Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire,
I hold with those who favour fire.’
It was four months after I met Hannah when I invited her to that picnic. It was a yearly event, when me and my idiot friends got out food, picnic rugs, and more champagne than is legal, and headed out to this huge park where we would sit for most of the day, eating, drinking, and occasionally playing a game in the soft grass. We were a lot more childish than I like to remember.
Hannah and I had become much closer since that day at my house. I’m still amazed at the change in her. It was as if telling me about her past had given her a confidence that she’d never had before, like giving me some of herself had made her whole. She was happy, smiling so often that I kept thinking I’d missed something. Her eyes took on a life of their own, sparkling when she saw me. She’d crack jokes, and join in conversations whenever she could. I’d never seen anyone who looked so content to be who they were, or anyone who looked like where they were was the only place they wanted to be. This was a new Hannah, like no person I’d never known.
It was amazing, incredible. And I couldn’t be happier about being there while it happened.
When I turned up at her house one Sunday afternoon, she came to the door within seconds, and a wonderful smile lit up her face when she saw me, her brown eyes shining warmly. I asked her casually, trying not to make it sound like a big deal, even though it was, for me. She thought quickly, and then said she would, flashing me another smile. She ran to check her diary, in which she planned everything, and around which everything in her life revolved. She turned pages until she arrived at the correct date, the following Saturday. There was something there.
‘Lunch with Gee,’ she said, her smile quickly fading. ‘But I could cancel….hey, can Gina come to this picnic, or is it a private sort of thing?’
‘No- no, she can come,’ I said, almost a little too quickly. ‘As long as she’s not afraid of my friends, she can definitely come.’
‘I think she’ll be fine. Gee’s not afraid of anything.’
‘Great. Well, I’ve got to go. I’ll pick you up at ten on Saturday?’
‘Ok. I’ll see you then.’
For a few seconds, we just stood and looked at each other. But then I turned and walked out, destroying the connection that had built up between us. I paused at the door, looked back at her and grinned. She smiled back, and gave me the tiniest of waves as I closed the door behind me. I was flying. I was a kid again, soaring through the air, on top of the world, and leaving everything behind.
The next Saturday was perfect, weather-wise. There were a few scattered clouds in the blue sky, with no sign of rain, although there was a bit of a cool breeze. As I got dressed, I felt more and more excited about the fact that I would be seeing Hannah in less than an hour, and that I’d be spending the whole day with her.
Even though I knew she wouldn’t care, I was very stressed out about how I looked that day. My t-shirt was too small, my jeans too big. My shoes- which shoes should I wear? Not sandals- too casual. But I didn’t want it to feel like a formal outing or anything. I must have changed shoes about five times that day. In the end, I stuck with the sandals.
I turned up at her house a minute or two early, mainly because I didn’t like the thought of turning up late. As I was walking slowly up her front steps, I looked down at the white flower in my hand. Why? I thought to myself. Why did I bring the flower? Too cheesy. Much too cheesy.
When she came to let me in, I once again couldn’t help marvelling at how beautiful she was- today in a knee-length ruffled skirt and a singlet top, her hair tied back in a casual bun. Her eyes were a deep, warm brown that day, the kind of brown that makes you think of melting chocolate.
Despite my worries, she liked the flower, or if she didn’t, she did some pretty good acting. She gave me one of her killer smiles, and thanked me. She cut off some of the stalk and tucked it behind her ear.
We talked about a lot that day in the park. It was a day of happiness, of easy talking, and laughter. At one point I asked about the tattoo on her arm.
‘It’s not a real one- that’s not really my thing. It’s semi-permanent, lasts for about a month. I get one every year about this time- Christmas. The wings on either side are made up of letters- my initials and my …my boyfriend’s- my old boyfriend’s.’
I also kissed her for the first time that day. It was after lunch, and most of the others had gone for a walk. We were talking about my work, and she was lying there in the grass, her eyes closed, a half-smile playing at her lips. She looked almost angelic, the dappled sunlight shining through the leaves of the tree we were sitting under. In a break in the conversation, I leant down and kissed her softly. I saw her surprise at first, but then she welcomed it, kissing me back. I pulled away, and lay down next to her. She felt around for my hand and held it, her fingers small in my own. She opened her eyes and looked at me.
‘Is this too fast?’
She smiled softly at me, shaking her head. ‘No. Not at all.’
I think my friends realised that something had happened between us, because they left us alone for most of the afternoon. It left me free to talk to Hannah about things I hadn’t talked about for years. It was refreshing, in a way, my brand new start on life.
‘It’s really great being here, isn’t it?’ I said to her at one point. ‘I mean- with you, and my friends- it really makes you appreciate what’s really important; friends, family, love. I feel like I’m making a brand new start. What about you? Do you have any family?’
She didn’t reply for a few seconds. ‘I don’t talk to my family much anymore. Or my friends.’
She didn’t talk much after that. I felt awful, because everything had been going great beforehand. When I dropped her home, she thanked me profusely, insisting that she’d had a fantastic time, but I could see the sadness in her eyes. After she shut the door, and I was walking down her steps, I swear I heard her gasping back tears. I told myself it was my imagination, and kept going, walking away from her with the most horrible feeling of regret. The day had been a disaster, and it was all my fault.
Time heals all wounds, all injuries. Or that’s what I’ve been told. His lips on hers, his arms holding her tight. Her agonising expression as she looked at me in the doorway. Her pleading eyes. Sometimes I can’t help but wonder if it was somehow my fault. Did I ever make her feel unloved? And will these memories ever fade?
These are my thoughts as I sit at my desk and write to her. I write every honest memory, thought, and emotion. I write asking questions that I need answering, questions that I can’t do without answers to. I write my account of that night, and what I’ve been doing since. I tell her that, even through all the times when I’ve tried to forget, hating her for what she did, I still love her. And I ask her to forgive me for whatever I might have done. And then, with a heart lighter than it had been, I throw the letter in the fire and watch it as it burns.
what will happen next? only i can tell (and I won't, btw, so don't ask). C ya next time!!!
luv ya,
chlo xoxo