Eyes of the Dragon

I sit on a swing, moving back and forth ever so slightly. The swing creaks and my toes are nestled in the sand of the beach. My socks stick out of dusty shoes a few feet away. The silver rimmed glasses perched atop my nose create little edges barely perceptible in my vision. Perhaps someone who wears glasses can explain this to you. A crumpled read and white striped paper bag is in my hand, pushed against the metal links that hold the swing to the structure. It smells like butter and a few unpopped kernels lie among unused salt inside the bag. I can see the popcorn vendor up on the pier now, peddling his goods to others.

I continue to sit there, in the swing for awhile, the sun beating onto the back of my neck. After a moment longer, I begin to pull my socks on. I decide against it though, preferring to hold my shoes and socks in my hand so that I can feel the sand under my feet. I like the feel of sand on my feet, always have, though I can't explain why.

I like swings too. They're so simple, pump your feet and you move. You can really relax on a swing, release your anger. Just go higher and higher until you're calm again. I think, if I ever own a home of my own, that I'll have a swing right above a sandbox.

Thinking of owing my own home makes me think of how we used to dream about when we'd have our own home, instead of the flat we shared. It never occurred to us that we might not end up together, so we had many conversations about what our future home would be like.

She's married now, not to me, of course. I never did propose to her, though I'm sure I meant to. I think that was my problem, I always meant to do things, but I never did. Maybe I was afraid of making that commitment. Funny how something like proposing can mean so much. I think she just got tired of waiting on me to make up my mind.

He's a lucky fellow, her husband. She sent me an invitation to the wedding, more out of courtesy I think, than actually wanting me to come. I didn't go.

Before, when we thought we'd last forever, she always said she'd be happy living anywhere, as long as I was there with her. She did have one specification, she wanted the shower to be more than three feet by three feet, which were the dimensions of the one we had. What I remember most about her was how she showered. Strange that that is what I'd think of when reminiscing about her.

I guess it's because she had a very specific way of showering. She's stand as far away from the flow of water as possible, so just her toes got wet. Then she'd walk forward until her whole body was wet. She'd turn at that point, tipping her head back as she did so, allowing her chestnut hair to get thoroughly soaked. She'd wash her front, then her back. Her arms followed, then her neck and face. She always washed her legs last. She shampooed her hair next, and then...then she'd just stand in the cascade of water, eyes closed, letting all her worries stream down the drain with the soap suds.

The time she spent in the shower was her time and hers alone. It was when she'd relax, completely unbothered by the world. She'd let me watch her when she showered. She told me she only let those she truly loved do that, told me it all the time. I was the first person who ever got the privilege.

That was when I really took the time to notice how amazing she was. I never told her how wonderful I thought she was. I don't know why, I should have. I loved her, she loved me. But, for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to tell her this. Maybe I was afraid, scared to tell her.

I received a letter from her a little while ago:

Dear Draco,

I don't know why I'm writing you this letter, when I know we're over. Thank you for sending me the picture of you. Nice glasses, they match your eyes. The letter was nice too. Draco, I don't know why I'm telling you this, but I just want you to know: I don't let Seamus watch me when I shower, I never have, just so you know.

-Hermione

P.S. Draco, my fiery little dragon, don't let all that smoke cloud your vision.

I wonder if somehow the last sentence, before her name, is supposed be a clue to me. And I know it is, I know what she's telling me, but I won't do anything about it. I don't want to disrupt her life.

I look at the pictures of me and her sometimes. I think about what we could have been, what we should have been, if she hadn't gotten married. But maybe I'm looking at it wrong. Maybe I'm being selfish, denying her the better life she can have. Maybe my vision's clouded.

After all, I am looking through the eyes of a dragon.