She pulled the blades between her fingers and cursed herself for walking away, for feeling anxious about nothing at all. The bombarding midday sun was tempered by a gentle breeze, and for the first time that day, Julia felt at ease. Purple and orange petals danced to silent rhythms as she gathered her thoughts, cross-legged and brow furrowed, her elbows digging into denim-clad thighs.
When Miguel approached, trampling stems and obliterating stamin, Julia felt a resurgence of irritation well before he spoke.
“You okay?”
He plopped on the grass beside her and cracked his neck. Julia knew, unequivocally, that he’d failed to notice the swimming colors before him, the elaborate tangle of multihued beauty that undulated in every direction. She locked her green eyes with his.
“No.”
The pair shared an awkward silence. Loose acquaintances at best, they’d ocassionally exchanged lustful glances, the vague and flustered attraction that accompanies a dutiful pituitary. Julia momentatrily expected an attempt at courtship, but sensed something more genuine instead. She watched the stirring meadow, the wind gradually increasing its pace in a way that mirrored her heart rate.
“Have you ever been alone? In a roomful of people alone? Where all the prattle is reduced to static and the only thing you can do is stare out the window?”
Miguel was quiet. His nettlepricked ankles reminded him of the path to this place, and he wondered what compelled him to follow the girl, away from the claptrap conversations taking place just over the ridge. He kneaded his hands and tried to find a response.
“There are people around you always. You’re never truly alone. I’m here…”
The wildflowers swayed in the wind, and with each innumerable gust, Julia felt the semblance of connection between them dwindle. She pulled her hands away from the ground and into her lap. Beneath the merciless sun, she felt the heat returning to her face. Miguel shrunk from her body language and reconsidered.
“Every last one of us is alone in a way, though, or lonely, and most of the things we do are the battle against it.”
Julia gave a solemn nod, and again intertwined her hands with the grass beneath her hips. She drew in a deep breath, and kept her eyes on the flowing flora, waiting for Miguel to follow suit.
“Is that what you’re doing?”
As she hoped, he gazed into the distance and let the colors bleed. A writhing pastel canvas unfolded before him, and a slow smile crept across his lips.
“Yes, and right now, I’m fighting for you too.”
The solar apex seemed to pause the day, stretching an hour into a lifetime of somber solidarity among the flowers. They sat together in silence, and listened to the wind.