She walks through campus with her head down, hands clenched around the straps of her backpack. Her eyes trace the tips of her shoes as they cross cracks in the sidewalk and step down curbs.
She was taught to rush.
Her parents, always on the go. Business meetings and volunteer projects and community development, whatever the heck that meant. The door was always swinging and when she couldn’t keep up, she got left behind.
That meant she got left behind a lot.
So she learned to keep up. She learned to rush.
Varsity sports, AP classes, straight A’s. Band and debate and student government.
So she rushes through life, checking off boxes in her to-do list with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine, forgetting sometimes that it’s just blood pumping in her veins and she’s only human.
She walks through campus with her head down, her mind repeating emails to send and homework to do and tasks to complete until she walks smack-dab into someone and her carefully constructed list tumbles right out of her brain.
He stands on the corner, stock-still, ignoring the ‘walk’ symbol on the crosswalk signal that is incessantly blinking, urging him to move, move, move.
But he doesn’t notice. He’s looking at the sky.
“Look at the clouds today,” he says without moving, without facing the girl that has stumbled into him and is now standing, staring at this boy who is all solidness where she is all speed.
And then he turns and she catches a glimpse of warm brown eyes, half-smile, but before she can utter a word he’s gone, walking off, staring at the sky.
She walks through campus with her head up.
if you want to know more about 31 days, clicky right here. thanks to Brie Eccles for today’s word and thanks to some twitter friends who keep peer-pressuring me to try fiction writing (you know who you are). so, you know, dabbling my toes a little bit. if you want to prompt me (please do!) tweet a word @hannahboning or drop it in the comments below.