Swing Seat Quotations
2040 Words
Two
Swing Seat Quotations
The swing seat swayed slightly as Dean laid his muscular arm across the back of it. He peered over my shoulder, his warming breath whisking past my cheek, drawing me away from my thoughts.
“Who do you think stained that page?” he asked, tapping his finger against the wicker.
“Mum, I guess…” I shrugged, glancing from Dean to the book. “Or Dad…”
“Well, it was coffee...” He whispered with a smile. “I can smell it.”
“I know that much,” I sniffed the page again, attempting to ignore the awkward tug in my chest. “And Dad doesn’t drink coffee…”
“He doesn’t now, but he used to,” Dean corrected. “And I think it’s a family heirloom or something. So, it could have been some deceased relative.”
I bit harder on my lip, blocking the constant battle of butterflies arguing inside. What was wrong with me? Was it envy, that green-eyed devil I battled with daily, or something more? Why did I feel so strange?
After a moment of distilled silence, Dean settled back into the seat, resting his hands behind his head. He inhaled deeply and stared at the garden, now alive with brightly coloured rosellas and tiny blue wrens.
“I bet it was Mum,” he said with a soft smile. “She used to study English literature...”
“She told me that years ago,” I nodded. “And she was an English teacher…”
“She was…” he agreed. “She taught me in high school…”
Once the heat had left my face and my heart had relaxed, I continued flipping through the gnarled pages, stopping occasionally when a quote drew my attention.
“Dean, look… Mum’s said this when Kane broke up with Daisy Rushall.” I insisted, patting his leg. Once I had his attention, I nodded towards the paragraph that had instantly leapt out at me. “See…”
“I can’t see it from here,” he replied, glancing at me momentarily before looking away. “Why don’t you read it aloud? School me in the art of quotations? I promise to be a well-behaved student.” He traced an x across his chest. “Promise.”
“Well, that’s a lie,” I laughed through my nose and straightened in the seat.
“Yep,” a cheesy grin spread across his face. “I’m the reason Mum quit teaching…”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me,” I chuckled.
He winked at me.
“Well, you better pay attention.” Clearing my throat, I pushed a pair of invisible glasses over the bridge of my nose. “This is my best impersonation of Mrs Lisbeth, the school’s librarian.”
“And you hit the nail on the head…” Dean said, stretching his legs out in front of him. The swing seat swayed again. “Begin…”
“Today, we’ll be discussing love, marriage and s*x,” I paused for a moment to face him, trying not to laugh. Why did that word make me blush so much?
Dean had sunken further into the seat. His closed eyes were hidden beneath a wave of his hair. Again, that envious streak in my heart ached. Why did I have to be so different to everyone else in my family?
Dean must have felt my analysing gaze upon him. The corner of his thin lips curled into a dimpled grin. I had met many boys his age, and some made me nervous, but Dean was different—more mature and kind. He was as much my friend as he was my brother. There was no other nineteen-year-old like him.
He slid his hands through his hair, opened his left eye and narrowed it on me. “Hurry up, Lucy lady, I might doze off again.”
“Umm, yeah, sorry, I was seeing if you were paying attention.” I lied, but I couldn’t tell him what I was thinking. That was private. “N-now, where were we?”
“We’re on the subjects of love and Kane’s messy relationships, I think.”
The flutters in my stomach were becoming aggressively annoying now. “Y-yes…” I stammered, “And the first quotation of the day is in the famous words of Lord Alfred Tennyson, T’is better to have loved and lost—”
“—Than to never have loved at all,” Dean added dryly. “I’ve always wondered if Lord Alfred Tennyson ever had a broken heart. He’s unlikely to have said that if he knew how it felt. I know Kane laughed it off.”
“And have you ever had a broken heart, Dean Birdsly?” I asked, tapping my nails against the page.
“I have,” he said, opening his eyes and facing me. “I know how it feels to love someone who is blind to the fact you love them.”
“I don’t,” I shrugged. “I’ve never been in love or had a boyfriend…”
He opened his mouth to say something, changed his mind and snapped it shut. I watched the lines between his eyebrows pinched together as his face filled with concentration. It was a thoughtful look he had inherited from Dad.
Sighing, he nodded for me to continue. “Continue Lucy Lady…”
“Okay then,” I returned to the book. “A famous poet, C. Day-Lewis, states, Selfhood begins with the walking away—”
“—And love is proved in the letting go,” Dean added, rubbing his chin.
“Do you know how that feels?” I asked curiously.
Dean slouched forward and folded his hands under his chin. His demeanour had darkened slightly. “Maybe...”
“Is this a girl I know?” I asked curiously. I frowned at him when he didn’t reply. “Well?”
