Sebastian and Adonis

The seemingly endless clock of summer's mystic
sunlight and warm breezes on sandy, sunburnt faces froze suddenly with the first chill of autumn. It was then when my friends went away, “On to where the fire burns yellow in the sky of blue, where the birds fly blinded and the wind tickles my nose...” he said, his head cocked compassionately to one side, the left if i’m not mistaken.
He stood across from me with his scarf of blue
silk cutting across his pale neck, dancing with
the elongated curls of gold that dripped in
abundance from atop his head, carefully bypassing
his crystalline eyes and rosy lips. His beauty
could not be paralleled, ever, by any one man or
woman or thing. It was the kind of beauty that
glistened, for all who laid their eyes upon him,
lit instantly with an uncontrollable grin. His
brazen beauty matched his personality well. He often spoke loudly and usually with a twinge of ambiguous laughter. He held precedence over all
to whom he spoke. He was godlike, in so many more ways than one. ...
This was Adonis.
Adonis possessed the ability to captivate unlike
anyone i have met since. His ruby lips curled in
a heart shaped manor, a manor that suggested that
he knew something the others did not. And he did. His words, often phrased in poetry of Goethe or Byron or Shakespeare, seemed to roll off of his tongue and out of his mouth, and stay suspended in the listeners ear. Often his audiences were left in silence, in thought, in contemplation, in satisfaction-to him and us. That is what made him so utterly charming and irresistibly lovable.
He stood across from me saying something new now. Something like “it is through no fault of your own, love, that we are to go. She beckons from somewhere new. Do not be cross. Do not scoff Her...” He then turned to his companion and uttered two words of ancient confusion, “Carpe Diem...” His companion of travel smiled softly and nodded slowly his head of raven-black silk hair, smooth, glossy and perfectly straight. He too was astonishingly beautiful, though seemingly less outspoken than his confrère. Though he was presumably more thoughtful and intellectually inclined.
For his green eyes often blazed frequently with
omniscient passion, and only when he stood silent, pondering the depths of the sea, without and within, could one see quite plainly that he was not just another pretty face. For to catch a
glimpse of this creature of intriguing grace and
affinity, was to catch a beam of the sunlight, the sunlight that both he and his friend treasured so, and tuck it into ones pocket so that Her magical radiation could be felt to warm the heart forever.
This was Sebastian.
Together Adonis, Sebastian and i felt like we
could change the world! We were sailors,
soldiers, super heroes! Well, to each other, if
to nobody else. For there was nobody else, nobody else cared to concern attention. As long as the Lalique vase is Grandma Augusta's sitting room was not disturbed and we didn't set fire to the cat again, well, there was nothing we couldn't do in summertime...
It is so strange how hopeful one is at age seven. How innocent, how fresh! At age seven the world is a playground! Especially in Sunny Season! When the sun, still raised high in a crystal blue sky, speckled with tufts of white cotton-like clouds that let children play peek-a-boo with the sun. The sun that they so loved. Strange, how now that i am of grown up age i feel inclined to relive the years of my “formative growth period,” which is commonly referred to as childhood. But it is only for one reason, to see them again.
The books sat in my dapper little black school
bag which was, by now, all tattered by year long
wear and abuse. The pages of my arithmetic and
reading books and spelling logs from January lay
lifeless on the floor, flooding out of the little
bag. The pages, all crinkled and worn, fluttered
in the warm breeze of early June, and atop the
report of Ponce de Leon that was due months
before, sat my pencil. The very same pencil that
went through hell and back again, to get me
through an entire year. I had named my pencil,
Trusty, for when you are seven, a pencil that
lasts for an entire school year is trusty indeed. However, to save myself of constant explanation to adults and the like of why i had named my pencil Trusty, i called it Melvin for short.
It was only three days until i could shed my
jumper of green and blue plaid and my bobby socks
of hideous argyle print and sit, with my legs
spread miles apart, in the blue jean overalls that i had waited so long to wear. Three days to
suffer, three months to rejoice!
As an only child in a house full of adults one
would typically assume that i’d surely die of
boredom before the thought of September raised its ugly head. But no, not i, i had plans, i would not be beaten! True, my plans were uncharted and unknown, but they were plans all right! i could feel adventure, i could feel it!
The last day of my third year came to a close and as the school bell rang from the dust covered
scaffold, joy rose from the very core of me and
rang clear through my lips, “Elation!” I walked
home barefoot that day, seeing as i had tossed my
black, prostrating Mary Janes in the brook. The
waters beckoned to me. “Come child, swim!
