When you do something, you should burn yourself completely, like a good bonfire, leaving no trace of yourself.
—Shunryu Suzuki
"Guess who?"
The sounds echo, the words richocete in his head. The voice -- he knows it, he'd never forget it, but it's from another time and another place that doesn't fit right with the puzzling pieces of Roscoe High. Maybe his memories have fuzzed with the now and maybe he's just imagining it: a well-placed mirage within his myriad of thoughts. The feminine tone should be Lilly's, the estrogen in his life, not the carmel skinned beauty of days passed. She belongs in old photographs and hidden pasts, not within the crowded masses of Americanized teens.
He turns though, and it's not Lilly. It's his worst nightmare, eyes warm with content and a familiar face shining. The face that haunted him forever, a thing of the past less easy to let fade away. The girl of his dreams, literally, and though he'd thought he'd escaped her captivating lure, he's fallen back in with the bat of her lash.
There is one thing that severs a burning line between Travis and his friends - his mystery. His past is unknown, closed from conversation and only open to speculation. Quiet whispers of where he came from and where he's been are only rumors, nothing's really true - all impossible to figure out and not something you could guess and check. There are skeletons deep within his closet, but one's just strolled out into broad daylight.
And he remembers - a crippling wash of emotion and struggle falling this wall he's built between the past and now. He remembers her face, tainting images like a gorgeous poison, a curse winding in all the past occurences.
Her, perched on his bed, eyes alight with anticipation and eyebrows knitted in confusion. The window's open and the sounds of the streets below fill the room. There's sweat on her brow and a richety fan in the corner - her hair raked to the crown of her head and falling from its disgruntled bun in black waves. She's holding out a book, Modern Buddhism, and telling him quotes and theories. He scoffs at her form, they're no older than eleven and struggling over an ancient culture.
She had picked up the book at school, he remembers, in the library. It was dusty and the cover was peeling. They'd been best friends for years at this time, mothers and fathers meeting for coffees and they students at the same mixed culture school within the city. She was eccentric and optimistic, he was loud and a laugh - meshing well together and molding into one another.
Years later, when they were fourteen, she crawled in his window. He told her she had to leave and she pouted - wanting to stay the night like she had for years. After his explanation on why, technically, it won't work - he's a boy and she's a girl and it's just not done - she still refused to exit. So he gave up on keeping her from staying, she's stubbornly obstinate, and she cuddled into him while she slept.
She premonated he'd leave her and find a blond, move on from her side and fall in love with someone that'll just break his heart. He realizes now how right she was, how well she knew him. It was like a plotted point she placed in front him, a winding path she'd told him he'd have. The only time he'd cried had been on the plane, leaving her. Her eyes had been so wide - those eyes would always be what he noticed and needed - and her tears had been so real.
Now, after numbing himself from pain and excluding himself from people, this burst of the past has fallen into a world she wasn't meant to see. The history has interefered with the future and the timeline is trapped in backward progression. She wraps her warm arms around him, pulling him into a hug and their hearts break. She'd tried to forget him because it hurts so much, this missing and longing. He'd tried to forget her because she was a part of everything he was going to hide, everything he wasn't going to be again.
They were fifteen, and he was leaving. She was freezing cold and they were all alone, tangled in a comfortable embrace. There is this misery in her eyes as she looks up at him, knowing he's about to dissapear -- poof.
"Show me magic, Travis. Show me magic."
He brings his lips crashing down onto hers, teeth clattering against each other as electricity shoots through his body.
Even now, in Roscoe halls, he can remember the way she tastes.
Author's note: right-o. Random? Not so much... okay, well, a little. Hehe. I'm not a huge Travis fan, but hey, him and Bridget? Chemistry and hott-ness. Thsi is kindof... jumpy? I dunno, it didn't really come out like it was in my head. And the ending is quasi-ill placed, just cos I had to put something involving teeth clattering against each other and her saying "show me magic." Not really sure why... just had to.
Review, please?