Because I Love You ~

Ch 4 - 2

To say that my childhood went swimmingly beyond that point would be an over-exaggeration triggered by fairytale expectations, mingling common tropes to ensure my everlasting pleasure; the waters of life were just as treacherous and morose but my ship had a companion in which to confide and support my teetering buoyancy.

Brief flashes of childhood memories flicker past me and I hold my hand out, wishing to slowly explore each one. They flow past me quickly, like sand between my fingers, as time must have passed then, ever so fleeting and impossible to grasp.

Olive was a year older than me in school. I soon learned of his talent and was awed by his humility; a national champion of mathematics and judo, he shone brightly against all those around him. His kind, sweet personality garnered an air of respect to his name, enshrining him as a god amongst mere mortals. But for all his accomplishment and helpfulness, his perfection engendered the simmering hatred of those around him. Though he feigned awareness, I'm sure he knew. I'm sure he heard his classmates whispering behind him, mocking his well-versed tendencies but too scared of his physical prowess to confront him head-on. If societal rejection was the fate to be shared by both of us, Olive drew the short end of the stick, for he has belittled in the eyes of all while being praised continuously—he was unable to come to terms with the dichotomy of laudation and contempt.

After the day we met, we were inseparable. My tormentors, terrified of Olive's quick fist and temperament, resorted to lowly snide sneers at safe distances away, easy for me to blot out. I gained a voice, slowly, absorbing his lush vocabulary and making it my own; through words, I found an escape, an elitist realm of power. One may only describe the things they know words for. Concepts, ideas, reality, became the new words I learned. For the first time, I spoke to my mother. The poppies had returned that spring, three years after I had met Olive, the vivacious reds the same color as my mother's cheeks. Her tombstone (the marker had washed away long ago) stood silently, listening to my requiem. My world slowly morphed away.

If I were a muted genius, then Olive was a king. He held himself regally but not pompously, aware of his lavish superiority but exercising the slightest restraint. To others, he became an opulent pauper, a king who could live in the greatest palaces but chose to remain in villages construed of straw and dirt. They saw his limitless potential and were disgruntled by his choice of a companion in me; he was the cream de la crema, an opulent man by existence, but chose to grovel alongside a freak like me. An opulent pauper. Although, I thought he held fine company.

Harnessing the apex of curiosity, our afternoons were spent inventing, brewing all sorts of colorful chemicals, and building our intricate designs. Olive was a masterful builder—deliberate, cautious, fastidious. We submitted discarded designs to science competitions but cared not for the medals; if anything, the wide-eyed awe of the judges was more than enough appeasement. Our middle school days passed like this, pleasantly and joyously, as we became family. The jealous classmates that had bullied me years back grew into casual acquaintances, for the gap between our thoughts was so insurmountable that there was no room for envy. They could not begin to imagine the ideas we were drafting up.

We visited Olive's parents every so often. He came to visit my mother too, so it was the least I could have done as his brother. I hope they enjoyed the poppies I brought. Honestly, they weren't much different than my mom; they lay on large cots, still except for the slight rapture in their occasional breath. It was a bit off-putting at first, the lifeless way in which they lay paralyzed, blankly watching upwards. Olive told me that they had been in a coma since he was five. They hadn't woken up since. Maybe I imagined it, but the green bar that tracked their heart rate would spike ever so quickly when Olive approached. But maybe I just imagined it.