Splash! Play!” And so I did. Alas! It is never fun to play alone, so i climbed out of the water and took refuge on a moss covered log, while Her long, warm arms wrapped round my shivering body and warmed me. All the while speaking, quite intelligently, to no one but myself of topics generally not discussed around the dinner table, let alone grown-ups!
“Suppose,” I said with conviction, “suppose that
violets bloomed in a shade of orange or red...
What then would one call them?”
“Surely they would be called beautiful!” came a
new voice from behind me.
“Well, suppose they needed a ‘name’...” I
protested.
“Well, my dear, the question is then, what would
one ‘name’ them, it is not, love?” he said softly with a flavor of delight rolling off of his tongue and fluttering towards my ears. I immediately fell in love with this voice, this voice of glee wapped in majesty.
“I do suppose so, sir...” i said, finally
raising my head to take a decent look at the love
beside me dressed in noon shadows.
“But what, my dear, is a name anyhow?”
“Well, sir, it is what one calls ones self. It
is part of one’s identity. Or that is what Miss
Lane says, at any rate.”
“Miss Lane...?” he said with certitude. He then
stepped aside a ways and addressed his
raven-haired friend. “An adult, you think?”
“Certainly.” replied the boy quietly.
“She is my teacher, naturally an adult.”
“Curious,” replied the voice I loved, “you see a
name, dear heart, is part of one’s identity, that
is true. However, one who is named is owned. We
have no names, we are not owned...”
“But what of your mother and fathers?”
“We are not owned...”
“Well, do you wish to be, sir?”
“I do, we do. Both of us. But promise not to
tell a soul!”
“You have my word, sirs.”
“Please, I beg, you do not call us sirs.”
“But what shall I call you?” said I, quite
exasperated indeed.
“I am Me, and this is Him.”
“How do you do Me and Him?” said I extending my
hand.
“Oh, I do not believe that is proper
grammar. In fact, I am certain it is not!”
“Pay no mind to grammar or arithmetic and the
like. For the sun is high in the sky! Tis time
to frolic!”
From then on, every day from sunrise to sunset,
June to September, it was time to frolic. Me and
Him had the most wonderful time playing all sorts
of silly games. Games that only we could play, for only we knew how to. Day in and day out we would sit, silently on the green velvet grasses and create a world in which there was no bedtime or school or chores and most importantly, no grown ups! No nagging, no irritating shouts calling “Clean your room!” or “Finish your milk!” And so with this imaginary creation, we were content. Best of all, we were together always, that is until the moon came out and scolded us for not being safe at home with our families under snugly blankets and fluffy cases. And I, being the timid kind, would turn down my head and bid good-bye to my friends and run off into the moon light. But Me, well, he did not take the moon’s scolding well at all. For he would claim to know Her, who seemed to be the most powerful goddess in all time and space, to at least Me and Him, and soon enough, to me too. For I had soon began to foster the ideologies that they had held, we, Me, Him and I, had become one. We belonged to each other.
On the first rainy of summer, in July, if I'm not mistaken, the three of us, growing weary of
coloring with the waxy, almost colorless crayons
from my Auntie Rose, decided to rest and take a
“thinking moment.” It was after this thinking
moment that Me turned to me and said,
“I would like to have a name, like you. Him
would too.”
“Well, that is all well and good, friends,” I
replied lovingly, “but who is to name you, when
you are not owned?”
“But do you not see! It is you who owns us! For you love us, and we love you, so therefore, we belong to you, and you to us. We belong to each other... Please do name us!” i was bewildered by this. I turned to Him and asked if this was truly what they wanted.He sat still and quiet for sometime, then looked me straight in the eyes and answered a simple “Yes.” I was touched, truly touched. I felt so very blessed, even at the age of seven, to have the honor of naming my two very best friends. My two only friends...
“Well, will you please name us? Please, we beg
you!”
“Of course, i shall have to think for a moment,
this is a fairly large responsibility, you know!”
So I thought, and thought, and finally it came to me. I had suddenly remembered a unit on Ancient Greece, in which i modeled a toga, and remembered only three things, grapes, Zeus and Adonis. Now, today I know what each is, but then I could only differentiate grapes from the group, and then, as far as I was concerned, Adonis was a better name than grapes or Zeus, so i said,
“I shall name you Adonis, it is Greek but you
need not wear a toga.”
