III – Pushing the Sky

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"Hey!"

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"Don't break my door!" I yell at him from inside the house. I know he can't hear me but I do it anyway. I'm sleepy.

"Get UP, you lazyass!" he yells back as if he heard after all. "You can't spend the whole day in bed!"

Says who? "Go away," I moan and pull the sheets up over my head. Maybe if I ignore him long enough, he'll leave…

ThumpCRACK

"Oh, hell no," I growl and fling the covers off me just in time to see my lock snap in half and my door splint in two. "You shit! That was my DOOR!"

"Why are you so obsessed with your door this morning?" he moves into the house as if he owns it.

"Because you're breaking it!" I throw the nearest thing at him—the alarm clock. He merely ducks his head and it goes sailing into the hallway where it hits the floor with a noisy CRASH and I can feel more than see the pieces flying everywhere. Dammit, now I need a new alarm clock too.I glare at him: "This had better be good," I growl. "I mean, somebody has to be dying or something."

"Nothing elaborate like that," he shrugs. "Just get your clothes on and let's go."

"I swear, I'm going to kill you…" I mumble, getting up and shuffling for the bathroom. I'm already up, so I may as well go with him and see what he wants.

A quick hygiene procedure and clothes-swap and we're out on the street. There's nobody around, nobody up. I look sideways at him, like I expected the answer to this crazy outing to be scrawled on the side of his face. He looks back at me.

"Yes?" he asks calmly. My god, I really do want to kill him.

"Can I ask you why in the hell you broke into my apartment at…" I try to count backwards and fail miserably. My internal clock is all out of whack.

"Five a.m.," he finishes, tucking his hands into his pockets. "And you'll find out soon enough."

My hands itch to reach around his throat and start squeezing, but I'm following nonetheless.

We cross the empty streets and enter the equally-empty training grounds. We pass the numbered clearings, the memorial, the forest's mouth, the lake's edge, and still he's walking on in silence. I want to ask him again why we're doing this, but he didn't answer the first time so he won't answer now and for now I just go along until he finally stops in the absolute middle of nowhere and turns to me with a grin.

"We're here," he says.

"Where is 'here'?" I ask.

"'here' is here," he answers. My fists clench.

"Why the hell did you drag me out of bed and all the way out here?" I bristle.

He shrugs again: "Because I wanted to."

With a frustrated cry I leap atop him and we begin to roll. Kick, punch, grapple, shove, bite, claw, slap, pound poundpound. We get up. There's already dirt-streaked sweat rolling down both our faces. He's grinning, I'm scowling. We lunge at each other. WHAP! Fists meet palms and palms meet chests and chests meet knees and knees meet the floor and again we're grappling and wrestling and rolling and he's laughing and I'm pissed but I'm starting to enjoy myself but I'm not going to tell him that (I have an image to maintain, you know) and on and on we go, like a merry-go-round in an endless repetitive cycle.

He stops fighting back and I stop too because without him it's no longer fun and it's no longer fair. His hair is thick and tangled with sweat and dirt and just a hint of blood and mine's probably just the same. He turns from me and his face suddenly shines gold. I blink and turn my head toward the horizon.

The sun rises and the dawn breaks open like a golden yellow chick forcing its way out of a pearlescent-gray egg. The edges of the sky become engulfed in orange daylight-fire and the night hurries away from its burning fingers. Rays of it reach across the mountains and paint the barren land gold, like his face, and I look over at him—maybe to ask why he really brought me here—but I'm stunned by the scene before me: he is surreal, his body tipped and tilted upward and glowing like an ascending god, his arms outstretched, his eyes closed, his skin drinking it all in. He shimmers, he becomes enveloped in energy and I'm helpless to stare at it all in breathless wonder. We stay that way for a brief second, for a still moment, for a fourth of an eternity and then he opens his shining eyes and turns them on me.

"Good morning," he smiles and my legs quiver. My whole body feels like jelly, my knees squeak like rusty hinges as they fold and I sink to the sun-drenched earth and just stare and stare and stare. "I wanted you to see it," he continues, turning back to the god-making sunrise, "so I went to get you pretty early. I know you get pissy in the morning and I really am sorry, but," he grins, "isn't this worth it?"

"Yes," I choke on the rest of my words. I am not allowed to talk here. This is the sun's realm, and I'm still in a world of dark and secret shadow, hiding from everyone. His brilliant fire has touched me, even here in my solitude, which—for now—feels distant and a thing of long-ago. I continue to stare.

Finally, as my eyes begin to feel as if they will be bleached white by the sun's intensity, my stomach growls and he looks at me apologetically. "Let's go back," he says. "I can get you something to eat."

"No," I shake my head just ever-so slightly. "Not yet." I don't want to leave this, leave you, your presence, your warmth, your light, your love. Thank you.