Those Crucial Moments

"Isn't it neat how they do that?"

"...Do what?"

"Fly in a V like that."

We were lying on our backs, side by side, at the edge of the lake, watching a flock of geese fly north overhead in a V-formation. The sky was a soft blue-grey, pressing on my eyes. Patches of cloud stretched nimbly across it. The bitter smell of decaying leaves filled my nose. Winter was coming.

She positioned her delicate fingers, thumb and forefinger, into a V, and lined her V up with theirs.

I smiled, puzzled, and replied, "Yeah, I suppose so."

She turned towards me, a grumpy look on her face, her hand still extended towards the sky. Apparently my answer hadn't been enthusiastic enough. I tried again.

"Why do you suppose they do that?"

She seemed to find this satisfactory: she shrugged her shoulders carefully and turned her head back towards the sky, squinting one eye and realigning her V.

"I dunno," she said, giving up and letting her arm fall to her side. "It looks like they're all following the one at the front."

I nodded and removed my glasses: they were smudged. I wiped them off on my shirt. Without them, the lights of the castle in the distance looked like tiny glinting fireworks. She was silent again. I placed my glasses back on my nose, brushing hair out of my eyes

"Well, that's no way to live," I offered to the air, trying to break the silence. I didn't like it when she was quiet. It sucked the life from me, not being able to hear her voice, her laugh. I hated the silence nowadays, though I'd been used to it during my childhood. But then again, I hadn't had a quiet year since I was ten, and I suppose school had weaned me of the ability to function in the dark, in the stillness: I thrived on chaos. I waited for a reply, breathing in through my nose, out through my mouth, in, out, in, out. It was cold.

"Definitely," she said suddenly, breaking the silence.

She paused. I paused, too, thinking.

Will things stay this way?

It was a stupid question. Rhetorical, almost. I knew the answer, but I liked to pretend that I didn't. I liked to pretend that I didn't know a lot of things. Needless to say, it was hardly a logical theory, but who ever said I was logical? I acted on impulse; rarely ever did I consider consequences before taking action.

"Then again," she broke out abruptly, shivering a bit from the cold that was now penetrating her delicate freckled skin, "I wouldn't fancy being near the back, either." She stopped for a moment. I knew my cue: I'd caught on by now.

"Why?" I asked in the most curious voice I could muster. My teeth began to chatter incessantly, clicking into one another.

She laughed softly, apparently amused. "Your unrestrained enthusiasm is inspiring," she said sarcastically, rolling onto her back and giggling gently.

I laughed, too. This was the way it was supposed to be. It wasn't how it was going to stay (happy things don't last forever), but it's crucial to enjoy them when they do come along. My laughter trailed off weakly, and hers did the same.

We laid there in silence for a few seconds, a few minutes, a few hours: time wasn't a factor now, even though it was so precious every other time. We simply didn't have the desire to know just how long we were there that day.

After several deep breaths, I sighed. "The one in the front breaks the air for the rest of them," I offered. "So that they don't have to work as hard."

"Kind of like you?" she asked, a look of complete seriousness creasing her features. I was ready to deny it, to try and find a way out. Coward. I stuttered. She stared, waiting. What was I supposed to say to that?

The grey of the sky pressed harder on my eyes: it had gotten much darker.

"Yeah," I said softly, but only because her eyes were piercing through me. "Yeah, I suppose so."

She nodded in affirmation, then dove into silence again. I was getting frustrated now: why did she care so much?

She formed the same V-shape with her fingers and traced the birds' path again. I copied her, squinting one eye in order to line it up correctly. Upon seeing this, she grabbed my hand. "Keep both eyes open," she instructed firmly. I obeyed. The birds were out of focus: there appeared to be two V's. I voiced this.

"Well, there's still just one," she laughed.

I paused a moment, absorbing the sound of her laughter. When it died out, I took a breath.

"Are you sure?" I asked, looking again at the watercolor sky, the grey of the day now bleeding into a pink and yellow sunset that was still as cold as steel.

She shrugged again, tucking her ginger hair behind her ear, a frown spreading across her face. The birds disappeared on the horizon, and she closed her eyes. I closed mine, too, and fumbled about in the grass for her hand. The grass was damp with rain from earlier that day, but patches of it were brown and yellow, dead, almost. The rain hadn't come quick enough to save it.

I found her hand and placed mine on top, waiting for her reaction. For a split second, I thought she was going to move it, but she didn't. Turning her hand over, she intertwined her fingers with mine. I opened my eyes and turned my head sideways, my cheek brushing against the yellowing grass. She was facing me, my girl, my Ginny, smiling. I smiled back.