A Long Road to Walk: A Tale of Two Children
Sometimes the truth is best told through lies.
–Nicole Lord, 2010
There once was a boy and a girl. The boy and the girl walked, in fact, they danced, but quite separately. The boy walked and walked, different from the other boys, always discordant from the world around him. He watched as the girls lightly danced in perfect unison: twirling ballerinas that came and went, though he didn’t ever pay any one of them too much attention. He liked their company, but only for a short while. But then there was one girl who leaped and bounded to her own tune, not caring much about the people around her. She loved to leap, jump, and hide, in the most ungraceful sort of way, even when no one was around. The boy saw her and he laughed at her leaps and bounds, he laughed at her clumsy, uncertain walk. He had never seen another girl walk quite that way; he thought it wasn’t normal, but found that he liked it. He began to watch her from a distance, never daring to get too close, afraid that she might see him, after all, he only wanted to watch, nothing more.
Well, she did see him.
She noticed him out of the crowd immediately; his mismatched walk a flag of green in a crowd of yellow. She saw him first peeking around the railing as she vaulted up the stairs. She saw him idly rip out blades of grass, as he watched her from the corner of his eye. She sighed—irritated. She didn’t want someone watching her, though she knew that occasionally people did. So, she tried to ignore him—hoping he would go away—but he did not. So she danced and he followed, until she realized that it was actually him dancing as she followed. So slowly they whirled around the other, never speaking much, always pretending to dance alone.
Often as she danced, he walked and as she walked, he danced.
Over time her dance became less important to her. The movement was only a slight distraction, for her focus was elsewhere, on the green boy who danced in the distance. Their presence comforted each other, though why they were never quite sure. Occasionally they would acknowledge the other—he would give her a quick twirl, and she would give him a quick shove, or an unsuspecting trip as she stuck out her leg beneath him. And so they danced, but mostly separate.
However, when he was not near, she snuffed and danced a little heavier than before. When she was not near, he was lonely. He watched others dance, but missed the way she danced. He missed her as she barreled through, blazing around the world. They never intended to dance together, but simply wanted to be around the other dancing.
He stopped coming and she shakily moved her feet, as she had never done before. She danced alone.
She stopped coming, and he stopped dancing. He walked alone, morosely wondering if she would return.
She also began to wonder why she gone and how she could get back. She hadn’t expected him to dance through her mind almost every day. So of course, she found a way.
Once she finally saw the boy in the distance, she sprang forth and leaped upon him, both tumbling as she did. They laughed and truly acknowledged each other for the first time. They were both happy now, but afraid and uncertain of where to go from here. Neither knew if they wanted to walk beside the other—dance together—or even if they could, they were so used to dancing alone. But they did know that they liked how the other danced and didn’t want to be alone again. And so they cautiously walked towards the other, her legs shaking, his eyes cowardly fixed on the ground. They stopped a few feet short each other. He looked up at her: his green eyes mirroring the ground; her blue eyes mirroring the sky. He liked her dance, but how much he didn’t know; he just knew he needed her there.
He timidly held out his hand, he was shaking. Her first instinct was to bat it away, push him to the ground and slink into the distance again, but she knew she could not. She didn’t know if she wanted to dance with him either, but she knew that she needed him there. And so she—full of doubt and fear—took his hand and they shakily danced, stumbling over their feet, and then…they laughed.
They laughed and they played, danced alone and together, alone and together, their quivers becoming steadier with time. They walked side-by-side giggling at the uneven pace of their walk. He chuckled at the clumsy steps they took, each never matching the other. He unexpectedly liked the way she jerked him this way and that. She unexpectedly liked the way he bounced her back and forth. They were happy though still afraid. Afraid of their happiness. Though their walks never matched, they liked it that way. And as they walked, their hands brushed against each other, fingertips entwining and palms slowly molding together. Their eyes locked, mixing desires, wishes, and histories. The bright color of the sea shown from their eyes as they danced. It was her favorite color. They were content and happy.
But only for short while.
As they walked, she became more aware of him and he more of her. She liked him more and more. He liked her more and more. As they walked, her eyes gazed at his, searching to make him happy, though he was already happy, for she was there and he was not alone.
She became aware of the world around her. She saw the other boys and girls. They were so different as they effortlessly glided together, their steps not even steps, but rather smooth synchronous sweeps. She looked back and her and the boy’s walk. It wasn’t smooth, it wasn’t synchronous. It was choppy, jolty, and unmatched. Although she loved the way he had walked alone and the way they walked together, she wondered if he would be even happier if she matched his walk, if she was more like the other girls in the sea. And so she tried. He wondered why she changed. He loved her walk the way it was before. He didn’t care if they didn’t match, he found it funny and it did keep him on his toes. But she was determined. She sweated. She cried. Her legs buckled as she tried to walk his walk. He, alarmed and confused, quickly tried to do the same. He tried so hard. And so together they tried to turn copper into gold.
They became weary, tired, and forgot who they were and why and how they got there. They forgot their own distinct walks and how happy they had been to walk these together. Their fingers slowly slid apart, as their breath became short and labored. They never danced anymore, only walked. She only saw his green eyes planted on the ground. He only saw her blue eyes filled with tears. Their beautiful sea was gone. She forgot he was there, he forgot who she was. He missed the way she had danced, but slowly this dance became a hazy memory and so he simply focused on walking. And they walked. They trudged. They tried to keep going, but didn’t realize the world around them was also shifting. The low murmur built to an undeniable rumble, until the ground quaked and cracked. They—too tired—could not maintain their footing.
As the ground parted beneath them, they stumbled knocking on jagged stones—the sharp blades cutting their skin, as the ground rocked beneath them. They tried to grab onto each other but were too weak, too hurt. And so, they fell.
