sparks

32

- implications of an eating disorder
- implications of a panic attack
- homophobia

- Dream

On the first weekend of March, we take on the challenge of trying to fix up the little den out in the woods in preparation for the warmer days, and the approach of Summer.

When I say 'we,' I mean George, Sapnap, Quackity, Karl and I. Yeah, Karl, too.

For the most of it, George really hasn't been much help so far. It's a hot afternoon, one of the hottest so far this year. Sun peeks through the trees, feeling toasty, but nice on my skin.

Sapnap is in charge of finding leaves big enough to tie to a stick, to make a broom to sweep away old brown leaves. Quackity and Karl were told, by me, to head back up to the school and dig around for some sorts of tools that they can use to hang back up lights.

I'm in charge of actually hanging back up the lights, and hanging the cover that connects to the trees surrounding so that the seating area doesn't get wet, and so the lights aren't damaged.

George is meant to be helping me. I sure as hell keep reminding him of it.

"This isn't going to hang up by itself, George, you need to come and hold it" I call.

George is laid back out on one of the carved logs in the middle of our little camp. His eyes are closed, but I can see the scorching sun on one of his eyelids, and his cheeks.

"Do you ever wonder?" he calls back, stretching one of his hands behind my head.

"Wonder about what?" I call back.

He doesn't answer me for a moment, leaving my mind to wander. What an odd question. I bet he's doing that thing, where he asks me something just to hear me talk.

Sometimes he'll do that. He'll say something he knows will annoy me, or something that he knows I like to talk about just so he gets to hear my voice for longer.

"Just, wonder" he calls. "Wonder about everything." My feet land against the dried forest floor, as I drop down from the tree I'd been sitting in whilst I tried to get the cover up without any tools.

I shuffle over, and sit on the dry floor, leaning against the log that he's laid back on.

"I do, wonder" I answer, my voice now much closer, much more personal. "I wonder about you, all the time."

He doesn't open his eyes, but he can't resist the smile my words bring to his face. He caves to sweet talk, he caves to my sweet talk. He can't help it.

"Have I told you how beautiful you are?" I ask, my finger stroking his cheek.

He lets his head loll to the side, he lets his eyes open. I'm still sat on the floor, my back to the log, but my head is turned, so that I'm able to watch him. I'm smiling, too.

"Only about a million times" he tells me.

"And it's never any less true" I say. "No matter how many times I tell you."

***

George and I are sat down the very end of a classroom, around mid March, in the middle of the night.