Sander and Robbe, Minute by Minute

The Mural

The rain was not so heavy, but the wind was strong. Sander couldn't care less, he biked home with coldness in his bone. He quickly went upstair because he didn't want to meet his mom. He wanted to just drop on the bed, but he berated himself to stop acting like a child. So, he took a hot shower and then buried himself in his bed.

He didn't blame Robbe. The boy could had easily said worse things, and Sander would deserved it. He replayed his face again, put it in the front of his mind. Robbe looked so tired and he wondered about his mom, whether she was worse; whether his friends knew yet about him, did he have someone to talk to, was there something else going on. He repeated what he had said to him over again. It felt like Robbe was saying that he had needed him, and he was not there. He thought that he was protecting him, he still did.

His thoughts were so loud and he heard his phone kept chiming. Let me out. He snatched it and fought the urge to throw it to the wall, shakily he turned it off and closed his eyes.

*

It's 6:43 PM, Sander hadn't moved at all, not physically. Inside his mind, he had been running for miles and miles, through dark forest, across a lonely hill, raced on a dazzling bright field; dark and light, black and gold. He got up and walked to his desk. He turned on his camera and clicked through their pictures, reliving the moments again. He flipped through his drawings, just looking at Robbe's face, running his fingers on the surface. A loose sheet fell out from his sketchbook. It was the drawing that he showed Robbe that afternoon when they were hanging out in his flat.

Sander stared at it for a long time, and then he made up his mind. He got up, rummaged through his closets and started to put all of his spray painting gears inside his bag. It'not enough, he had to get to a store and get some more tools. There should be some that still opened yet. He shrugged on his jacket and walked out, tiptoing quietly but rapidly to the front door.

There were some empty building next to the river that faced toward the skatepark. It was late, almost ten, and Sander quickly made a quick sweep around the area. The street was empty, and Sander chose a low-wall empty warehouse. He wore a respiratory mask, and the surveillance cameras around this area were scarce, and mostly were just there for show.

Sander dragged the folded step ladder to one side of the wall. He took off his jacket, took out his spray gun, spray bottles, plastic sheets, tapes, rubber gloves, electric lights, and other tools. He was worried about the wall. But it was dry, seemed like the rain this afternoon was not heavy in this area. The wind was quiet also, he laughed and thanked the universe silently. He rubbed and cleaned the wall as best as he could.

For some time, he just stood there, staring at the wall, thinking of Robbe. He didn't hold back, he brought all of it, all of them, everything he felt, out from his heart; his hopes, his longing, his pains and fears, their laughs and touches. I love you Robbe. And he started.

When he was finished, he stepped back and looked at the mural, with the silver moon shining on it. His whole body ached and he felt drained inside. It had taken hours. Sander stared for a long time at that eyes, that dimples, and felt tears on his cheek, salt on his lips. Packing up all his tools, he went home. When he was in his bedroom, he felt the flood of exhaustion rolling over him. It took a lot of energy to even change his clothes. In just seconds, after his body touched the soft bed, he fell asleep.