There is an old Sycamore on Willow Road. Its branches hang low toward the street below, sweeping by the dazzling streetlights. On windy days, the leaves graze the hoods of Cadillacs and Mercedes, which bustle below. And, the slate street is adorned with bright green leaves through the warmest months, and when the temperature drops, the leaves turn beautifully beige and marvelously maroon. Today was one of those days where the scent of the hydrangea bushes festered in the senses of busy passersby, while the delicate Sycamore leaves danced in the wind above their low-hanging heads.
Every street goer held a tawny briefcase on their side, and their faces were sunken in sorrow. But, one moment during this brisk May morning, I saw a man whose eyes drooped into his smile, while a pepper stubble grew on his face. He must have heard the tree branches swaying, with that whistle they make, since at once, he picked up his head, and he stared blankly and bewildered at the blue sky. I think that was the first time he realized how beautiful of a day it was, and by the time the single cloud in the sky had flown out of his vision, a leaf began to move into his view. It spun in pirouettes, so gracefully green. He watched it carefully, until the moment when it hit his nose. And when he began to feel that slight tickle of the leaf grazing his skin, his face contorted into an unnatural shape for him - a smile. In that moment, he stopped in his tracks, and he looked around at the bustling road on his right and to the medieval looking mansions on his left. During his fit of jubilance, a woman bumped into him from behind.
“Watch it, would you?” She shouted in a gruffy morning voice.
He turned his head toward her and tilted it slightly.
“Don’t you see?” He began. “The world is too beautiful for us to stare at the sidewalk and ignore it.”
“Have you lost your mind?” She muttered as she began to pass him on the pavement.
“Have you lost yours?” He yelled impatiently, grabbing the back of her arm.
“Would you give it up? I’m going to be late for-”
“For what? The joyless life that awaits you?”
She pouted scornly as she allowed him to pull herself toward him. Once she was an arms’ length away, she stared into his eyes. There they stood for seconds that seemed to stretch for minutes, for days, for years.
“Well?” She asked him.
He looked confused.
“You dragged me here, so what’s your plan?”
He brought his hand to his chin and began to think. After a few more silent seconds, his face lit up. He stuck his hands deep into his pocket, and he pulled out a set of sparkling silver keys. With the press of a button, a car nearby beeped, and he started toward the vehicle, looking back every few seconds to make sure the woman was following. When they arrived, he pushed her into the passenger’s seat, and he quickly leapt into the driver’s seat.
“Is this the end?” She whispered, straight-faced, to herself.
“Would you care if it was?” He responded, as he looked toward her slated face and met her gaze.
She didn’t have to shake her head, or answer his question. They knew what her answer was.
Soon, they were travelling away from the city, where they were previously destined to go. The large Sycamores swayed above them, quietly, but forcibly. Every time a twig hit the hood of the car, the man laughed, and he would look over to the woman who would then match his response. It went on like this until they reached the end of the lane on which the Sycamores stood. Ahead, there were rolling emerald fields and pearl pastures and streams of silky smooth water. However, his idea involved an area far outside of the outskirts of the city. He wanted to go to the rugged valley cliffs, where the sun met the land, and where the only sounds were the chirping of blue jays in the distance.
The roads became rougher as they strayed further past the Sycamores, yet they trudged along. After a while the woman began to smile at the sights outside of her window, and she would quietly point them out to the man in the driver’s seat. They silently conversed like this for an hour, until the car arrived at the top of the hill.
The bright, yellow sun was still high in the sky above the cliff when the sound of the car engine came to a stop. The woman reached her hand for the car door but was stopped by a rather rough tug on her forearm by the man in the driver’s seat. When she fell back into her seat, her eyes met his gaze, and he pointed out the windshield and placed his index finger against his pursed lips. The woman followed his eyes, and she sunk back into her seat, looking out onto the cliff. They were facing the direction which they came, and below they could almost make out the outline of the tall Sycamores. Even further away, they could see the outline of a large metropolis beyond. Gargantuan skyscrapers with tall pointed hats towered above the roads below. Along their side, large window panes faced the sun. From the cliff, the man and the woman could see the light reflecting off the windows. It showered them in beautiful bliss.
Once again, the woman reached for the car door. This time, however, there was no protest, instead, the man trailed her as she ventured to the edge of the cliff. Dew soaked weeds and wild grass and purple lavender tickled their shoes, while the chill of the hard-packed soil enveloped their feet in a coil.
At the edge of the cliff, the woman leaned over and whispered to the man. He stared gently into her eyes, as her lips moved just hairs away from his ears. When she had finished, he nodded his head in understanding, as he began to stride toward the car. Quickly, he scoured the driver’s seat door, until he felt his hands tense around the object of her desire. By the time he returned to her side, he had felt like he had been gone for hours, yet she seemed to think he was only gone for a few quick moments.
“Are you sure?” He whispered in her ears, as her eyes met his.
She nodded her head.
Then, with careful precision, he brought the silver-pointed object to her neck. She gazed out toward the view below, where the Sycamores still swayed delicately in the wind. The cold dagger met her skin like ice to a flame, as she gently melted against it. In only a moment, dark crimson began to pour from her veins, and her eyes became porcelain and glazed. He held the dagger with shaking hands, as he felt a cold breeze wrap around him. It flowed beyond to the Sycamores, too, and when he saw their branches swing slightly, he smiled. She was the wind under the Sycamores and the dew on the tall grass and the beams of sunlight that made passersby pick their heads up in delight.
He did not bother to get rid of her body or clean up the blood before he returned to his car as he did not want to tarnish her wishes.
After the car engine started again and he was rolling back toward the bustling town, her request swept through his head like a piercing fall breeze.
“Could I stay like this forever?”
Sincerely,
An Eager Viewer
Read more wonderful short stories on Nick Sobolewski's blog, "Nick's Letters"!