Hunter is sitting at the base of a tree with no exposed roots. He has one leg out straight and one leg bent and is playing a shiny silver flute with eyes closed. His black backpack and an open black flute case sit on the ground next to him.
“I didn’t think you owned anything that isn’t black,” I say.
The flute melody cuts off abruptly when I start talking. He blushes, like he was caught doing something weird or wrong.
“I have some white and gray—or silver—things."
Hunter straightens his other leg and rests the flute on his thighs.
I sit down next to him, leaning against the base of the tree. From here, I can’t see Hunter anymore but I can feel his shoulder against mine. I shuffle a bit around the tree, so there’s some space between our shoulders.
“Did you bring that flute with you or is that a hobby you picked up here due to Remington’s nagging?”
He chuckles. “I brought it with me. I’ve been playing since the third grade.”
“That explains why you’re so good at it.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
A breeze blows past, rustling the leaves. It’s refreshing, but gone far too soon, making the air feel thicker and harder to breathe. I turn my head towards Hunter. All I can see are his legs covered in tight skinny jeans and sneakers—everything black.
“Why do you only wear black?” I say.
“Does it bother you?”
“No. I’m just curious why. It’s not exactly summer fashion.”
“I don’t know,” he says. “It’s just what I like.” He bends his legs, trapping the flute between his legs and chest. “Are you feeling okay?”
Am I okay? I guess so. I have a mess of emotions swirling around inside of me, everything from frustration to fear to nervous anticipation. And of course, there’s the normal gloominess that’s always underlying my emotions as my foundation. That gloominess that likes to rise up and wrap itself around me every chance it gets.
But all those emotions are dim and dull. Right now at least, I feel an odd sense of calm, blanketing everything else.
“You already know the answer to that,” I say. “Why don’t you tell me how you’re feeling?”
“I feel strange. Almost everyone is okay, even you. But it feels like no one should be okay, and I don’t know how to feel about that. Sometimes it can be hard to pick apart my own feelings from everyone else’s, especially in times like these, so my emotions are just… what everyone else feels I guess. But it’s disturbing me. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“I think I get what you mean. It’s disturbing—the calmness. Despite what just happened.”
“Yeah, that’s part of it. But the other part is how I don’t really seem to be feeling anything of my own. I hate feeling like this, like I’m lost in the noise.”
“That’s how Valeria describes the stuff in her head too. So it’s noise for you too?”
“Not noise in the sense that it’s a sound, but in the sense that it’s loud. I feel it in my thoughts and my body. I feel like the real me, my real emotions are trapped in a tiny cage somewhere inside me and all that’s on the surface is what everyone else feels.”
“Do you know where the cage is?”
“Sometimes. But now? I don’t really know.” He sighs.
I start tugging on a gloved hand resting on my outstretched legs. I’ve always thought my gift is the worst. But maybe I’m wrong. My gift is frightening and morbid, yes, but it’s also pretty quiet. The only noise in my head are my thoughts and memories and emotions.
“Well, since you can’t find your own emotions, do you want to feel someone else’s happiness for a bit?” I say.
“Of course. I’d really like that.”
“Focus on me then,” I say.
I close my eyes and bring up the memories of me and Ron on the run. I find myself smiling as I remember when Ron noticed a man left his keys in his truck as he went into the gas station, so she jumped in and told me to get in quickly, so I did, heart pounding, and she sped off. At first, I was a ball of nerves but after a while, we both couldn’t stop laughing about it while Ron drove down the highway.
“What are you thinking about?” Hunter says, chasing away my memories.
I open my eyes. “Um, just some good memories with a friend of mine.”
“Your friend really makes you happy.”
“Yeah, she’s a good friend. We’ve been through a lot together.”
“That’s nice,” he says. “I wish I still had my old friends.”
Hunter puts the flute down somewhere out of sight and shifts so he’s away from the tree trunk, facing me and sitting cross-legged. He leans over and takes one of my hands, interrupting my fidgeting. He pulls the glove off.
“You shouldn’t wear these,” he says.
I try to think of something to say to him, but my mind has gone blank for the first time in a long time. My heart has sped up, but the emptiness in my head doesn’t give me a clue why.
He pulls off the other glove. He rests them on his knee and leans away from me, sitting with a slight hunch.
I look at him but he isn’t looking at me, his gaze down at his legs. The black ends of his hair blow into his face as another breeze passes by us.
A squirrel runs past me and climbs up the tree I’m leaning against.
I rub my hands on my legs, getting the sweat off them. Thoughts are starting to flow back into my mind. The reason why I came to see Hunter in the first place floats through my mind lazily.
“Ah.” My voice breaking the silence sounds shockingly loud. I lower it.
