nature & vintage blog
"You ever feel like you’re in a Scooby-Doo skit or something?"
"Generally or right now?"
Paul, as in ‘Hello, my name is…’ according to the name-tape on his chest, grabbed a loose piece of asphalt from the edge of the road and threw it out into the fog, stopping in place to try and listen for it landing. It, and whatever evidence of its existence, to include the sound of its impact, ceased to be. “Right now, I guess.”
Saul coasted slowly along the road, wobbling on the back of his skateboard and trying to not let the weight of the secondhand, heavily padded blazer he wore ruin his aerodynamics. “I feel more like something out of FLCL.”
Saul came to a stop and mused over the perfectly maintained road, rolling his board back and forth to feel the wheels consider and absorb the small valleys and ravines, hills and plateaus of its surface. “Well, we’re from a small town where nothing ever happens, we’re surrounded by fog… and your sister has crazy hair.”
"Haruko wasn’t Naota’s sister."
"But she still had pink hair."
"My sister’s is blonde."
"Not naturally, and she’s too dark skinned, it looks fake."
"You look fake."
"Forget I said anything, let’s just get back to my main point. We’re stuck in a little place where baseball is big, our parents are iffy, morally, and I play guitar."
"You HAVE a guitar, you never play the fucking thing."
Saul kicked his leg out abruptly and sent his board coasting out into the fog, the ballistic object cutting through the thick soup of ozone and triumphantly rattling along in invisibility. “If only we had giant robots. That’s all we’re missing. That and very, very suggestive sexual tension.”
"There’s nothing suggestive about Haruko, remember the bunny outfit?"
"I remember your sister has one too."
"It’s a fucking Easter bunny costume for the Church, fucker."
Paul walked slowly behind Saul, wrapping his arms at his waist and pulling him close, pressing his forehead to the back of his neck. “I think we have the suggestive sexual tension down.”
Saul kept his eyes ahead of him, willing his board to return like some loyal Disney anthropomorphic object. He could feel Paul breathing, feel the slight nuzzling motion he was doing against his neck, could feel his own heart beating as if it had lost all rhythm. He pulled Paul’s arms apart and spun around, moving them up and onto his shoulders. “Telling me you love me isn’t suggestive.”
"Well… Naota did in the very last episode… in like the last ten minutes of the show."
"You did it in the middle of a book report project at my house."
"Yeah, and I’m still waiting for you to fly away." Paul searched Saul’s face for a reaction, giggling and shaking his head at the first hint of a smile.
"Kiss me then…"
"Kiss me and see if I fly away… that’s how it went in the show; Naota told her he loved her, kissed her, then a whole bunch of magical stuff and a sad man with giant eyebrows looked on and then she flew away."
Paul laughed and thought on it, looking into Saul’s eyes for any kind of doubt or even sarcasm, finding only his own reflection wistfully looking back. “Alright… but if you fly away… I’m coming with you.”
It wasn’t anything world-changing, a simple kiss, lips only, and even then it was quick, not a peck, but not the prelude to further, passionate, potentially French, either. It was long enough to let Paul close his eyes and sigh, letting his body go limp slightly, every fiber of his being wanting this to be a cliche, wanting it to be the first and best and only. It was long enough for Saul to slide a hand up to cup Paul’s chin, smiling as the kiss broke.
They stood there for a moment longer, then Saul ducked out under Paul’s arms and took off running down the road. “You’re just a kid!”
Paul was dumbstruck for a moment, trying to regain himself and try to figure out just what to do. “Wha… What!?”
"I’m flying away, you’re just a kid, come on, we can’t deviate from the script Naota-kun!"
Paul felt his face burn with nervous excitement, with relief, with a happiness that made it feel as if he just might have been able to take off flying. It was his cliche, after all. He took off in a dead sprint after Saul, laughing, feeling the cool air biting at his cheeks, trying to leap and bound with every step, put him close enough to tackle, to pin, to hold him again.
Abruptly, a sedan emerged from the fog, brakes screeching, horn blaring, and Saul came to a dead stop just a few feet from the front, putting his hands up in surrender. Paul didn’t notice in time and crashed into the other teen, sending them both crashing hard against the stopped car. They groaned in a pile in front of the car and untangled themselves, laughing slightly as they stood, taking inventory of new scrapes from their landing.
The man in the sedan popped open his door and emerged, Saul and Paul looking to him to try and figure out if they were about to apologize or tell him they were alright. Paul let out a laugh that caused the man to raise his eyebrow in further confusion. His rather thick, bushy eyebrow.