I jump up onto the brick wall facing Cross Campus, settling down at my favorite spot—completely out in the open, yet still entirely isolated. My view is framed by two boys playing catch, the rhythmic passing of the ball between them making a da-dum sound. After a stifling few hours in class, I crack open a book, but quickly realize the story sold to me in the pages is nowhere near as compelling as the one unfolding before me.
A girl in a blue beret and a black skirt walks past me, her post-breakup boots clicking as she makes her way to one of the benches—hopefully marching on to better things.
A boy with a knit sweater and a girl in a floral-print shirt walk in my direction, cups of coffee clasped tightly in hand. The two walk shoulder-width apart. He’s holding his cup especially tight. Her steps are long and confident. The distance between them shrinks slightly as they reach the stairs. He wants to be closer.
A girl in running shorts screams jokingly at her friend that he doesn’t believe in love. He chases after her.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going where you’re going.”
I direct my attention to the center of Cross Campus, where two people are lying on the grass. Their backs are touching the ground, and their legs are bent so their knees face the sky. The boy’s head is resting on the crook of her neck, while she plays with tufts of his hair. They are looking up, perhaps trying to find meaning in the sparse clouds that paint the blue canvas above, or perhaps talking about nothing at all.
On a bench to my right, an elderly couple lean on one another in silent support. I watch their easy conversation, untainted by subtext or subtle tension. Pure peace is painted on their faces as they watch the leaves dance down.
what a short but sweet piece