Glass Marble

I'm feeling good today. There's a spring in my otherwise flat footsteps. I'm taking my daily walk around the park. Same route. Same time of day. Same pace. And if humans are known for being creatures of habit, then I've become a monster.

Fuck it. Why not walk a bit faster today? Push yourself.

I increase my pace up an incline. My calves begin to burn. It rained overnight and the sun hasn't dried it up yet. Careful. The soles of your sneakers aren't as grippy as they used to be. Don't fall on your ass and make a fool of yourself in front of the two elderly women coming your way with their golf cart.

"Lovely day isn't it?!" one of them call out to me on the way past.

"T'is," I say with a smile.

I'm up and out to flat land. I slow as I notice the eleven a.m sunlight pierce through the trees, the overnight rain glistening on their leaves, the mildew that clings to the grass like a silver blanket. The bark on the bare winter trees seems brighter today. The worms have burrowed up to prevent drowning in the wet earth only to be snatched by an unassuming blackbird. The buds on the trees are greener; plump with the urgency to bloom. Some flora are already out; rosy, warm and sparkling, despite the cold. The beauty in that moment stuns me so much that I have to stop. Simon and Garfunkel's Scarborough Fair comes on in my headphones and I find the moment evermore enchanting. I even take a few photos on my phone. I smile. I'm reminded of you.

It was a little over two years ago. I walk into work and see you sitting there in front of my boss. I momentarily wonder if you two are related by how similar you look. You're so happy. Your cheeks are rosy apples when you smile. And you smile a lot. A bouncy nod to your head at every word my boss says. When you speak, it's like a song. I secretly hope you're around my age. I'm sick to death of working with people two generations older than me.

I don't even remember how we got to speaking. Like most things with you, it just happened. After only a week of working together, you're my new best friend. We start to spend time together outside of work. You teach me a children's song in Maori and there's even a hand-dance to go with it. Sometimes you'll stop me in the middle of walking along the pavement and demand to see if I've learned the song and hand-dance properly. You hold up pedestrians but you don't care. You're so fucking annoying and random and I love you to pieces. I'm not nineteen going twenty anymore, I'm five going four.

You invite me back to your house one day. You try to put your key in the lock but it won't fit.

"What the hell?" you ask yourself and try the key a billion more times before I have to step in.

"Stop, you'll ruin the key. The lock's obviously been changed."

You bash on the door. "Jamie!" you yell. Or maybe it was Jimmy. I don't know. "Jimmy!" I think you yell again. No one answers. You grab my wrist, pull me around the side of the building and glance up at an open window.

"Get on my shoulders," you demand.

"... What?"

"You're lighter than me. I'm strong. Have you seen how much iron I can pump? Get on my shoulders."

"This feels illegal.."

"Yeah and so is changing the locks on a tenant without notice. Get. On. My. Shoulders."

I sigh and mutter how I can't believe I'm doing this and step into your cupped hands. I stand on your shoulders and you're right, you are strong. You stand up as tall as you can. I stand up as tall as I can. I hook my fingers onto the windowsill and through the steam, I can make out someone in the shower.

"Oh my god, put me down."

"Why?"

"There's someone in the fucking shower!"