Parting

• Kyla Bagnall, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2011

I approached the young man very slowly, quietly. Once I ran towards him and jumped up into his arms. Now sidled across the shadows in fear. My fear was not of him. Standing tall, his sun-kissed skin was visible only by the hands resting on the metal railing and part of his face and neck. A casual grey hoodie over black jeans. Black sunglasses like a mirror. His dark brown hair resting above his glasses fluttered slightly in the breeze. There was no one else around. A small balcony paved with pale grey and reddish-brown stones lined with a thin silver railing. Below, a scene that could take your breath away; the ground dropped enabling you to see for miles around. The city was like a Lego set, little blocks lying around almost casually. The sun was hidden behind a thin layer of clouds; it was about to set. I tugged my brown cardigan closer to me; the breeze was light, but I felt cold. I stepped forward silently and took my place beside the young man.
“Amy,” he acknowledged quietly. His low voice hummed pleasantly, but was tainted with reservation. He didn’t turn to me.
“Ezekiel,” I murmured. Then I swallowed past a lump in my throat and forced my voice to be lighter. Or, at least, not so gloomy. “It always amazes me how you can tell who I am.”
The briefest smile tugged at Ezekiel’s solemn face. “You smell like lavender,” he said finally, softly, though I heard him clearly. “My mother used to love the stuff; grew it everywhere in our garden. You always remind me of lavender.”
I fell silent, almost wishing I hadn’t asked. It would’ve been better just to get on with it. I shouldn’t have started a conversation. The problem was, I didn’t want it to end. The problem was, I knew it had to. The lies, the hurt, the betrayal — on both sides — had led to this. And this was where we were; scarred beyond repair, bereft of that casual easiness, friendliness — love, even. I wished I knew then what I knew now. Don’t we all? I wished I could go back and start over. I would’ve done things differently. And maybe, just maybe, things would’ve turned out better. Maybe I would’ve had to do this.
“You know why I’m here.” I didn’t quite manage to keep my voice completely neutral. Ezekiel was silent. “I — I’ve come to say goodbye.”
Ezekiel took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Yeah,” he sighed.
“So, well then — um —g-goodbye,” I stammered.
Ezekiel’s reply was long in coming. “Goodbye, Amy.”
I wanted him to say something else; anything. I didn’t know what. Maybe he felt the same. Either way, the young man was silent and I slowly turned around and left the balcony. Pausing just a moment before he would be out of my sight, I couldn’t resist the temptation to look back. Nothing could be detected from his posture, or his expression. His face was bathed in the silken colours of the sun-set. It seemed as though Ezekiel gazed out upon the glorious colours that painted the blushing sky in a splashing display of colour and beauty in awe. But I knew that was not the case. He couldn’t; he was blind.