Petals and Pebbles

A Story by crosley

A story of a girl who seems to be overly protective of her friendship with a boy when another girl is present. Raising the underlying question: does she love him?

Petals and Pebbles

Every now and again, emotions grab ahold of you and twist you into someone you aren’t. It’s an inevitable trait that every living creature is often defined by. I am, undoubtedly, guilty to allowing my emotions to be heavily influenced by seemingly unimportant outside factors. Of course, not every emotion is unwanted or unappreciated such as: pure joy from a newborn or newly-found excitement with a new hobby. However, with every good there is an alternative. For example, there are the detrimental emotions, which include sure sadness, avoidable anger, equivocal envy, and worst of all, love. I believe that people can forget to ask themselves whether they love someone or if they're in love with someone.

The sun was low and the light of the day was just a stream of colors painted against the sky. Henry, Eleanor, and I didn’t seem to mind the company of darkness creeping in. Our hammocks swayed in different rhythms between the two sound-standing trees. Henry and I managed to find comfort in sharing one hammock, leaving Eleanor to lay adjacent to us in her own. Our legs were intertwined, clothed feet pressed against each other, our arms close to our bodies, the bodies that seemed to fit so perfectly together. The three of us, separate but together, enjoyed the fading light as it was tucked away behind the treeline. The air was warm, nearly unnoticeable, complementing the cool breeze from the open fields just ahead of us. Past the flower-filled fields you could hear the rushing sound of water running from the rocks above. The sound intrigued Henry and Eleanor so much so that they decided to indulge in their curiosity. The smell of freshly mowed grass and Henry’s cologne was enough to satisfy my sense of adventure. As they stumbled through the pastel painted field I remained hidden away between the two trees, unable to not notice Eleanor - she was beautiful.

By definition, beauty is a combination of things that pleases the senses, and her combination seemed to be the one to correctly correspond with every man she met. My grey-blue eyes were no match for hers: pale green. My short wavy blonde hair was similar to her faded brown hair, but she seemed to wear it more effortlessly. Though identical in height and build, her personality filled her to the brim and overflowed on to everyone she knew. She’s the woman you bring home to your mother. She’s the woman your sisters love to play with and your brother can wish for. She’s the woman your father tells you to fight for and not with. She’s the woman walking through the waters with my bestfriend.

My eyes fell on my hands; my nails had imprinted a crescent into my empty palms. I felt an indent in my bottom lip from my front teeth, holding on as if I were going to lose them. I concentrated on my breathing. I was building up my emotions for seemingly nothing. We weren’t dating, I didn’t truly even have feelings that were more than friends. He’s a friend. He’s my friend. I got rid of my useless envy and I traded my protectiveness of my friendship with Henry for serenity in the scenery.

As they returned to the hammocks the sun had gone and the light was next to nothing. However, I could see something in the palm of Henry’s left hand, hanging low to his side. Henry is the kind of guy you can’t help but stare at, can’t help but admiring. His green-brown eyes accommodated his soft, wavy brown hair perfectly. He was tall enough to where when you hug him his defined arms wrap around you fully, holding on to your entire being. He never failed to smell like Old Spice and wintermint. Every time I walked by a man who wore the same deodorant as him it was as if I could feel his hands on my back, my head on his chest. Listening to his steady, rhythmic heartbeat.

Once he reached my side I noticed the pale pink flowers. He held them so loosely I thought the slight cool breeze was going to steal the flowers for itself. He slipped his body back into the hammock and our bodies fit like two puzzle pieces. His elbow on my hip allowed me to notice his index finger and thumb twiddling the flower. As it danced between his fingers I felt him prepare to speak. His chest expanded against my back, I can hear his lips part near the back of my neck, and the words flowed from his mouth asking Eleanor if she wanted the flower. As she kindly accepted the pink-petaled gift, the pit in my stomach grew. The heaviness in my chest weighed down as my breath grew more shallow. I tried to find something, anything, to keep my mind from running rampant with the ideas of them. I noticed fireflies flashing fearlessly in the field and the sound of running water was still in the distance. I focused on one of the little lightning bugs near the trees. As I watched it continue on with its course I felt Henry push against my side, reaching into his left pocket. “Close your eyes,” he mumbled. “Hold out your hands.” I didn’t want to, but my actions said otherwise as I sat up in the hammock. With my body sliding towards his, I closed my eyes and held out my previously crescent-printed palms. I felt something small and round go from his hands to mine. The texture was smooth and my fingers curled around it. As I opened my eyes I unfolded my fingers to reveal the small, round rock he had placed into my hand. The feelings that previously filled my body washed away. Every ounce of jealousy and envy flowed from my fingertips to the stone. In their place was now a feeling of content and a sense of solid affirmation in our friendship.