by Hachi Chuku
April Elizabeth Randall was the kind of girl that you just couldn’t help yourself being endeared to. Her delicate saccharine features complemented her sanguine personality so that you couldn’t frown at her for longer than a few seconds. When she turned to walk away, you dreamt of the moment in which your paths might cross again. I met her at the library in my hometown of Manhattan, Kansas when the leaves were still a brilliant green; not yet blushing from the promise of winter. I had a job working at the library on the campus of Kansas State, a work study position that allowed me to have my nose in a book when I wasn’t manning the shelves or doing sudoku puzzles.
She walked up to me carefully, wearing an orange tube top and high waisted flared jeans and asked me gently where she could find books on houseplant keeping.
“I was given a bonsai for my birthday. I want to be able to take care of it,” she explained.
I almost told her she could look on the internet but decided against it as something in me told me not to question her. Instead I wished her a happy late birthday and I led her through the winding shelves of the library into the home and gardening books until I found a book called “The Art of Bonsai”. She took it from my hands and turned it over, carefully reading the back. It was then that I was really able to take in her beauty, not the aesthetic attraction that I found in most people, but a rich, personal one. She mouthed each word as she read and then suddenly looked up at me and I found my cheeks warming.
She thanked me and then turned on her heels only to turn back to me and said sheepishly, “Could you show me the way out? I’m horrible with directions”.
The second time I saw her was two weeks later, when I transferred from a horrible Media Studies class that involved way too much math according to the syllabus into a Film History class where I found there was an empty seat beside her.
“Hey, you’re bonsai girl,” I said.
She turned to me and looked caught off guard before she gave a precious smile and returned with, “Hey, you’re library girl.”
That was the precipice to the winding down of summer. Leaves reddening and fluttering off branches, t-shirts being traded for sweaters, and iced drinks now being served hot. I hated it all. Summer was my favorite season because it reminded me of everything good: long, sun-filled days to be productive or to fill with nonsensical fun, road trips with my family, the sensual simplicity of summer fashion, and most recently, study nights with April. It became a Wednesday night tradition to tuck away in a study room on campus at late hours in the night. We would study for a few hours before tumbling into a movie or just talking. But I loved it most when we twirled.
April said that spinning around in a circle was the most magical thing a human could do. She realized this while on a shroom trip in high school.
“The universe spins,” she explained, “Everything is moving and spinning. To twirl is to be one with the universe. The dizziness is divine.”
So we would go into the star filled night after studying and grasp onto each other’s arms and spin. Sometimes we would make a dance of it, spinning one way and then sharply spinning the other way, sometimes spinning each other like ballroom dancers do, giggling all the way. When vertigo overtook us, we would fall into the grass and catch our breath while looking up at the stars. They would warp with our vision and I truly did feel one with space and that great beyond. There was one night we shared, cuddled up in a blanket watching Mamma Mia in a study room by April’s dorm that I realized that even though I objectively did not know April very well, I felt as though I did. With every night of spinning we did I felt more and more entangled with her, and so when she fell asleep as the movie was drawing to an end, I kissed the top of her head before waking her up. The next day April got with Joseph.
If autumn is a vortex into winter and it sucks all the life out of summer then Joseph was winter. It started with April canceling our Wednesday night study sessions three weeks in a row. When I questioned her why she told me it was the only weekday night that her boyfriend didn’t work, but if I wanted she, Joseph, and her friends were getting pizza and I should come. My gaze lingered on the word boyfriend until when I closed my eyes the text message still appeared in my vision, the words still showing up against the black oblivion. I texted back of course.
The pizza parlor was family owned and so it didn’t feel as sterile as some chains do. Newspapers and photos littered the walls and I took it all in as I sat down in a long booth with Joseph, April and her friends: Tommy and Ferin. Tommy and Ferin were a couple, as April would inform me when introducing me, and I realized that this was a double date and I was a double third wheel. Joseph looked nice enough but I couldn’t be comfortable with April leaning into him, the same way she would lean into me on late nights. I began to feel like I wasn’t special and shame made me regret sending an affirmative text. In fact, I was beginning to regret meeting April at all. I ordered a mushroom pizza slice while the rest of the party ordered a cheese pizza. April’s friends folded me in the conversation like pizza dough and my discomfort began to subside but my jealousy grew.
April and Joseph had been talking since senior year of high school, mutual crushes that had never flourished until seeing each other in college and gaining some liquid courage. April and Joseph loved to go to parties and dance. April and Joseph planned to go on a road trip during winter break. The amount of information I learned about the lovebirds was overwhelming and made me want to barf up my pizza.
I excused myself and April followed. It was a sign right? Outside in the parking lot I stopped briskly walking and turned around.
“Spin with me,” I said.
“What?” She uttered, and as confusion fell over her face I realized that I loved her.
“Spin with me, like we always do.”
“Chelsea, are you feeling alright?”
I ignored her question and started spinning, probably faster than we ever had because I was overcome with emotions and all alone in my velocity. I swirled and twirled until she became a blur and the world went topsy-turvy. Until my right foot landed wrong and I flew towards the ground. I was looking for summer and found it in the blood from my leg after I skidded on the pearly asphalt. I was still wearing shorts in October. The dull throbbing pain as the blood paused before it seeped out, almost like my body was in surprise. I just laughed. I laughed through my dizziness. Through the fog I could see that she winced at my wound as she helped me to my feet. I wanted to keep on twirling and making my head spin but the look on April’s face told me not to. She held a tissue from her pocket to my leg and scolded me for not being careful. All I heard was that she cared. Is that what summer love is? Delusions from spinning too hard? I was looking for summer and April Elizabeth Randall was not in love with me.
© Hachi Chuku
Hachi Chuku (they/them) is a Managing Editor for Nimrod International Journal. Their work explores family, nature, and mental health within the realms of fiction and poetry. When they are not writing, they love to crochet. You can find them on Instagram @curio.odes and on substack @curioodes.
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