Running Upstream

Catherine

The sound of pencils scratching across paper engulfed me. I hated that sound immensely. The room was filled with it, reverberating off the cold concrete walls, and bouncing around my head as if there was nothing in there but empty space. I couldn't focus. Creative writing would be my favorite class if only it wasn't for that sound. Constantly scratching, why couldn't they all write in pen, just one day so I could actually get something done? So once again I sat, silently, deciding to finish my assignment at home. My teacher eyed me from behind her cluttered desk, but didn't say anything. This time, she let me leave when the bell rang to dismiss us. I scooped up my backpack and rushed outside, where he was waiting on me. Casually lounging against a brick pillar, gazing out across the fields and woods. I startled him when I spoke from right beside him.
"Ready to go?" I asked, and he merely smiled and nodded. His heavy black boots sunk down into the damp soil as we trudged across a small field, towards a sparse tree line.
"How was your day?" He broke the silent, still air.
"Stressful," I replied, thinking back to those horrid pencils. He nodded, completely understanding. He always knew how to make me feel better, and he took my small, soft hand in his broad rough one and squeezed gently. I smiled at him, and we continued home, neither of us offering up conversation, comfortable in the quiet.