I don't have anywhere else to put this, so here.
The tree was gnarled and leafless and huge, so tall that Evaline had to lean back and squint up at the white sky to see where it ended and so big around and her arms stretched out to the fingertips, nails digging into the flaking bark, couldn't even begin to encompass half its girth. Pearly fog poured from her lips in the cold predawn light as she breathed, staring at the leviathan in dumbstruck awe. Eventually, she turns, arms wrapped around herself in the scant warmth of her borrowed flannel shirt, and looks back at Dante with wide eyes.
"It's so old," she whispers, voice traveling easily in the silence. "Christ, Dante. We're never gonna get that old, are we?"
He looks back at her, trying not to shiver. She's framed against the gray bark; rosy freckled skin and and sleep-mussed hair, olive eyes moving rapidly over his face. Her pants are hanging off her hips because she left her belt in the back of the truck, and all Dante can think is that he never wants this to end, so he lies a smile and wraps his arms around her and kisses the top of her head, feeling her eyelashes flutter against his bare shoulder.
For once in his life he understand why there are moments not meant for talking, because even if he could speak now, just for one moment, he wouldn't. He presses Eva back against the old, gray tree, lips at her forehead, eyelid, mouth...he thinks that he'll remember the shape of her handprints on his back forever and ever, for as long as they have left.
In the morning, he carves their initials in the bark of the ancient tree with a butter knife, sloppy and indecipherable, while she watches with her chin resting on his shoulder; they drive away at noon with the radio blasting, Evaline babbling away to fill Dante's silence, grinning like the mad thing she is. It's not long back to civilization, city sounds, friends they've missed, expensive coffee and everything related, but it's okay to waste this moment of precious silence on happy chatter, even though time is impermanent.
The tree will last longer than they will, and that lonely spot on the hill will remember them, their shared silence and the sound of Eva's voice. Four letters and a messy plus sign in bark and leftover crumbling bits of peanut butter will always be there; as long an always as human life could ever hope for. It's enough.
"It's so old," she whispers, voice traveling easily in the silence. "Christ, Dante. We're never gonna get that old, are we?"
He looks back at her, trying not to shiver. She's framed against the gray bark; rosy freckled skin and and sleep-mussed hair, olive eyes moving rapidly over his face. Her pants are hanging off her hips because she left her belt in the back of the truck, and all Dante can think is that he never wants this to end, so he lies a smile and wraps his arms around her and kisses the top of her head, feeling her eyelashes flutter against his bare shoulder.
For once in his life he understand why there are moments not meant for talking, because even if he could speak now, just for one moment, he wouldn't. He presses Eva back against the old, gray tree, lips at her forehead, eyelid, mouth...he thinks that he'll remember the shape of her handprints on his back forever and ever, for as long as they have left.
In the morning, he carves their initials in the bark of the ancient tree with a butter knife, sloppy and indecipherable, while she watches with her chin resting on his shoulder; they drive away at noon with the radio blasting, Evaline babbling away to fill Dante's silence, grinning like the mad thing she is. It's not long back to civilization, city sounds, friends they've missed, expensive coffee and everything related, but it's okay to waste this moment of precious silence on happy chatter, even though time is impermanent.
The tree will last longer than they will, and that lonely spot on the hill will remember them, their shared silence and the sound of Eva's voice. Four letters and a messy plus sign in bark and leftover crumbling bits of peanut butter will always be there; as long an always as human life could ever hope for. It's enough.