David Eagle dot Net

This is part of a larger story, a slice from a wider dialogue, without any context.  I banged it out over lunch, and plan to edit it into the larger work.  Anyway, this should prove that, no matter how crazy life is, you can find time to write.  You just have to not have anyone to go to lunch with. 

The bench was perched atop a hill, all covered in heather, swathed in snow.  The flowers were impossibly vibrant, defying winters bite.  Tomas was proud of this, it had taken a considerable amount of work and energy to accomplish the feat, and it had made her smile, which was more.

They sat, side by side, looking out over the city.  Their bodies touched more than was necessary, neither making any effort to withdraw, both quietly enjoying the closeness as a knee or an arm brushed against each other.

“What do you call it?” she asked, her eyes roving across the surface of the hill, taking in the patches of snow and the purple flowers.

He tilted his head and thought for a moment, then said, “I hadn’t named it.”

She looked at him finally, her deep brown eyes knocking the wind from his chest.

“You made it for me.” she said, her mouth turned down in a frown.

He stared back at her, saying nothing, and then felt her shift, breaking the contact between them.

“You can’t, Tomas.  You can’t do things like this.” her voice trailed off, and her last words were hardly more than a whisper “It’s dangerous.”

“I was careful,” he replied, looking down at his creation, at what he had wrought. “I did it in small patches, I didn’t overextend myself, I…I listen, Sarah.  I’m not one of your first years, I’m responsible.”

“I know what you are,” she said, her voice growing cool, “but this kind of thing draws a lot of attention.  You know that.  We could be in danger, Tomas.  They could be coming here, right now.”

A small smile crept onto his face and he shook his head, lifting his arm to point to a series of high rise towers, barely visible on the horizon. London’s Financial district.

“I did it from there.” he said, making no effort to hide his pride.

Sarah remained composed, though she wanted to gape.  She shook her head, and steeled her voice.

“That was incredibly dangerous.  You will not attempt anything like that again.  Do you understand the dilemma of distance and dispersion?  Forget your own life, if you’d missed you could’ve killed someone!  How could you risk that?” 

His arm dropped and he met her eyes, and her accusation, with fire of his own.

“I didn’t miss.” he growled. “I made sure-”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand and said, “I’m very disappointed in you.  When we get back, you’re to write an essay on Distance, and one on Ethics.”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Always the instructor, never the woman.  You know what this is, Sarah.” his voice softened, and he said “I’m sorry I got angry, but you keep pushing.  The closer we get, the more you push.”  His hand dropped down to lightly rub the side of hers, and he frowned. “Please, if you love me, let go.  Stop pushing.”

She swallowed, her jaw clenched and she said, “If it seems like I’m pushing, it’s because you are getting more and more inappropriate, and I’m trying to keep our student teacher relationship intact, Tomas.” She withdrew her hand, and stood, stepping away from the bench.

“It’s normal to have these feelings for your instructor, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.  I still care about you, Tomas, but you know there can’t be anything between us.” she said, working to keep the tremor out of her voice, willing him to stay away, praying that he couldn’t see her hands shaking.

“Do you love me?” it was the barest whisper, if the wind had been blowing the other way she wouldn’t have heard it at all.

Her stomach writhed and her heart ached at the pain she heard in his question.  She straightened her back, keeping her voice level, and said “No, I don’t.”

Tomas couldn’t see the tears streaming down her cheeks, couldn’t feel her determination wavering, crumbling slowly.  All he saw was her straight back, her small, squared shoulders, her soft hair.  He rose to his feet, shaking, and pushed out of himself.  Finding the thin fabric of reality all around him, he ripped his way into it, aligned himself with it, reached forward, and pushed.  Between he and Sarah, a pinprick of dull grey light appeared, and then knifed downward, forming a rent in the air.  This fissure widened, expanding to reveal a world of shadow and fog.  He stepped through it.

She thought she was going to die.  Nothing is worth doing this to him, she told herself.  I’ll leave.  He’ll leave with me.  What oath can be allowed to cause this much pain?  I won’t abide by it.  She spun around, resolved to give up everything to him, and for him.  To give up her position, her way of life, all of it, just to hold him.  She spun around, ready to fling herself into his arms, to kiss him as she’d been longing to do for months.  She spun around, and found herself alone, on a violet hill, swathed in snow.

Not for the last time, Sarah wept.