Opia

It was too quiet. I had to strain my ears to hear my father’s slow breaths as he slept on the couch next to my armchair. He was too tired to notice how silent it was; I pressed the mute button so many times that the button itself had left a small indent on my thumb. I couldn’t watch the television because I panicked whenever I couldn’t hear his breathing. My head was pounding from the silence, it was wrapping around my head like a lead blanket until my father hacked a cough, one that both startled and relieved me. I had grown up listening to his coughs, it was almost like a lullaby.

My father was sick. I knew this, he knew this. My father was dying. He knew this, but I refused to believe it. Up until then, he was the only man in my life. Up until then, life was routine; I always knew what was going to happen next, I was never surprised and I never minded that. Up until then, I never had a reason to believe that life was particularly extraordinary; simply extra ordinary by most standards. Up until then, I never really looked at anyone.

But I stood from my armchair, turned away from my father and his hacking coughs that sounded like his lungs were trying to rip free of his body, and stepped out onto the front porch. The air tasted strange without the scent of cigarette smoke. A few deep breaths, and the air filled my body and I felt my bones grow heavy, like I was finally on the ground. It was strange, but I felt myself smile. I started walking with no particular route in mind, mostly watching the sky grow darker and grayer. My neck was starting to ache from gazing up for so long, but I almost immediately regretted doing this because my eyes fell upon the most disgustingly handsome person I’ve ever had the misfortune to see.

And he was staring back.

And I felt something in me stir and something bloomed in my chest and I felt like raindrops would combust should they touch my skin because every part of me was on fire. I needed to know why his chestnut eyes held such a marvelous glint to them and I wanted him to tell me that he only had eyes for me and no one else. I wanted him and I wanted him to want me.

But we just kept looking into each other’s eyes until rain finally fell and his black sweater looked much darker than before.