Be Hushed

Jinxuan (lucy) Jiang

     I sat next to Rylan beside the only tree that can provide enough shade. The playground was empty except for us and the bright sunlight.

“What are you sketching?” I whispered.

Rylan was squinting at the leaves with a pencil and a sketchbook on his right-hand side and did not answer at once. I followed his gaze and saw nothing except the quivering leaves. I opened my mouth but paused as he turned and lifted his hand to stretch out an index finger near his lips. I met his blue eyes and swallowed the words back to my stomach.

I leaned my head against the rough tree trunk. Rylan tapped my shoulder gently and lowered his head to focus on his sketchbook, leaving me still immersed in his touch. It was soft. Too soft to even be felt. I watched the bright dots on the ground as the leaves hummed alongside the cicadas.

Then there was a tap on my arm. I turned and saw Rylan hold up a page torn from his sketchbook.

It read, Why are you here? 

Rylan put the paper down on the grass and lay down, facing the sky with his eyes half-closed. 

“To find you,” I said. My own voice sounded frivolous, which felt wrong, so I fell silent and watched the bright but empty playground instead. There was no one here. No shade. No protection. The sunlight revealed everything, burnt everything, and made everything disappear.

Another tap. Thanks for staying.

My breath paused for a second as I lay next to Rylan and turned my head towards him. I met his gaze and he smiled with his lips curved a little upward. Then he opened his mouth and formed a word. I heard the wind blow through my hair. I figured out the word at once.

“Noah.” My name.

I met Rylan on the first day of school. Fresh air filled my lungs as I walked through the corridor, trying to find the number “520” on one of the doors. And then I saw him from the open door—the only student in that class in the last row of chairs, staring out of the window. The sunshine gilded his hair as he continued to stare, like a delicate statue. 

On the windowsill, a little sparrow was jumping swiftly. It seemed to notice Rylan’s attention and cocked its head. He smiled and snatched a pencil beside his hand and quickly put down something on the paper. I looked around and noticed the thick number “520” on the door. But as I stepped into the classroom, the sparrow flapped away. 

For a second, Rylan seemed to be upset. He turned and noticed me at the door, suddenly frozen at the spot. 

His blond hair flickered in the sun. His eyes were immersed in the blue sky. 

He was too beautiful for anyone not to remember. 

The obsession grew steadily as I learned more about him. Rylan, seventeen, too shy to be in groups, loved painting and roaming around campus alone. Once, after I finished the 1000-meter running routine on the track with my friend Leon, I caught Rylan sitting on the edge of the plastic track with a sketchbook on his lap. He noticed my gaze and, smiling, held out his sketchbook. And I saw me, bending low on the starting line, waiting for the shot. 

Suddenly, I felt the whole world vanish except my own pounding heart. When I finally got a hold of myself, I was sitting next to him, gazing over his shoulder. Rylan put a finger on his lips and went back to work. The pencil-shaded version of me and the dappled sunlight swirled in front of my eyes. For a moment, I was a ghost, watching myself walking towards a building that only existed on paper. And then I realized, maybe I was only dreaming, watching another version of me from God’s perspective. When I woke up, he had already finished. 

The sketch was on my table after school. The shaded part of the picture reflected lights that dazzled my eyes. I put it down and glanced around for Rylan. But Leon waved at me.

“What’s that?” Leon walked closer and noticed the paper in my hands. “Did you draw it?” 

“No,” I said and quickly squeezed the paper inside my bag. For some reason, I did not want him to see it. “It’s a gift.”

“Okay,” he shrugged. “Dinner?”

“Sure.” I peeked at Rylan, who was packing his bag. “Let’s go.”

“What are you looking at?” 

“Nothing. Let’s go.”

I dragged him out of the classroom, hoping that we wouldn’t encounter Rylan in the dining hall. 

     I searched my desk drawer the day before the final. Among scattered books, broken pens, and draft papers, I found the letter I wrote a month ago. It was still unfinished, with ink stains and illegible words. The paper was wrinkled due to my hasty hiding when someone walked past me. I unfolded it. Rylan’s name was on the top left. I pulled out a pen and a new sheet of paper from my bag, removed the cap, and stopped. I put the pen back down. 

A letter might be a bad idea, I thought. Someone else might see it and get curious. No, I won’t do that. I will talk to him face to face. 

     The afternoon before the final exam, I found Rylan on the playground beside the tree, with his pencil and sketchbook. I lay next to him on the grass. Warm sunshine planted bright dots on both of us.

“Noah,” he said silently, still smiling, as though he never had anything to be afraid of. 

I turned to face him. The words were on my lips. I put my hands in front of my chest like I was going to hug him, and stared into his eyes. A sky reflected inside them.

Those eyes were so clear that it was like a dream in which nothing shall be concerned. A dream was something perfect, calling me to push everything forward. Forward.

“Good luck tomorrow,” I whispered with my eyes closed.