The first day of spring and the skies are clear blue. An endless rich colour able to warm even the coldest and most blue of hearts. After a midday breakfast I go out for a walk along the river. Everyone is out on their bikes and we exchange the usual quick pleasantries as we pass. For the first time in months everything around seems really alive. No more hibernating for the winter, working on our books. The once brown-heavy landscape is now a luscious, living green colour. I sit and watch a water snake trapped in the top lock. I feel like that snake, unable to really find my way out of the winter.
Later, unwilling to sit around doing nothing in the park, I head to the University library to sit alone in a corner. I’ve only just barricaded myself in my regular spot with half a dozen books when the librarian comes over.
“Um, we’re closing . We shut at 6 on a Friday.”
I mutter my apologies and replace the books in their correct spots on the shelves. Out front, I’m at a bit of a loose end. What to do now other than go home? Dozens of people are still sprawled out on the grass in the sun. Choosing to stay alone I walk across the park looking for some lunch. I’m crossing the first hill in the park when a group of people start waving me down. A selection of friends. I set up camp with them and we talk for a while.
Often, when your frame of mind has been set-up for the day a jolt can really knock you off balance. If you’re expecting to be alone all day, to not speak to anyone and keep yourself busy, and you suddenly come across a group of people it can actually tangle the wires in your brain helplessly. You’re not expecting social interaction and then you’re thrown straight into it.
I was trying to explain this to everyone when they commented on me looking awkward. It seemed that I was the only one who felt this way. I kept trying to back myself up with a decent explanation.
The majority of teenagers seemed to live similar lives in one respect; they would spend hours alone, holed up in their room going crazy, bored out of their mind, followed by bouts of intense and prolonged social interaction. Alone for half the day, and surrounded by people for the other half. Two opposites.
We all sat around on the grass and I began to warm to the day. We started to talk weather, and seasons, then colours and moods. “The spring and the autumn are similar,” June noticed, “particularly the colours.”
“The first day of spring always throws people off,” she said, putting her hand on my shoulder, reassuringly. “I bet you wish it was still winter, don’t you?”
I nodded.
