the remainder

 Four teenagers sat in a far green patch, almost as dewy as the grass beneath, a sheet of newspaper under each. They liked it here, in the sun and wind and the slight miasma from the slum behind the fence; they were optimistic realists. The taller girl had brought along a book, but like the others, had abandoned the distraction, no they were here at last. Stories, playlists, adrenaline, these could wait. They were talking, the conversation went and came in waves. The silence was not a picturesque ocean wave crashing on the shore, but the humidity and unsettlement was equally palpable. They were volatile. New to each other, but somehow familiar in their hesitation and desperation to feel something that was not solitude. 

They were not very similar.  None of them were from the same country, only one of them was from this country but still, she felt none of them felt they belonged (yet). It took time to adjust from simple convenient name tags on a screen to people with dimensions. Recognition was onerous and feeble because masks only reveal people’s eyes and eye contact is personal. It’s been so long that the shorter girl sits with her earphones on, arming herself if the tide was to still any further. 

There are supposed to be more of them, four, five more but it seems many prefer sunsets to the midmorning breeze. The suggestion to walk came up and was accepted, change of scenery was sure to resurrect conversation. Gathering their belongings, trying to leave behind the need for belongingness, unmoored, one soleless and all four souls with an anxious pallor.  As they exited the area, one of them wondered about the lonesome, wilting parking lot they were leaving behind.  Another large generous wind arrived, sweeping away the balls of newspaper that were sitting in their wake, the remainder of quarantine. There isn’t a bin in sight and the four were glad. It was too early for adieus but not yet time to settle down.