He childishly refused to look up from the stones he was sifting through, pretending that they were the most interesting geological specimens he has ever seen - like he would even know what a geological specimen even was.
I looked out over the water sparkling in the sunshine. This was an indian summer for sure, still warm though the sun was setting. My thoughts ruefully went back to when we first started coming here, hanging out with all our friends. We would spend hours together sun up to sun down. Then suddenly, he and I were a couple. Inseperable.
I hate that we came here now.
I tried to make conversation, “Do you remember how much time we used to spend here? Do you miss those summers?”
“Not really. It was fun, but I have outgrown this place now.” I took his reply personally.
In my head, I felt the exact opposite. I wished our lives had nothing more complicated than worrying about mosquito bites and sunburns. I disliked that me wishing for that made me suddenly feel immature and petty. As a result, anger started to grow inside of me, spewing out a slew of retaliations like lava rolling out of a volcano, “So I haven’t grown? So have you outgrown me just like this place? How can you be so haughty? Who are you now? It’s like I don’t even know you!”
Outside of my head, I said nothing, and likely appeared calm to him if he actually bothered to look at me. Instead, I ventured, “I feel this may be the last time we come here.”
He rose and started to skip stones across water that he had gathered. Small, skittering round shadows disturbing the dancing waves and interrupting their choreography.
He finally replied, “You may be right, though this place will always be with us, I think.” He turned and looked at me, smiling. This place isn’t tarnished for him like it is for me, and I cannot bear to ruin it him. I smile back, hoping he doesn’t see any sadness in my eyes. I am not sure when I will be return to Waterside, but it will never be with him again.