They tumbled freely through the air—cut, hurt, and barely conscious. He was faintly aware that she was somewhere near, but could not open his eyes to search, and so he fell. She was faintly aware that he was somewhere near, and futilely clawed at the air, squinting to find him through the debris. She could not see him, and so she fell.
She landed hard, chest-heaving, eyes wide-awake with panic. She felt a million pieces of pain; pain everywhere, stabbing every bone, every vein, and every cell. She tried to scream, tried to yell for help, but her lips would not move. As she learned to control the pain, she knew she had to find him, to help him if he was hurt, and then find a way to get them back to solid ground so they could dance again. But as she tried to move, tried stand, she realized her legs were buried beneath a large smooth stone. As she eyed her formidable foe, she felt it sneer at her, mock her. She had not known her legs were pinned, for she could not discern from where the pain was coming—she felt it everywhere. She pushed and pushed, and even pulled, but the stone barely wiggled. The longer she took, the more she feared the boy might be dead, and so she gave everything she had, tried as hard as she could. She felt someone help her, someone give her the strength to free her legs. She saw green above her, but as the stone gradually rocked faster and faster, rolling off her body, it was gone. She looked everywhere, scraping the ground around her, there was only black. But she saw the green, she knew he had helped her, where did he go? There was no one in sight for miles. No green, no blue, only black. She waited, waited for colors to appear. None came. She knew then that she was alone.
Her hope—though dimming—muffled the sharp cries of pain. There was still time, she could find him. She could help him, if only she could walk. She hadn’t thought past moving the stone, hadn’t realized the damage already done. Her legs were crippled, broken, smashed, a mush of skin and bone. How would they ever dance again? How would she ever dance again? She couldn’t think about that now, she had to survive. He had to survive.
And so she crawled, searching, pulling herself along the rocks, tearing her clothes, tearing her skin. Her arms shook and bled with pain as she searched for green, but she had to find him, and she did, though what she found, she did not expect. He was alive that was certain. His body was intact, and from what she could see, relatively unscathed. His face was still perfect, well almost perfect. He was completely fine, except for one thing. His eyes were now black, blacker than the coals that encased his body. He was buried up to his neck in dark stones, though the stones were not what worried her. She knew she could move them; she had done it before. She would find a way, but the eyes—the once beautiful eyes that made her favorite color—now frightened her.
She crawled closer, inspecting the rest of his face. He looked past her, never meeting her gaze. Her fingertips grazed his cheek and he cringed. She timidly tried to kiss his lips. They were cold and unmoving. His eyes then met hers for the first time. They were hard, cold, and terrible, sucking the air from her lungs at the same moment she tried to breathe it. He said nothing, there was no need. She retreated back unsure of what to do. She could not leave him buried alive, but what would he do if she freed him? She was terribly afraid; he only stared into the distance. She came close again, and trembling, removed the stones one by one. She had to. Her throat became dry as his neck became free. Her whole body quivered as his shoulders slowly began to surface. He only stared into the distance. First his chest, then his arms. She kept moving the stones, not looking anymore at what she was uncovering. She reached for another and felt his hand clamp on her wrist, icy daggers piercing her skin. She jolted her arm backwards, but could not get free. As her arm began to bleed he threw it backwards into her chest, knocking her and her dumb legs into the pile of stones she had moved. One hand free, he frantically grabbed at the rocks around him. He could not move but one. He growled and scratched, pathetically attempting to get free. Only she could move the stones. And so she did.
Though afraid of the task before her, she knew she had to do it. She wrapped her arms around each stone as one hand beat her back, and then quickly another. His nails tore at her skin. He clawed her face, her arms, her chest. Though profusely bleeding and barely breathing, she continued. With only a few stones left she pleaded. She cried, asking him not to hurt her. She told him she loved him. He did not hear her, but instead slapped her face and sneered at her pain. The more she freed him, the more he purposely caused her pain. She saw no joy in his eyes, but no remorse either—only darkness. He saw her not as the blue girl who danced.
With one more stone to go, she clung on hard, her chest heaving with deep silent weeps. She remembered the way his color first stood out among the crowd and how beautifully it blended with hers to form something new, something different. No one else had their colors alone or together. She knew right then that they had been wrong in trying to be right, that they never could have glided as the others did, for they were not like them to begin with. Though their strides were each of a different color, they had blended to form a new hue, beautiful in its imperfections. She whispered her apologies to the boy in the distance, quickly pulling away the last stone and burying her head in her hands. She waited for the blows, but felt nothing, heard nothing. Afraid—though curious—she cautiously peaked her head above her hands, peering into fiery coals inches from her face. She gasped as he laughed, pinning her to the ground. She could not protect herself as he found that he could now lift the stones and so he hurled them at her, one by one. She told him to stop, told him to look at what he was doing. It was her, his dancing partner, his partner from the very beginning, though neither had ever known it.
The stones stopped falling. She was barely alive.
He looked her right in the eyes, then moved his lips slowly to her ear, and whispered,
“I never liked the way you danced.”
Searching for green, she saw nothing but black. He laughed, kicking her legs as he left.
Her thoughts moved in silence. She could not be mad; mad at the darkness they had created. She watched as he became once more, the boy in the distance. Though darkness surrounded her, she looked up at the sky with one last wish and as she wished the sun parted the clouds and began to shine on her legs. She felt its rays. She would walk again, she would dance. But if she would ever dance again with the green boy in the distance, she couldn’t be sure.
Her last wish was that he not be condemned to walk in darkness, that his world turn from black to green, becoming beautiful once again.
