Leaves, Seasons, and Dead Trees (BxB)

7. - The Games We Play

"With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,
let me forget about today until tomorrow."

- "Mr. Tambourine Man" by Bob Dylan -

*****

Samuel

Fifteen days later, Tyson and I randomly cross paths as I embark on a leisurely Saturday morning stroll around campus.

It's around nine, and the desire to escape the suffocating dormitory leads me to wander aimlessly. Suddenly, as if conjured out of thin air, Tyson's car materialized into view. I wonder about the underlying motives behind his choice to interact with me. Is it obligation, formality, or guilt?

The car decelerates, and with a smooth glide of the window, Tyson presents himself.

"Hey, Sam!" Tyson's voice carries an unsettling cheerfulness, momentarily deceiving me into suspecting a chaperone by his side. Yet, as I surreptitiously peer inside, I discover he is alone. As doubts gnaw, I question whether this newfound friendliness is merely another façade, reminiscent of the charade we both partook in just nine days ago — a charade I had fervently hoped to leave behind in the annals of the past.

Putting on a polite but guarded smile, I offer him a tentative wave while casting my eyes downward, opting for a silence that speaks volumes. Yet, the car lingers, unwilling to drive away.

"Uh, you headin' somewhere?"

Should I look at him or look away? Should I fake a smile or drop the act?

Reluctantly, I extend Tyson the benefit of the doubt, suppressing my distaste for the discomfort his presence brings. "Just... taking a stroll," I respond with forced nonchalance, concealing my true longing for him to disappear from my sight as quickly as possible.

Before I have a chance to pose a single jabbing question, Tyson forestalls, "I'm... picking up a friend. We have, uh, practice this morning. It's... game day, you know?"

"Cool." I offer a curt nod, deliberately avoiding eye contact. My pace quickens, as if subconsciously trying to erect a physical barrier between us.

Yet, Tyson persists, refusing to release his hold on the situation, further dampening my morning and casting a shadow over the remainder of my day. "You should, um, come and watch. We're playing at three la—" His sentence hangs unfinished as I cut him short.

"No, Tyson. Sorry, but, can you just... just go?" My voice carries an unmistakable weariness as I come to an abrupt halt, allowing my exhausted expression to speak for itself. The friendly charade I've been upholding, the pretense of normalcy, feels like an unbearable burden at this moment.

Tyson brings his car to a stop, his gaze falling as his expression morphs into melancholy. "Yeah, sure. I am... sorry for bothering you." With those words, he presses down on the accelerator, and the car slowly fades into the distance. As it disappears around a corner, I release a heavy sigh, resuming my morning stroll as I fervently hope that the day won't further spiral downhill.

After a few more minutes of leisurely strolling, I find myself back at Juniper's Lookout, now bathed in the daylight that replaces the shroud of night. Taking a seat nearest to the cliff's edge, I reel out a cigarette, deciding to take a moment to rest and soak in the breathtaking view. Perhaps a change of scenery can placate my mind. But before long, I find my paws gravitating back to the digital world, absentmindedly surfing my social media.

"HEY, YOU!"

As if my encounter with Tyson just fifteen minutes ago wasn't enough, an intrusive voice suddenly shatters the serenity from behind, jolting me and causing my phone and cigarette to teeter precariously in my paw.