graphic by kayleigh woltal
If love is the most universal feeling, it cannot be limited by definitions. So maybe it is experienced in moments.
I
Two girls browse the flower section of Trader Joe’s. One of them, with thick and rough hair that almost reaches her hips, sorts through a bucket of baby’s breath before choosing a bunch. The other, wearing a yellow midi dress with spaghetti straps, picks a set of light pink roses. The girls switch spots; now the dark-haired one is looking at the roses, and the yellow-dress one is looking at the baby’s breath. A few minutes later, they each hold a bouquet of baby’s breath and a bouquet of roses. The dark-haired girl glances between her two bouquets. The yellow-dress girl weighs both of hers. They glance up at each other between the flowers. One approaches the other.
“Hey!”
“Hi.”
“We could buy one each and combine?”
“Sure.”
They leave the store talking, each holding their own mixed bouquet of baby’s breath and roses.
II
It’s early evening. The sky is luminous, filled with yellow and orange and pink. The park is surrounded by large Mulga trees. Hanging from one tree is a wooden swing, drawn up by thick twine knotted to a sturdy branch. On the swing is an elderly woman, wearing a flowery skirt and a white linen top. Her hands wrap around the twine, her body leaning back. Her hair, light and wispy, flies back as she swoops up, revealing her wide smile. She raises her legs straight out to gain momentum. On the way down, her body leans forward as she folds her calves. She swings back to be caught by her husband, a relatively stout man wearing thin, silver-rimmed glasses, a cream-colored shirt and tan pants. His hands hold her waist like they’ve done for decades. She turns for a second. They smile at each other. All too soon, he pushes forward, and she’s flying again.
III
Three friends sit close together on a balcony. They chatter back and forth, too absorbed in each other’s company to notice the heavy rain. Their faces are barely illuminated by a single candle glowing on the table. Someone mentions that they’re hungry. The host jumps up from her chair.
“I got your favorites yesterday!”
She runs into her apartment. The two remaining friends smile, sitting in a momentary quiet. The host rushes back outside, tripping over stacked suitcases, before dumping snacks onto the table. One friend pulls open a bag of chips, the other grabs some trail mix. They eat in pleasant silence.
IV
A young couple is nestled in the corner of a bar. Their hands are tangled together, relaxed as they talk. Suddenly, one of them leans away. When she straightens up, there is one cigarette pressed between her lips, and another in her outstretched hand. Her girlfriend leans forward and clasps the other cigarette in her mouth. She flicks on the lighter. They hunch over the flame in unison, burning the ends together.
V
A man is busking on the street. He is wearing a black shirt and a red baseball cap backwards. He’s strumming a guitar while sitting on a stool that’s slightly above the ground. There are throngs of people passing by, all eager to explore a nearby tourist attraction. But about four feet to his right, a child, no older than 10, sits criss-crossed on the ground. His elbows are on his knees. His face is cupped in his hands. He looks straight toward the man, not moving despite all the people jostling past him. When the man finishes the song, the child stands up rather quickly, clapping in short spurts. He walks over to drop a few coins into a guitar bag near the musician’s feet before skipping away to his family sitting on a bench across the street.
VI
A girl and a boy sit together, encircled by friends. The boy says something. The whole group laughs. But he is only looking toward the girl, whose fingers are flying across her screen as she smirks at her phone.
VII
Two sisters sit at a wedding, slumped in white plush chairs. The foundation of their features is the same, but their hair textures are different. The younger sister nestles her head on the older sister’s lap, using her own arm as a pillow. Soon, she is asleep. The older one brushes her sister’s hair back. She stares at her for a moment, before placing her own arms and head on top of her sister’s back. Soon, she is asleep too.
VIII
A couple is walking through the airport. Behind them is a huge teal suitcase, swelling due to the amount of stuff packed into it. Their hands, stacked one on top of one another on the handle, drag the suitcase together.
IX
A man with dark curly hair and tilting eyes sits in the middle seat of an airplane. Next to him is an elderly woman, wearing a bright blue and orange checkered shirt. The cabin lights are dimmed, and the plane is mostly silent. The woman reaches into her bag to grab a book. The man briefly glances at the cover. She begins reading. He looks over again, staring at the book. He pauses for a second, massaging his palms. She doesn’t notice. He now almost glares at the cover, biting his lips, scrunching his brows, wiping his palms, before looking up.
“My husband used to love that book,” he mumbles while grasping his left hand.
X
A family is perched on a ledge near a beach. It’s evening, almost dusk. The mom and dad sit on either side of a child, who is no older than three. The air is thick and warm enough that all of them are dressed in a variation of tank tops and shorts. They share a mixture of nuts and puffed rice from a newspaper twisted into the shape of a cone. The mom first takes a small handful of the mixture and tosses it into her mouth. The child watches, and then copies his mother. The dad then stuffs a large handful into his face. The cone is passed between them in this pattern. They sometimes laugh, sometimes sit, until only the newspaper is left.
XI
You enter Powell’s. Rows of books, in every color, fit into the dark brown shelves like puzzle pieces. It’s relatively quiet, save a few customers murmuring in the checkout line. You turn into an aisle, running your hands over covers as you walk. Some spines are smooth, soft like cotton. Some have raised bands or are rough like parchment. Your favorites are embossed, text raised to touch. The textures are satisfying, interspersed with each other.
There is nothing you are really looking for, but you pull out a book, opening it to the front cover. Simultaneously, you hear her voice. It’s the same as it always has been, full and resonant. It takes up the entire aisle, but you know she isn’t loud. So, she must be close. You hear laughter, hoarse and guttural, a bit annoying, but unmistakably hers. You should leave. You walk toward the exit, but then you hear another voice, squeaky and high-pitched. You stop a few feet before the exit. You should go. But something gets the best of you, and, instead, you walk toward the laughter. You see her, but next to her is someone else. You stare for a moment.
Then another.
Then another.
She doesn’t notice. You think about taking a picture or yelling her name or warning that squeaky person or knocking over a shelf of books or telling her how you feel. Instead, you stare. All you can smell is must and dust and grime. The shelves tower over you, and there are no windows in sight. You look once more, much longer than you need to, before walking away.
XII
A little girl trots down the street with her dad. It’s a hot day, but the wind balances the heat. Her head is tilted to the side, her hand stretched out, brushing through pots of daffodils, roses, and little chrysanthemums lining the sidewalks. I’m walking in the opposite direction of her, so I see her running her hands through the flowers a few feet away, but she doesn’t notice me. As we walk past each other, her hand remains stretched out. It brushes against my dress, which is covered in little blue and purple and pink flowers. When she realizes they aren’t real, her eyes widen. She lets out a small gasp before pulling her hand away. Her eyes remain wide until I smile and crouch down. Her dad rushes over, profusely apologizing, while hoisting her on his shoulders. As they walk away, she watches me over his shoulder, waving goodbye and smiling.