Sarah's Storm
this is literally the only chapter wtf
Darling, won’t you come down/ won’t you come down to me
It’s so lonely without my voice in the wind/ when the storm starts
The weatherman lied when told us the summer storms were over. A thundering in the distance told my town to run for cover. Our storms out here usually last about all day. You have two choices when you hear the warning over the radio: run for home or embrace it. I took you up the hill that day, and we watched the clouds roll in.
“You’re gonna miss me?” you’d asked me.
I picked some daisies absently and pulled up the grass. “Hmm. I don’t know yet. It feels like you were never here sometimes.”
You snorted and through some grass at me.
We watched the darkness looming overhead for the near hour. It took awhile for you to pick up the nerve again to speak. “I wanna know.”
I tried not to make eye contact, but your face demanded attention. It was hard to look at you, after all. At this point in the summer, your hair was long and dark and the heat of the summer had squirmed its way into your stubbornly white complexion. I didn’t like to focus on your mouth often, but it’s hard to not stare at something blessed with the color of perpetual lipstick.
I didn’t answer your question. I was always pretty cowardly, even then, so I told you that you were beautiful instead.
“I’m not a girl.” You pouted and turned away.
“I think it’s perfectly acceptable to call a boy beautiful. Us feminine creature need a retaliation to all the men calling us sexy or hot.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“Yeah, okay, I’ll miss you.” I sigh and lie back. I’ll miss you, okay. But in what way? As a friend? As a lover? As a memory of youth?
You smile, obvious. I missile more grass at you, trying to stay playful and something breaks inside the contours of our fragile friendship.
You’re never coming back here and we both know it.
…
You really were beautiful, though. I don’t know what that word means anymore, but I know you were. Some days I wish we were still up on that hill, overlooking an incoming storm. And I know that sounds a hell of a lot more romantic than it was. Because I was right in that you never were there that summer. You were somewhere else, living some fabulous life, away from out small town and away from the summer storms. Away from me.
Some days I think I was up there alone that day, talking to myself. See, it’s better we never met and never had that connection. Memories leave nothing but tortured possibilities in our minds. We never were but figments in our lonely youth.
....
July 25th, 1983
Storm came in today. Sarah went alone to the top of the hill. She said she watched it and wished for someone to talk to.
It’s so lonely without my voice in the wind/ when the storm starts
The weatherman lied when told us the summer storms were over. A thundering in the distance told my town to run for cover. Our storms out here usually last about all day. You have two choices when you hear the warning over the radio: run for home or embrace it. I took you up the hill that day, and we watched the clouds roll in.
“You’re gonna miss me?” you’d asked me.
I picked some daisies absently and pulled up the grass. “Hmm. I don’t know yet. It feels like you were never here sometimes.”
You snorted and through some grass at me.
We watched the darkness looming overhead for the near hour. It took awhile for you to pick up the nerve again to speak. “I wanna know.”
I tried not to make eye contact, but your face demanded attention. It was hard to look at you, after all. At this point in the summer, your hair was long and dark and the heat of the summer had squirmed its way into your stubbornly white complexion. I didn’t like to focus on your mouth often, but it’s hard to not stare at something blessed with the color of perpetual lipstick.
I didn’t answer your question. I was always pretty cowardly, even then, so I told you that you were beautiful instead.
“I’m not a girl.” You pouted and turned away.
“I think it’s perfectly acceptable to call a boy beautiful. Us feminine creature need a retaliation to all the men calling us sexy or hot.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“Yeah, okay, I’ll miss you.” I sigh and lie back. I’ll miss you, okay. But in what way? As a friend? As a lover? As a memory of youth?
You smile, obvious. I missile more grass at you, trying to stay playful and something breaks inside the contours of our fragile friendship.
You’re never coming back here and we both know it.
…
You really were beautiful, though. I don’t know what that word means anymore, but I know you were. Some days I wish we were still up on that hill, overlooking an incoming storm. And I know that sounds a hell of a lot more romantic than it was. Because I was right in that you never were there that summer. You were somewhere else, living some fabulous life, away from out small town and away from the summer storms. Away from me.
Some days I think I was up there alone that day, talking to myself. See, it’s better we never met and never had that connection. Memories leave nothing but tortured possibilities in our minds. We never were but figments in our lonely youth.
....
July 25th, 1983
Storm came in today. Sarah went alone to the top of the hill. She said she watched it and wished for someone to talk to.