Decisions Made in August: A Short Story

The crowd of people started moving in the direction of the park exit. A woman that wore a tight fitted hot pink sweater made her pregnant stomach look as if it were going to pop. She drew a long breath of her cigarette, the smoke caressing her face as it began to vanish into the air above her. The dark circles under her eyes made the bags seem as if they forgot where they should have been and her gaze was on constant alert. Her hands were pale and fingers skinny and long as she held the only light that seemed to radiate in her life between her fingers.

We talked through the now muddy and trampled field. The sky was beginning to grow dark as the Pacific winds and fog made their presence known. The music festival now over, I can still feel the excitement and adrenaline that filled the atmosphere. The music filling into the crowd moving in unison. I have never been out so late that it made me think of what happened to my brother, Alex. He waited for the Metro Train in front of AT&T Park that he didn’t see what was coming up from behind him, robbed of his wallet and phone. I was afraid that I might meet the same fate.

Fear struck my chest, but I was suddenly comforted as I held tighter to Michael’s arm, strong and firm, one of my closest friends since elementary. After graduating high school, celebrating at a free concert was a spontaneous decision. I tried to synchronize our strides keeping Michael close to my side, seeking any warmth that could keep my chattering teeth and exposed legs from shaking. As the sun continued its descent, getting to the car was my first priority that the icy winds brushed through us. I knew wearing shorts was a bad idea. As if Michael knew what I was thinking he spoke.

“I told you not to wear shorts,” he said shaking his head in a tone that wasn’t authoritative, but full of concern. “I can feel you shaking,” his eyebrows furrowed together that it made me think that if he could, he’d make the sun stay out longer just to keep me warm. He grabs both my hands in his, freeing any warmth I tried so hard to keep between our bodies, “You’re hands are freezing!” he says rubbing his hands with mine stopping us from progressing our walk. Suddenly flushed by his touch, I laugh at him, shaking my head. I keep looking straight, knowing from the corner of my eye that he was looking at me with a face I knew too well as I continued our walk.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said, annoyed as I waved his comment away freeing my hands from his grasp, retreating both my hands to his arm rebuilding the warmth I worked so hard for. “I guess I should know by now that it’s always jean weather,” I said while making an attempt to gesture quotation marks in the air, but instead of using my hands, I used both my elbows instead.

“What was that?” Michael said laughing and pointing at my elbows.

“I was trying to-- nevermind,” I said as Michael puts both his hands back into his jean pockets laughing at me even more. “But at least I brought a sweater with me.” I said with a smile-- I hope it was a smile because by this point I couldn’t feel my cheeks. I looked up at him meeting his dark brown eyes. Something in my chest jolted, afraid that he might see I looked away shaking the feeling off. 
“You brought my sweater.” Michael replied. 
“And it’s a good thing you kept it in your car.” I said reaching up to give him a kiss on the cheek, the side of his facial hair scratching against my lips.  

I could see small smile form as we continue walking. The wind rushed across the emptying field carrying napkins away from the piles of take out boxes and cups that covered the ground next to the overflowing trash can. I looked up to steal a glance at Michael and as he breathed out, a visible cloud escaped his nose. This reminded me of when we were kids that if the air was cool enough to see our breaths, we’d pretend that we were smoking, a habit that now older, I had no interest in trying.

Before he could notice, I quickly turned my gaze onto the path in front of us. I tried to recall the moment when my feelings for him started. Maybe it was last spring when our Senior year was about to end. Maybe it was the way he smiled when he talked to other girls and I wanted to be the one that made him laugh. I shake off my thoughts. I don’t know what I’m more scared of: our safety or the possibility that I might lose a friend-- a very close and important one. Unsure if I should even address my feelings to him, worry and stress take hold that it makes me want to forget about it completely. I try to convince myself that my feelings are just a phase that I’m sure will go away-- at least I hope it will.

The air that once was filled with music that shook lungs is now filled with muffled voices and the clatter of beer bottles as a man dressed in dirty clothing rummages through the dumpster.

My tender feet comforted by the softness of the dirt ground was now greeted by the hard cement of the park sidewalk. The balls of my feet pulsed with each step. I looked down knowing that for the next couple of days my feet would be swollen. Although I wished I wore more comfortable shoes the long hours of standing was worth the pain.  

We finally made it to his car, a black 1984 GMC Caballero. I walk towards the passenger seat. finding the door handle, cold and wet from the light sprinkle of rain. As soon as I heard the car door unlock, I open it, hoping that some of the sun’s warmth was still locked inside. I first put my leg in and let gravity do the rest. To my relief the corduroy seats were warm and soft, which quickly brought heat and comfort to my entire body. Grateful of the warmth, I cupped my hands together breathing into them only to be reminded minutes before of Michael’s hands covering mine, I quickly let the thought go.

“Good thing we didn’t park in the shade,” Michael said also aware of the warmth his car stored.

“Yeah” I say with relief as a smile forms. Michael puts his keys into the ignition and the engine rumbles a familiar song as it vibrates throughout the car, a powerful hum. Then turning the heat on as high as it can go, Michael puts his hands in front of the vents, flexing his fingers in the process.

Reminded of an acceptance letter that I got from Western Washington University earlier that day makes me worry that this might be the last time I’ll be riding in his car for the next 8 months, something I have yet to tell Michael. I take in every detail of his car. My fingertips graze the soft bristles of the corduroy seats. The smell of rain and pine, and the littered pine needles that decorate the car floor. Then I take in Michael, the way his hands find the the radio dial, naturally and easily. The way he puts his right hand on top of the steering wheel and with the other finding its place on the arm rest. The way he turns to look at me and flashes a smile brings me home. Then something stirs in me, wanting so badly to tell him. Only finding the courage to speak lodged in my throat, still unsure if I want to tell him. Knowing that WWU was exactly 909 miles away, I close my eyes hoping to pacify my mental battle. Before I realize what I’m doing, words escape my mouth.

“Michael, I have to tell you something,” I said. At the sound of his name he turns to look at me with a smile and his eyebrows raised. Not knowing what I should tell him first my mouth takes control.