And then I looked back at Him, who was staring off into space, looking at the rainy sky. I saw his wonderment, i saw his beauty, so I named him the most beautiful name I could think of, Sebastian. I walked over to where he sat, and placed my hand gently upon his shoulder,
“I shall name you the most beautiful name i can
think of, my friend. I shall call you Sebastian!”
Without warning, the newly christened Sebastian
turned round and swung his arms around my neck and started to sob.
“Thank you!” he cried. “Thank you! You are the
most... the most... I love you, ever so much!
Thank you!”
Then he began to quote Shakespeare, and I began to weep. Then because we were both weeping, Adonis wept too. Never have i been so moved as I was at that moment, nothing can ever compare, but I don't really want anything to. It is quite remarkable that the former Me and Him took so well and easily to their new names, as though that is what they both had been called since their births. “Curious,” I thought, “quite
curious.” Days passed and Adonis, Sebastian and
continued to play our secret games, continued to
be the best of friends for the next six summers in a row. There was nothing that we kept from each other, nothing. Or so i thought. That is until one day in late August of the sixth summer...
The wind rustled through the willow trees and
tickled my nose as i sat on the porch at noon time in the latter days of my latter vacation, August 23, to be exact. The sun had not fully come out yet, so i thought it best to ask Her nicely to come out and wait with me until my friends had arrived. I had been waiting there on the porch for Sebastian and Adonis to come so we could skip, holding hands and laughing, down to the brook, where we could swim and play and frolic like always.
Hours passed, and passed and soon the moon began
to rise higher and higher in the sky. As Her
lovely warmth faded and the black of night bled
into the sapphire skies of day, i had become
hopeless, scared. Finally i left my porch and
headed straight for my room. In my room, I
decided to perch myself on a chair next to my
window, so as I could be on look out, if they
happened to come late. Yet, as the hours dragged
on, I became more frightened of what might have
become of my companions. Horrid scenarios ripped
through my thoughts, and soon i became paralyzed
in fear, paralyzed...
“What if I never see them again! Then what shall i do! Who shall I have to depend upon, to make me smile!” I shouted, “Friends do not allow friends to worry and weep!” then, I had begun to weep. With the first tear that fell, i felt a presence in the darkened room. Suddenly, a
familiar voice spoke with the rhythm of my falling
tears
“True, love, friends do not let friends worry and weep, so please, we beg you, do not cry... There is no need.” It was Adonis. I quickly swung around to greet him, but as i turned around to his voice, i saw no one.
“Adonis? Adonis, is that you who i hear
comforting me so? Where are you Adonis? Is
Sebastian with you as well? Why did you leave
me!”
“My dear, we haven't left you, we are still with
you, in spirit and soul...”
“But why can i not see you, nor touch you! Why
must you make me suffer so! i need to see you, i
need to touch you! Please come back to me Adonis, Sebastian! I need you!”
“Dearest one! If it shall please you, we shall
return for a brief farewell.” With those words
Adonis and Sebastian appeared before me, dressed
in a radiating glow, a halo of yellow and pink, of peacefulness.
“Am I dreaming, or is this truth? How is it that you can do that!”
“Precious one! Do not speak of things that are
of little concern, it is futile indeed.” Said
Adonis in a manor of sincerity. “What is of
concern is the way in which Sebastian and i are to bid you a farewell...”
“But why are you to go! Shall i never see you
again! Oh please say you sha’n’t go, but if you
must, please promise to return!”
“Oh child! Do not be foolish! We will always be with you, and you shall see us soon enough. We must go away for a time...” said Adonis with
mounting compassion. He looked at me with his
head cocked to the left-he had tears in his eyes. He looked to Sebastian, who was tearing as well, for support.
“Men shut their doors on a setting sun-it is the
flaw in which we all posses...” quoted Sebastian
(of Shakespeare, of course) in a meek and faltering voice. Adonis, having ceased his
weeping turned to me and said,
“We are to go on to where the fire burns yellow
in the sky of blue, where the birds fly blinded
and the wind tickles my nose... That is where we
shall be.” After some time he concluded his speech of failed compassion.
"It is through no fault of your own, love, that we are to go. She beckons from somewhere new. Do not be cross. Do not scoff Her..."
Then he turned to his companion and uttered two words of ancient confusion, "Carpe Diem..."