EVERLASTING

EVERLASTING

The grass is wet with dew that glows like tiny ornaments in the silvery light of the moon. She waves her hands across the slender green blades, collecting their wetness across her palms. Her eyes move from the enormous projection screen to the boy that sits alone, and then back to the screen. He is less than fifteen feet from where she sits, cross-legged on the lawn of the public library. Her legs, bared in the shorts she wears, are covered with gooseflesh as a chill sweeps in over the yard. Big Fish plays on the screen.

It is a long-standing custom for the library to hold movie nights during the summer. Although, the summer is waning. Fall creeps in slowly, like an uninvited guest. The nights grow colder and longer. The boy has attended every screening since the first, just like her. This would be the last. The paper had said so. With each passing week, the girl had found a seat just a little closer to his, she has gradually been building up the nerve to approach him. Finally, she decided on tonight, of all nights. Her final opportunity of the summer.

A gentle breeze begins to move across the yard. Whispering promises of something everlasting. She need only speak to him. She stands and wipes her hands across her shorts. Emboldened by the darkness, she walks toward the boy. Ewan Mcgregor's character, Edward Bloom, is living out one of his fantasy tales in the movie. The scene is happening somewhere far off from where the girl is doing the unthinkable, ignoring her own insecurities to begin a conversation that might spark a fire that could kindle for an eternity. She need only speak to him.

The dew of the grass flies off in a fine mist as she moves. The cold of it is a stark contrast to the hot flush of red that creeps up her neck and cheeks. An inferno. She is thankful the blush will be masked by the darkness. As she walks, she can hear the faint chatter of the assembled crowd, unimportant whispers. Giggles. Trivial discussions. Everyone else is another universe. At the center of her own universe is the boy. She is drawn to him like some satellite that must orbit a larger heavenly body. Not because she chooses to. Because she must.

She nears closer and her pulse begins to race. Her heart is the steady beat of a drum within her chest. The talk of the crowd is a distant droning. Five feet. Three feet. One. She stops. He looks up. The conversations of the moviegoers die off. The wind ceases to blow. Silence. As if the world waits for these two to begin.

"Hello," the boy says.

"Hello," she replies.

On the screen, she can hear Edward Bloom's narration. It is the only sound she can hear.

"They say when you meet the love of your life, time stops, and that's true."