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Description
She walks past him everyday on her way to school. He sits on the bench waiting for the bus to come and take him to his school. Everyday, she walks past, but neither body acknowledges the other.
She loves art and he, music. There’s a large sketchbook she carries around, in a case over her shoulder. He on the other hand, wears chunky headphones around his neck and a guitar pick in his pocket.
Her life has been planned out by her parents. But she wants to travel the world and experience new things. She wants to live, be free to make her own choices. Make her own decisions.
His life is a mess because of unloving parents. He wants a place where the people around him actually care about him. No drugs, no alcohol. No waking up in the middle of the night to a gunfight two doors down. He wants stability.
They both want what they can’t have.
Which is probably why they clicked.
It was raining that day. She had a black umbrella; he, a hoodie. By the time she made it to the bus stop, he was drenched. But that didn’t stop him from catching her when she slipped in a puddle and fell. No, it didn’t stop him one bit.
And that wasn’t the last time she would fall. She fell not only in the rain, but for him.
She would walk by him on her way to school and give him a shy smile before passing him. Then she’d look over her shoulder and smile again. He would give a bashful grin in response, and would watch for her to come and go. Each looking forward to seeing the other the next day.
After a time, he stopped her on her trek, and asked the long awaited conversation.
‘What is your name?’ And she would then reply
‘Terese’ and she’d pause and ask him the same. To which he’d respond ‘Andrew’
That’s how it really began. Soon she would wait with him for the bus to come, not caring that she might be late for class. Maybe he’d sneak a kiss in before the goodbye. She’d blush and giggle and call him a dork. He’d hug her tight and tell her he’d text her later. And then he’d leave and she’d go on her way, occasionally touching her lips from where he kissed her. The taste of sugar on her tongue, and the scent of cologne lingering on her skin.
He asked her to go out with him, a week later. A month after they had met. After two years of passing one another at the bus stop. She was uncertain, but he wanted to treat her. He said it would be an honor if she said yes, so she did.
He took her to a small restaurant, cheap Italian food and cheesy decorations, but that was the best he could afford. And it was enough for her. She didn’t mind that the tables were sticky or that the candles were fake. It was the first time a boy had done that for her.
Afterwards he drove her home. Opened the car door for her and everything. Then he stole a good night kiss and drove away. She was thrilled. Her parents, not so much.
They told her she couldn’t see him anymore. That he was the garbage that would bring her down to the gutters of a life. They fought, parent against child. In the end, she broke down and ran from the house. To the garden. Always to the garden; where they couldn’t find her. They never could find her, with all the trees and bushes and flowers.
It smelled like lilac there, in that garden. And she would hide up there in the what she called the lilac tree, the willow filled with flowers. And it only reminded her of him.
She kept him a secret after that. Her little escape. Him.
He didn’t mind. They’d talked about each others lives. He knew where she was coming from, and she the same. They didn’t really understand, but they knew enough to be there for the other when the time arose.
Like when she had to sneak him into her room the night his dad got drunk and beat him. She’d been so scared for him, and for herself as well. Afraid that they, her parents, would catch her, and send him back. Like when she was retrieving ice and had to lie, saying she’d tripped and hurt her ankle.
Or when she just needed a shoulder to cry on, because he parents had banned her from her art lessons; her only thing she could call her own. She had even paid for those lessons with the money from her job, because her parents refused to fuel her passion. She’d had to hide her art supplies, because they tried to take those away as well.
Months wore on, and they thought they were in love. She would paint things in the park by his house while he played a melody he’d created on his guitar.
They’d stay like that for as long as they could. Sometimes she’d curl up on the grass next to him, and he’d stroke her hair and kiss her neck. Other times, she’d sit in his lap and he’s wrap himself around her to keep her warm. Sometimes they spoke, sometimes they said more when there were no words.
That was before the fighting.
But those words that were spoken out of hate. Out of fear, out of regret. Those were the ones that cut the deepest. They cut the deepest because they were unintentionally said. They always made up afterwards, but as each fight came and passed, the gap between them began to widen. Tearing them apart.
They would go for days without speaking, till she finally broke down and called him, or he would pull up and throw rocks at her window to call her to the lilac tree.
But the fights got to be too much. When he hit her. That was the last one.
He regretted it as soon as his hand touched her face. But momentum doesn’t stop easily. And the shock on her face said it was over. There was nothing left to stay for.
I don’t even know you anymore. Those were the words she whispered to him, before she left. She didn’t turn to look back. Even when he ran out to catch her. Not even then. Not even when he begged her, swore it would never happen again.
She went home to angry parents, parents who care more about their child achievements than the human’s worth as a person. And he went home to a drunk father and a stoned mother who threw him out of the house.
Now he sits on the bus to go to work. He can’t go to school anymore, he needs to money to pay his rent. She rides in her parents car, because they don’t trust her enough to drive herself.
He dines on the leftovers at the restaurant, saving up to go to college and go to music school. He wants to become a famous musician. Someone people can look up to.
She lives in her glass box, a trinket for all to see and admire, but not to touch. Her paints are hidden now beneath the floorboards, and they remain the only thing that gives her life. Otherwise, her eyes are dull and lifeless. Like a doll.
And when its dark out and the rain is falling, she goes to the lilac tree and remembers.
Remembers when there was something good and pure in the world.
Something she could live for.

