Lovely

21. 15 years

I was in the garden when she arrived. I had two peaches in my hands, so I threw one to her out of politeness. She caught it and instantly took a bite.

"Shall we have lunch together?" Celia asked. To be truthful, I was looking forward to a day of myself. I wanted to be alone but somehow also wanted to be with her. I couldn't refuse, everything she spoke was mellifluous. "I suppose," I replied, wanting to sound as unbothered as possible. She wasn't to know just how very much I would like to spend some time with her even if it were just a little. "It's settled then."

So we finished our delicious peaches and travelled by foot down the driveway, down the road, and up her own driveway. Upon first sight I noticed the differences in our houses. Whereas mine was open and frequently used from the front and from the back, Celia's house had its beautiful garden in the front. Rows of flowers and neatly kept bushes surrounded us as we walked to the front door. A driveway was the only way to get to my house but there was a small gate that let you onto a path that winded through the garden at her house, and her house faced the road where mine faced to the side. But it was beautiful. There were many doors at the front of the house to walk through, all were open, but we strolled through the closest. Her lounge area was to the left. It was much like mine, with couches and a coffee table and stacks of books and magazines and ornaments and even a small tv, but it was a tad bit tidier seeing as though they were lacking a pair of seven year old twins in their house. To the right there was the dining area and the kitchen. Scattered everywhere were jars of powders and pickled things and relishes and oils. Colourful and vibrant the jars made the kitchen seem, and we moved upstairs so as not to dwell on the less important things for too long.

There was a long hallway going down the middle of the top floor, with two bedrooms to one side, a bedroom and a bathroom to the other and a room that appeared to be a study or a library at the end of the hall. I caught a glimpse of the shine of a piano on my way into Celia's bedroom.

It was just I imagined. It was redolent due to the jars and vases spread around the room filled with an array of flowers. The walls were cream and over them were drawings and pictures of different things. She had many books but it still managed to be spacious. And only one small circular mirror. Her window was large and faced the garden since she stayed on the the front side beside the guest bedroom.

My eyes followed the drawings and studied each of them. "You draw?" I asked surprised, and as if really asking, "you're an artist and you didn't even tell me?"

"To past the time," she replied. "These are amazing," I complemented. There were sketches of people and of landscapes and even animals. "Please, save your nice words for a piece of art that actually deserves them," she added lightly. I finished gawking into every nook and cranny of her room and made my way over to her. " I saw a piano in there," I said whilst motioning toward the direction of the study. "You play, I suppose." Around her I didn't want to be blunt. I wanted to be gentle, even if that meant never reaching the point and always saying something different than what I meant. But it was fine, because she knew. And she didn't mind.

"Follow me," she simply stated. Celia wasn't afraid to be blunt. Only, her version of blunt didn't hurt. It was careful and soft. We made our way into the study. There were many bookcases lining the wall, mirrors hanging and a large desk to the side. Against the furtherest wall was a sofa, and beside the door we walked in stood the piano. It was slick and black, the shine of it's curves smiled at you. It was kept in great condition. The girl that was once by my side was now in the seat of the piano and was letting her fingers dance across the keys. I stood at the opposite end and watched. The music was magical. It picked my heart up and let it go, it warmed my chest and brought tears to my eyes. It reminded me of the times I spent under any tree I wanted at my mother's house in the afternoon, the breeze pushing a few curls around, the sound of birdsong and cicadas mingling with each other. It took my mind to a wonderful place and made every emotion known to me swell up in my throat. Celia's eyes, although normally soft, were searing into mine. They didn't falter or even dare to look away. They were telling me who this song was for. Me.

And her eye contact, alongside the piano, was causing something in me to blossom. A feeling of awe, of love, of the absence of fear if the world were to burn at that moment because I was there with Celia and her piano. It was her and I. She had a piece of my heart. And in that moment I realised that she always had had it, right from the first moment I saw her. My body screamed for her, I wanted her to be mine and I to be her's. We could have each other and watch the world turn together in the safety of our own atmosphere. My heart screamed for her, I watched our whole future flash before my eyes. I saw us in the same position in some 15 years, the only difference being the little boy sitting beside her on the seat and the girl under my arm, and the maturity that would have changed our faces. Our love, our connection were still the same. We'd be looking into each other's eyes the same way and perhaps I'd be so overwhelmed by the memory of two young girls in the same spot falling in love 15 years prior that I would still have tears in my eyes