Bilingues & Artistes Bilingues et Artistes: May 2014 | Page 6

Come On

“Come on, it will be fun!” He pulls me closer, wrapping his
arms around me like a comforting blanket. I sigh against his chest,
breathing his words in.

“Come on, live a little!” He whispers into my hair, his lips
brushing the top of my head. I laugh, and bury myself in his embrace.
It is a terrible idea, but I can’t do anything about it. From the moment
we became “us”, I knew that we were going to be inseparable. He is my
everything now; my dreams are of our future. He is always there for
me, and I will always be there for him. I know that if the time came –
which it never will, an impossibility so terrible I cannot bear to think
of it – and we must go our separate ways, I will be the one who leaves
first.

He gently wrenches himself away from me. He smiles down at
me, his dark brown eyes playfully searching my face for any sign of
discordance. I smile reassuringly at him. “Are we going to do this or
not?” I retort. A sudden surge of confidence overwhelms me. With
him, anything is possible. Here, on the outskirts of the city park, in
summer’s damp darkness, we are ready. His face seems explodes with
joy. He grabs my hand, and begins to run.

We run, but that sort of run where you can go for ages and not
worry about anything. The wind is against us, but we are laughing,
and cannot feel it. The sky above is black, peppered with grains of
stars. Clear and bright, the moon shines down on us, approving of
our nocturnal activities. Our destination is the old amusement park. I
6 - B&A - Issue 14 - Black & White

I haven’t been back there since I was little. I remember faintly the taste
of a warm day and hot dogs, but I also remember the grime under
our fingers and the tang of iron that accompanied ice cream from the
rusty spoon that served it.

We pass through the little expanse of fake trees and shrubbery
that surrounds the park, and I feel a chill run down my spine, and
a shiver up my arms. There it is, in all its broken glory. The rusted
sign screeching the entrance in fading neon lights entrances us, and
I squeeze his hand. My confidence is faltering. The ball of excitement
that wound itself in my stomach is slowly unraveling itself into worry.
He squeezes back, a reassuring gesture to show his love. It will be all
right.

I let him tug me around the fence of the park, supposedly he
knows where the secret entrance is, where hundreds of other rebellious teenagers have snuck in for a night of unforgettable experience.
There it is, a break in the chain wire fence. He pulls it up for me, and I
duck in. My shirt catches on the wire, and I let out a small shriek, my
heart thumping.

“Shh,” He giggles, and unhooks me. Shaking a little, I scramble to stand up, helping him through. We’re in, officially in. I cannot
believe it. Relief bubbles up from within me and escapes my lips. A
laugh, my laugh, pure and simple, echoes throughout the park, filling
empty corners. Tired rides and vacant food stands lean wearily against
each other, worn down and lifeless. The walkways are lined with cheap
stuffed animals that are the dreams of small children and adolescent
girls.

“Win a teddy bear for me?” I teasingly wrap my arms around