They sat together on the warm stone, watching the sun disappear slowly behind a cloud, only to reappear again, just a few seconds later, a bit closer to the highest summit of the purple mountains hundreds of miles away. They could never have asked for a better view, a softer weather, a lighter breeze or more comforting company. The grass was tall and green, thick with summer water taken from deep within the earth; the roots had had time, in all these years, to uncover the best stratagem in order to get the most out of the occasional, but brutal, summer storm. This greenery extended all the way to a very near horizon: the hill dropped slowly away from their sight and, behind it, they could see the town. Even in this late hour, it was still buzzing with activity. People were wandering the streets, small restaurants and cafés were busy with a mass of tourists and citizens come to enjoy the fine evening. Their voices, footsteps and singing was a great clamor which rose over the houses, slowly thinning away to a buzz as they reached the top of the hill, then cascaded back down the grassy hillside, tumbled over the rocks and rolled down the roads leading away from the town in an avalanche of echoes.
They sat in stony silence, observing their surroundings and taking pleasure from the simple fact of being together again, as they did once every new season. He came from far away and had no means of making it back more often; she lived in the town resting under their eyes. He had lived there too, once, and they had met on the hill just east of theirs, under the old oak tree. It was still there, looming over the town like some ancient protector, its roots digging deep into the center of the earth and extracting a sort of vital life force that kept it intact through all the storms it had seen in its two centuries of life. It had suffered, but now, with its trunk thick and brown, with its branches drooping under the weight of its heavy leaves, with the rests of rotting acorns once full of health and ready to carry its offspring at its feet, the old oak looked more alive and well than ever.
The sun was suddenly impaled on the rocky peak and it bled its light down the mountain’s flank. With just a small sigh, she acknowledged the fact it would soon be time for separation again. She glanced sideways at him, at his fleeting face, at his hair (so blond it was almost transparently white), at his shoulders, torso, legs, feet. After what seemed an eternity, he rose, setting his feet silently on the floor again. The grass didn’t even seem to bend under him, so light and god-like was he to her eyes. She came down beside him and felt the green blades fold underneath her weight. She didn’t look at him, and he did not glance her way. He turned around and walked off, silent as a fish in the deepest ocean; she did not look back and went straight in front of her, down the hill, and to the town. ***
She sat in the grass, with her back against the stone, and he sat above her, his legs dangling beside her shoulder but never touching her. She had carefully put the dead leaves aside to give herself a small, clear path of light grass. It had lost its summer thickness and was slowly dwindling. The stone was still warm where the sun had touched it though. The sun. It was nearing the mountains twice as fast as it had the last time, except this time all they could see of it was a faint light behind the autumn fog.
Below her, she could see the town’s school’s yard. The tiny little flecks that were young children were running around in it, awaiting their parents. She could remember her time spent in that school; the old, rusty swings, the children screaming and laughing around her, the high fences behind which her mother or father would appear after long minutes of playing – of pretending to play as she watched eagerly for any sign of her family. She never had liked school.
He hadn’t either. He had always sat quietly on the left seat of the middle table in the middle row. She had always been at the back of the left row. The teachers had always been different as they slowly rose in grades; they spoke rarely, played quietly, and made very few friends – but they were good friends. Friends she still had. He hadn’t spoken to those people since he’d gone, she was the only one who still saw him. Then again, he had always liked her more, that much she knew.
The sun toppled off the peaks, leaving burnt marks of still glowing light wherever pieces of it had fallen in the collision. He stood up slowly, lightly as ever, the leaves not even crunching under him. She straightened up awkwardly, her back stiff and the dead leaves protesting loudly. She smiled, but not at him; it was a sad smile for the mountains, for night, for the absence of day. He would come back. He turned around and walked off silently, she stared in front of her and walked straight, coming down slowly towards the town. ***
She had had to dig her way up the hill through the thick snow that lay everywhere. At least twenty of the young saplings from this spring had died in the nearby forest from the oppressive weight of this white mass. White and pure as it was, it was far from ghostly or heavenly – just this morning she had found a dead cat on the street, crushed under the heavy pack of snow that had slid off a roof and fallen on him, breaking its spine and burying its head under its cold grip until, paralyzed and unable to shake itself away, the feline had surrendered to asphyxiation.
