of place that it's almost humorous, which is exactly why she liked it. She liked things that were messy and beautiful and belonged only because of not belonging. She told me she used to climb it and pretend to touch the sky, but she can't do that anymore.
Instead, she laid on the grass. The late pink light made red stand out in the blond hair that had grown in. She hated her new short hair and liked it at the same time, because of what it meant for her, and because it was long enough now to make little baby pig tails. She had one in right now.
She reached her hand out for me and pulled me down next to her.
Above us was the never ending expanse of the sky. I never really thought about the sky until I met her, because it was always there and always would be, and I didn't give it a second thought. She's always had her head in the clouds, but I don't think that's a bad thing like people usually think. She just thinks different.
With her around, I thought about a lot of things I'd never thought about before, and they seared into me with just as much certainty as the heart in my chest. I don't know if that was her intention or not.
Her pale blue eyes never strayed from the clouds. They were a myriad of colors: peach and white and pink and purple and gray and blue. She looked at peace here, like the flowers could grow up around her and ensnare her to the dirt and she'd fit in just as well as the tree behind us.
"Look," she said. Her quiet voice was wispy, mixing in the breeze blowing up the hill. "Look at the clouds." She spread her hands up at the sky.
"I'm looking at them." I was looking at her.
"They're kind of amazing, you know. They look so big, but so close. And even though we know that they're big, it's like our minds can't comprehend just how big. And I think I can touch them, if I just try." She reached her hand up so far that her back arched, then dropped it like a dead weight right next to mine.
"It's weird to watch clouds. You're looking at them and thinking how big they are, and you're so busy thinking about how much smaller you are compared to them, and how much you underestimate their bigness, that by the time you're back to watching them, they've moved. You've been watching them the whole time and they moved and changed shape without you even noticing. How can you be watching and not seeing that?" She paused for a moment to brush a blond strand from her cheek and reach her pinky finger out to touch mine, then finally looked at me. "I guess… clouds are a lot like people, aren't they?"
I wanted to kiss her. She had to have known.
I picked up her hand and faced it palm towards the sky, our last two fingers overlapping.
"I want to fly," she said.
We let our hands be pushed around by the wind, them knocking into each other and making her laugh. She liked my hands for some reason. I think it's because I'm a loser and have really soft hands even though they look manly from afar. She brought it down to her face to inspect the lines. You'd think she'd have them memorized by now, she does it so much.
"I want you to touch the sky."
She smiles at me. "I think maybe I can."
That was kind of a while ago. Thinking about it always makes me sad, because it was a good day when all the other days were bad. And after that, she associated flying with her up and coming Great Happening. The inevitable came and she flew away and the girl I loved was not the same as the one they put in the ground. My vibrant little bird could never be that lifeless. But today I looked up the definition of infinite.
It means "unlimited or unmeasurable in extent of space."
Yeah, I think that's about right.
YOU JUST GOT JOHN GREEN'D.
Jk I'm no where near that good. But I told my friend I wrote a story about a girl who dies of cancer and likes clouds and just randomly yelled that at her afterwards. It's the new version of Punk'd, but for nerds.
ATTENTION. IF YOU LOVE ME/LIKE MY WRITING/LIKE MY STORIES/THINK I'M YOUR SENPAI...
You'll go read this story called Chayla I have linked on my profile. It's freaking amazing but I'm the only one reviewing. please please please go reeeead. She deserves so many more reviews. I am recommending it from the deepest pit of my soul.