“Well,” he echoed, raising both eyebrows and dropping his gaze. “Hmm, sort of…”
He had my interest now. In the last year, he had dated one girl, and she was a selfish piece of work. I leaned in closer. “Who is it?”
“I don’t want to talk about it…” He defended, glancing at me.
“Fine,” I sighed, rolling my eyes. “Then entertain me… How well do you know this book?”
“Let me think...” he exhaled a deep breath. “Next, it should say something along the lines of, With love, you see, even too much is not enough, and it’s by some French dude called Pierre–A—something with an A.”
“So, that was a waste of time.” Shaking my head, I closed the book and placed it on the wicker table beside the swing seat.
“It was on one of my year twelve English exams…” Dean shrugged. “But I enjoyed your poor attempt at teaching.” He poked my arm. “Promise me, you won’t follow in Mum’s footsteps and consider it a career.”
“Oh, really...?” I leaned against my propped arm and stared at him. “Are you sure you’re not trying to cover up that you’re a hopeless romantic?”
A grin spread across his face, making his dimples more vivid. He stretched his arms out in front of him until his shoulders clicked. “I’ll never tell…”
“There’s no need to pretend. I know you’re a big softy,” I teased with a wink.
“You think so,” he made his eyebrows dance, then poked my rib.
“Oh, I know so.” I elbowed him back harder. “Don’t start something you can’t finish!”
“Why?” He taunted, screwing up his nose at me. “You’re itty-bitty compared to me! Even baby Stacey is going to be taller than you.”
“Ah, that doesn’t count!” I gaped before my shock turned into a smirk. “I’ll show you what itty-bitty people can do!”
“What are you going to do about it?”
Laughing, I stretched across his lap, reached up under his shirt, and began tickling him across his ribs and then around his waist. He despised being ticked, and this was revenge!
“Alright, alright, you win.” With a violent twist and jerk, he struggled against my attack. “No more, please, no more, it hurts!”
I sat back and pointed a finger at him. “That’s payback from the other morning when the towel I used was covered in mayonnaise!”
“That was meant for Dylan,” he defended, collapsing back into the swing seat and catching his breath. “I don’t mean to brag, but Kane and I are the original pranksters. That’s one thing we Birdsly brothers pride ourselves on.”
“It wasn’t funny, you know.” I sighed. “Thanks to you and Kane, I was late for school and missed a Maths test.”
“Looks like I helped you then.” He snickered.
“Very funny!” I rolled my eyes at him. “Now, all I have to do is figure out how I’m going to get Kane back…”
“Pft,” he half-laughed. “You know, no one can get Kane. I’ve tried.”
I blew an irritating strand of straggly hair from my eyes. “I’ll find a way to get back at him. You wait and see!”
“Ah, what can I say? Awesomeness runs on the male’s side.”
“You’re so full of it, Dean...”
“Sometimes,” he laughed.
He faced me. A gentle wave of soft light replaced the mischievous glint in his eyes. They appeared deeper, more gentle than usual. He reached over and brushed the unruly strand of hair from my view, tucking it behind my ear. His hand lingered against my face momentarily before he pulled away.
The flutters in my stomach returned. I had to stop them. This was wrong to feel then towards Dean! I pulled away from him and focused on the two large magpies digging in the ground beside Mum’s car.
But my mouth betrayed me. “You never told me who this mysterious girl is. It’s not that dreaded Krissy Swanson, is it?”
“No way!” He shook his head. “We broke up again…”
“Then who...?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Dean defended as he kicked the ground and gently swayed us. “Can we move on?”
“I guess,” I sighed, disappointed.
As we sat in silence, the harmonic tune of nature rose around us. I closed my eyes and listened to the twitter of birds, the rustle of leaves, and the squeak of the swaying swing seat—my personal orchestra of wildlife.
I opened them slowly and found Dean’s intense gaze on me. I sat up, and our eyes locked. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” he breathed, “It’s just…” he trailed off and turned away.
Biting down on my bottom lip, I hoisted myself off the swing seat. I needed a distraction. “Thanks for the company. I ahh... should be getting ready for my piano lesson,” I snatched up the book and held it against my chest. “Mr Tomlinson will be here at seven…”
“Sure, I’ve got to get ready for work soon anyway,” Dean ran his fingers through his hair, then jumped to his feet. He yanked the screen door open and stood aside. “Ladies first, ma’am,” he tilted an invisible hat.
“You’re a clown.” I snorted, shaking my head. “But life would be boring without you.”
“I know.” He battered his eyelashes. “I’m awesome.”
I rolled my eyes, “Brag much?”
“Only ninety-nine per cent of the time,” he nodded towards the front room, where the piano waited. “Shall we, Lucy lady?”
“We shall…”
- Writer
