2 Truths & a Lie | Grayson Dolan

preface

reese, 3/18/2018

"reese!", a voice bellowed.

i stopped in my tracks. i twisted my hands in the pockets of my yellow raincoat, moving my gaze from my feet in my dirty black sneakers to glance at the people in front of me, staring at me. my heart skips a beat, my breathing stops. the time seems to freeze. this voice had such a familiar tone to it, a fragment of memory. i lean my weight on my heels and spin around to the direction the echos has come from.

there was a crowd hoarding around a starbucks, mostly pubescent girls aged 13 to 17. most of them weren't looking at me. their childish hands held papers, signs i couldn't decipher the scrawl on. phones were out, videos were filmed. i had begun to think that i'd just imagined it all and sighed out loud, biting down on my lower lip. disappointment settled itself in me and i was about to turn back around when the crowd started pulling apart, forming a pathway for a running boy, a sprinting young man.

his longish chestnut hair covered his eyes, his pace was firm and steady. he angled his head up, pushed back his slight fringe with the back of his hand, his black jacket flapping in the wind. his eyes wandered up to mine, two hazel orbs glimmering full of newfound hope. letters no longer formed words in my mouth at the utter sight of his face. a smile spread across his lips, his white teeth glistening through the gap. my mouth had mimicked his, like a reflection. his arms were open wide, reaching towards me.

i pick up one foot after the other, starting in his direction, a laugh bubbling out of my throat. the cameras followed him and me as we reached closer and closer to each other. and when i could finally smell his scent, everything happened in a blur:

his muscular arms swooped under mine, pressed my torso tight against his, his hands on my back. my tip toes glide off the ground as he twirls me through the air in a tight circle, pressing his forehead to mine. my hands eagerly race to his cool cheeks and my thumbs brush his soft lips. he tilts his head up, our lips connecting like two folded palms in prayer, placing one of his hands on the nape of my neck, letting me taste what i had missed all this very time.

my dear grayson.