Description
She walks past him everyday on her way to school. He sits on the bench waiting for the bus to come and take him to his school. Everyday, she walks past, but neither body acknowledges the other.
She loves art and he, music. There’s a large sketchbook she carries around, in a case over her shoulder. He on the other hand, wears chunky headphones around his neck and a guitar pick in his pocket.
Her life has been planned out by her parents. But she wants to travel the world and experience new things. She wants to live, be free to make her own choices. Make her own decisions.
His life is a mess because of unloving parents. He wants a place where the people around him actually care about him. No drugs, no alcohol. No waking up in the middle of the night to a gunfight two doors down. He wants stability.
They both want what they can’t have.
Which is probably why they clicked.
It was raining that day. She had a black umbrella; he, a hoodie. By the time she made it to the bus stop, he was drenched. But that didn’t stop him from catching her when she slipped in a puddle and fell. No, it didn’t stop him one bit.
And that wasn’t the last time she would fall. She fell not only in the rain, but for him.
She would walk by him on her way to school and give him a shy smile before passing him. Then she’d look over her shoulder and smile again. He would give a bashful grin in response, and would watch for her to come and go. Each looking forward to seeing the other the next day.
After a time, he stopped her on her trek, and asked the long awaited conversation.
‘What is your name?’ And she would then reply
‘Terese’ and she’d pause and ask him the same. To which he’d respond ‘Andrew’
That’s how it really began. Soon she would wait with him for the bus to come, not caring that she might be late for class. Maybe he’d sneak a kiss in before the goodbye. She’d blush and giggle and call him a dork. He’d hug her tight and tell her he’d text her later. And then he’d leave and she’d go on her way, occasionally touching her lips from where he kissed her. The taste of sugar on her tongue, and the scent of cologne lingering on her skin.
He asked her to go out with him, a week later. A month after they had met. After two years of passing one another at the bus stop. She was uncertain, but he wanted to treat her. He said it would be an honor if she said yes, so she did.
He took her to a small restaurant, cheap Italian food and cheesy decorations, but that was the best he could afford. And it was enough for her. She didn’t mind that the tables were sticky or that the candles were fake. It was the first time a boy had done that for her.
Afterwards he drove her home. Opened the car door for her and everything. Then he stole a good night kiss and drove away. She was thrilled. Her parents, not so much.
They told her she couldn’t see him anymore. That he was the garbage that would bring her down to the gutters of a life. They fought, parent against child. In the end, she broke down and ran from the house. To the garden. Always to the garden; where they couldn’t find her. They never could find her, with all the trees and bushes and flowers.
It smelled like lilac there, in that garden. And she would hide up there in the what she called the lilac tree, the willow filled with flowers. And it only reminded her of him.
She kept him a secret after that. Her little escape. Him.
He didn’t mind. They’d talked about each others lives. He knew where she was coming from, and she the same. They didn’t really understand, but they knew enough to be there for the other when the time arose.
Like when she had to sneak him into her room the night his dad got drunk and beat him. She’d been so scared for him, and for herself as well. Afraid that they, her parents, would catch her, and send him back. Like when she was retrieving ice and had to lie, saying she’d tripped and hurt her ankle.
Or when she just needed a shoulder to cry on, because he parents had banned her from her art lessons; her only thing she could call her own. She had even paid for those lessons with the money from her job, because her parents refused to fuel her passion. She’d had to hide her art supplies, because they tried to take those away as well.
Months wore on, and they thought they were in love. She would paint things in the park by his house while he played a melody he’d created on his guitar.
They’d stay like that for as long as they could. Sometimes she’d curl up on the grass next to him, and he’d stroke her hair and kiss her neck. Other times, she’d sit in his lap and he’s wrap himself around her to keep her warm. Sometimes they spoke, sometimes they said more when there were no words.
That was before the fighting.
But those words that were spoken out of hate. Out of fear, out of regret. Those were the ones that cut the deepest. They cut the deepest because they were unintentionally said. They always made up afterwards, but as each fight came and passed, the gap between them began to widen. Tearing them apart.
They would go for days without speaking, till she finally broke down and called him, or he would pull up and throw rocks at her window to call her to the lilac tree.
But the fights got to be too much. When he hit her. That was the last one.
He regretted it as soon as his hand touched her face. But momentum doesn’t stop easily. And the shock on her face said it was over. There was nothing left to stay for.
I don’t even know you anymore. Those were the words she whispered to him, before she left. She didn’t turn to look back. Even when he ran out to catch her. Not even then. Not even when he begged her, swore it would never happen again.
She went home to angry parents, parents who care more about their child achievements than the human’s worth as a person. And he went home to a drunk father and a stoned mother who threw him out of the house.
Now he sits on the bus to go to work. He can’t go to school anymore, he needs to money to pay his rent. She rides in her parents car, because they don’t trust her enough to drive herself.
He dines on the leftovers at the restaurant, saving up to go to college and go to music school. He wants to become a famous musician. Someone people can look up to.
She lives in her glass box, a trinket for all to see and admire, but not to touch. Her paints are hidden now beneath the floorboards, and they remain the only thing that gives her life. Otherwise, her eyes are dull and lifeless. Like a doll.
And when its dark out and the rain is falling, she goes to the lilac tree and remembers.
Remembers when there was something good and pure in the world.
Something she could live for.