navy blue on bed
Originally uploaded by nyresolutions.
She remembered the waiting at the gate, but not this next part. As she approached the windexed glass overlooking the ever-whiter tarmac, Park realized what had felt so strange before, her hair was a boy’s length, her dress now trousers, walking down the snowy lane hedged with huddled travelers snowed in like sleeping big city bums. Yet she felt good, better with every step closer to the edge. The tiny squirrel was now holding on to her suitcase, mumbling, could he be smiling at her? Park could tell in her mirror image stare, she certainly was. As she gazed out at the slowly waltzing planes she felt a presence at her side. A boy like her, but white, like the falling snow. Their invisible bubbles met and he returned her gaze with the deepest wells of summery moss. A tiny twist of muscle memory in her bandaged chest the only reminder this projection was not real, at least not then and there. Just as his hand moved closer to hers, just as that space between them filled with that cruel warmth, a twinkly sound grabbed the boy’s attention. She followed his eyes up and screamed a breathless scream as an absolutely tiny sharp flake embedded itself in his spotless eye. His surprised hand retracted, redirected to his face. His eyes like a fast-forward of some Icelandic lake in winter. As he faded, first crestfallen, then numb, she was drawn back between the waiting benches, into her body. The quiet noise of the tulips, the television, and the tears suddenly sounded somehow more alone now than ever before.
Then, in that hospital tomb next to the weeping woman, her scar still throbbing, Park had realized that that was to be that. There would be no more very-special-guesting on daytime dramas. No more sexy doctor Chen, mysterious model Yang, long lost sister Lee. No, from now on she would be a man with a mission. She would find this boy, take his hand, and press it to his frozen heart.
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