Time
Winter
They met in high school. Different physical appearance, different nature.
The first one tall and slender, almost ethereal, milky skin, flaming red hair, an equally fiery, romantic and passionate temperament. An artistic talent that led her to go around always bringing sketchbook and pencils in her backpack, ready to capture an interesting face among the crowd, a glimpse of a cozy house hidden behind a hedge, a stray cat looking for cuddles.
The other one was shorter and slightly plump, dark hair and skin, intense and rational, a talent for logic and mathematics, and an almost compulsive desire to overthink everything, and categorize even feelings and relationships. No less fiery than the other girl, however.
They had exchanged little more than a glance on the first day of school, shy and suspicious fifteen-year-olds. A random notebooks mix-up had led them to meet at the bench under the leafless trees of the park; the conversation started and gradually a friendship was going to build. The casual chatter then grew into almost daily encounters, homework done together, shared snacks, nights spent whispering to each other that kind of secrets only teens know.
The brunette girl began to wonder what kind of friendship they were sharing. Her gaze often rested on the red-haired girl’s lips, on the dimples on her cheeks, on her elegant hands, on the slightly hinted neckline from which a small white breast was visible. Those feelings were confusing, she was unable to give it a name.
The red-haired girl seemed not to notice anything though.
Spring
On the trees hanging out over their bench the first leaves had sprouted, a timid hint of the season that was about to bloom. The girls sat together as usual, and the redhead was sharing with the brunette something very important to her: her secret diary, on which she used to sketch drawings or jot thoughts and poems. Suddenly, a sheet of paper slipped out of the book: a portrait of a very young man, still almost a teenager himself, but with an interesting, charismatic face, a sharp and smart look. The redhead seemed to shy away from but smiled excitedly.
The brunette girl stared at her intently. The redhead got closer as if to whisper a secret. “His name is Valentine, isn't he handsome? He is a senior, oh my, any girl would like to be asked out ... but, you know - she lowered her gaze - yesterday he walked down the hallway and looked at me, had a weird look ... and I ... I, oh Maryse, I like him, you know? A lot!".
Maryse pursed her lips. She didn't like Valentine, he looked like an arrogant bully and rumor has it he used to date several girls at the same time. But what was she feeling? Did she want to protect her friend? Or was it pure and simple ... jealousy?
"Be careful, Jos - she said - He doesn't look like a trusty boy"
“What do you mean like that? What is it, are you jealous? - then, more softly - Nothing can ever tear us apart, you know? You will always be my best friend! ”.
Maryse smiled and fell silent.
Summer
The countryside was bursting with life, summer had suddenly blossomed. Under the oaks with their lush foliage of green leaves, the newlyweds advanced along the walkway towards the arch of flowers under which the celebrant stood. Jocelyn was radiant, the light-flowered dress made her shine in the sun, she had flowers in her arms and tangled with her hair, and she smiled at the handsome light-haired boy who held her hand lovingly. A keen observer, who possibly know both of them, would have noticed how possessively he held her, but all friends and family could only see the sparkling joy leaking from their faces.
Maryse was the bride's maid of honor. Beautiful in her dusty pink dress, flowers in her hair too, she pursed her lips and watched the couple approach. She was tasting the end of a once unshakeable friendship. Something wasn't “right" at all. But she still didn't want to give a name to what she was feeling.
After the ceremony, they all attended a party full of singing and dancing. Maryse relaxed a little, maybe it would all go right eventually. At least, right for Jocelyn. She felt like she had lost something irreplaceable, however.
"Wanna dance with me?". The invitation, the most trivial approach ever, came from the best man, a handsome boy a little older than the groom. Immediately, Maryse was tempted to refuse. Then she thought 'why not?' And took the hand he was offering.
“My name is Maryse. And you?" "I'm Robert".
Autumn
Years had gone by since the last time they met, although they exchanged letters every once in a while.
Jocelyn had followed Valentine pursuing unrealistic career dreams. Frustrated with his ambitions, he had proved himself unable to withstand defeat. He had started to mistreat her and their children until they left, barely adults, severing any relationship with their parents. Jocelyn, who had given up everything for him, was left alone to face an angry man, who had become an alcoholic, who threatened and frightened her until a providential car accident happened to free her.
Maryse's life had been less hard: a satisfying job, three biological children, an adopted one, their family seemed if not perfect, at least peaceful. There were no fights in the Lightwood house. Actually, there was nothing left. Maryse blamed herself: she shouldn't have used Robert as a replacement of a love she couldn't have, and he had obviously started to find solace elsewhere. They ended up divorcing by mutual agreement and remaining good friends: what they should have been from the start.
From time to time Maryse went back to sit on that bench, under those trees that had witnessed - now she got it - the only true love of her life. Leaves were bursting with reds, yellows, and browns when, upon a lazy October afternoon, she saw a silhouette approaching. Before her eyes did, her heart recognized her. She stood up, her heart wildly thumping in her chest.
Jocelyn had changed a lot, her gaze ... oh, her gaze spoke so loudly. She walked over without saying a word and sat down on the bench drawing Maryse sit beside her. She took her hand and placed a kiss on her palm. Maryse stared at her and then carefully brought her lips to hers, giving Jocelyn time, if any, to refuse that kiss. But Jocelyn didn't.
Winter
Two elderly ladies sat on the bench under the bare branches of the oak, holding hands.