lost in the lime light

lost.

words: 3138

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Sitting under the shade tree, I watch as the day turns into night, and the stars start to shine.

Everything in my life feels like this; it all happens gradually, and then all at once.

I lean back against the sturdy wood of the old oak and close my eyes, letting the sounds of the night consume my senses. The air changes in both temperature and smell, the wind becoming more crisp and sharp.

Suddenly the smell of cigarettes takes over my sense of smell, even dominating the pleasant smell of the night air. My eyes snap open, and I tilt my head up to see a dark figure standing over me.

"It's three a.m." The strange person says, their hands tucked deep into the pockets of their jacket. I blink, wondering what their intentions are in telling me this.

"Yeah?" I question, uninterested. Pushing my body back against the tree, I sit up further; I had slumped down a ways in my sleep.

"You shouldn't be sleeping under a tree at three in the morning on a November night. It's like forty degrees out." They say, slightly aggressively, almost. I furrow my eyebrows; what's this person's deal?

"It's a public park." I argue back, defending myself from this stranger's scrutiny. I can't see their face, but I can tell that they're rolling their eyes.

Without a word, they reach down and offer me their hand. Looking up, I raise my brow, giving them a questioning look. Their hand remains outstretched towards me.

I sigh and put my hand in theirs, the stark difference in temperature startling me. Their hands are much warmer than mine, probably because I've been outside for hours.

Pulling with more force than I expected, they help me to my feet, and I brush my hands down my sides to rid the debris. Our hands part, and suddenly I'm hyper aware of how cold I am.

My body starts to shake unintentionally, and the stranger seems to notice.

"Let's get you inside. Do you wanna crash at mine, or should we find you a motel, or something?" They ask politely, clearly trying their best to not offend me.

I smile softly, just to myself, "Whichever, you'd prefer." I say, leaving it up to them.

"Mine's fine. Are you hungry? I'm a hell of a cook." They brag, and I can hear the smile in their words. As if on cue, my stomach growls, and the stranger chuckles, clearly getting their desired response.

They lead me towards the car park, where I see a beat up, ford pickup sitting in the lot, nearly alone. Unlocking the driver's door manually, they press the unlock button on the inside, allowing me to open the passenger door.

Or at least, I tried to. The door seems to be stuck, as if it's still locked. I hear them laugh, and my cheeks go red in embarrassment.

Making their way over to my side of their truck, they grab the handle and yank with a good deal of force, the door swinging open with a creak. They give me a crooked grin and gesture for me to get inside, holding the door open for me the whole time.

I climb in, immediately catching the scent of cigarettes and pine. Closing the door and walking back to the driver's side, the stranger watches me from the corner of their eye, almost as if they expect me to dart.

They climb in and turn the key in the ignition, a hearty roar coming from the engine. Immediately, their hand reaches for the temperature, and they turn the heat to full blast.

We sit there for a few minutes, in what I thought would have been an awkward silence, yet it isn't. As I feel the air get warmer, I can't help but wonder why this person is being so kind to someone they've never met.