TW: mentions of abuse
Wes doesn’t know how he found himself here, in the parking lot of his youth, sitting on a curb and looking toward the cobblestone building. The sun is setting, a cast of pinks and oranges and yellows painting the sky. He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting on this piece of cement, just that when he first got here, the sun was suspended high above the facility and his butt wasn’t sore. But now, the symphony of warm colors grace the horizon. A beauty only rivaled by early mornings.
He glares at the sight, angry at the serenity and trustworthiness of the sun. You can always count on sunrises and sunsets being a sight to behold, he thinks. You can always find yourself awing at the blending of hues, finding calmness as you bask in the warm light. The sun wakes up and goes to sleep in beauty. Even when it blazes and scorches the Earth, there will always be waiting eyes as it rises from or succumbs to its slumber. Purity at its finest.
The Community Center intensely stares at Wes. He hasn’t stepped foot into the building since he was a kid during the summer camp program they offer every year. The boring architecture hasn’t changed since then. But everything else seemed to morph into the definition of anguish.
Wes wonders if that summer program still goes on. Wonders if two young boys became best friends there. If they had a crush on the same girl in fourth grade who turned them both down. If, in middle school, the naturally more extroverted one joined the soccer team while the introverted one found a love for comic books. If, in high school, the soccer jock cried on the comic book nerd’s shoulder when his mom left with his baby sister because of his abusive dad. If the soccer jock stayed with the comic book nerd for two weeks when the abusive dad nearly killed him.
If the comic book nerd missed the soccer jock who can no longer have a crush on a girl; can never play soccer; can never seek comfort again; can never know what it’s like to come back from the brink of death.
Above all Wes wonders, as he turns his back to the cobblestone building to start his walk back home, if he can ever see it as more than a sad reminder that the best friend he met there can never walk through those doors again.