She had brushed the snow off the stone and sat on it, bringing her feet up to rest precariously against the sharp edge of rock, her knees under her chin and her arms wrapped around her legs. Her breath came out of her mouth as a thick mist which veiled her vision for a short amount of time before dispersing around her and losing itself to the fierce, chilling wind that blew around them. Her hair was everywhere; in her eyes, in her nose, in her mouth. He made no move to place it behind her ear, like he had done so many times. She rose a gloved hand and made a small attempt at doing it herself, but the woolen garments made it hard. She didn’t dare uncover her hands and leave them as prey to the cold, so she let strands of black hair fly around her face, giving her a dark halo.
The old oak to their right was bravely supporting the packed snow that had gathered on its branches, shooing the crows that usually resided there in the beginning of winter. One side of his trunk was completely white where the snow had accumulated that night, helped by the bitter wind. Down there in the valley, the town was lost, transformed into a myriad of tiny little bumps of snow barely sticking out from the floor. Christmas lights were slowly being put up, and already the great tree stood in the central plaza, the only dark green spot in this immaculate white striated with the dark grey of the roads, cleared of snow and salted only a few hours before.
She stared at the sun as it dipped, faster than ever, towards the grey mountains. The sky, which had been a perfect winter greyish white, had turned purple, pink, red and blue as the light decreased. The shadows grew longer by the second and the temperature dropped dramatically. She opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it and closed it once more. She stood up, her shadow suddenly disappearing as the sun tripped on the mountain peaks and fell with a clatter behind them, taking its light with him. This time, she left first, not turning back. She did not hear him turn around and go away, his sounds hushed by the loud crunching of her winter shoes against heavily-packed snow. ***
She sneezed loudly and blew her nose. Pollen was everywhere, emanating from every flower, every tree around and gathering in great yellow mobs of fluffy seeds flying everywhere. Spring had always been a nightmare for her as the tears gushed from her eyes and her nose ran like it was intending to win a marathon. Even her ears buzzed as her parched, irritated throat drew in more air – and more pollen – into her lungs. “It’s been a year.” She blinked and turned to him. He still wasn’t looking at her, staring instead at the town, where the people were starting to lead normal lives again under the happy glare of the sun. After a few seconds, she glanced at the old oak. He was already sprouting new leaves of a bright spring green. He had lasted yet another year. When summer came, not long from now, he would be in the best of health. “Yes, it’s been a year,” she answered quietly. “Since last spring, anyway.” “You came every season,” he continued. His voice was monotonous and seemed to come from very, very far away. “I could say the same of you,” she grinned a bit, but the grin didn’t reach her eyes. “Will you keep coming?” he asked. She turned her head to the sun. It was again going down towards the mountains. The sky was a perfect blue dotted with little puffs of clouds already turning pink. “I will if you do,” she nodded, her eyes following the sun. “I think I’m happy now,” he said. “Are you?” she blinked, turning around to face him, agape. Her stomach sank all the way to her heels as her teeth clenched. “I am.” “Then… you won’t come back?” He turned to her. His face was radiant in the spring evening. Pollen fluffed right by him, as if avoiding him, trying not to detract her attention from his light, light, light grey eyes and his pale, pale, pale white skin. He nodded, ever so slowly, and closed his eyes, tilting his face to catch the breeze. His hair stayed immobile. “I am happy. You came here once every season. You never forgot. You made me happy. I am grateful to you for it. And now that I am happy, I will not come back. You deserve to be happy too.” She bit her lower lip, then something broke in her and she nodded, exhaling in a silent sigh. “Thank you.” He smiled at her. “I always loved you.” She echoed his smile, very faintly. He stood up and she did the same, brushing some pollen off her jeans. He gave one small chuckle, looked her in the eyes, and finally turned around and walked off. She stared after him until she could see him no more, until the very near horizon of the hill she stood on had swallowed him. She sighed and looked at all the other stones around her. They were all the same, rows upon rows of stone. She trailed a hand down the stone they had sat on, then kneeled and arranged the flowers again on her lover’s grave.