The cow goes... moooo.
I cringe. That robotic voice rips my mind apart. I hate these days without thought or care. Pointless holidays litter my schedule. Freedom gone. I've been asked to help hide the eggs. Literally. Freedom gone. My iPod doesn't desert me as I place each colored oval in the Washington grass. It's a beacon. We should dye them green next year. For laughs.
Green. His eyes. Luminant and urgent. Powerful yet quiet, leaving me lust after his thoughts. He beckons me from current tidings. I am frozen in the verdant field with a basket of unborn. I feel dust and waves of spring fly past in glittering golds. I exist inside his optics in that moment. Washington flourish with flecks of gold in between. I want to stay there always, opening my arms in the wind. In thoughts.
My grandmother gives me a gift after all is finished, before we leave for Forks. She strokes her aged fingers through my young curls and smiles, lightening my burden of thought. "For your graduation," she says. She trembles. "I won't be able to attend."
I understand. She's nothing except tanned skin and bones, though healthy as a god could make an ancient sturdy woman. I desert my iPod to open her gift. The paper is frail and crisp. Old, sitting in her closet for years. But the gift? New. Expensive. Beautiful. Petty words to describe a wonder she's wrapped.
Words are lost. She can see it. She sees everything. Simply, "Thank you. Thank you so much."
Cold hands reach up, embracing my cheeks. "I'm proud of you."
We leave the reservation rich.