𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑷𝒊𝒄𝒏𝒊𝒄
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It was an arid and listless August when Toby and Eliza decided to ride their bikes into the country and up onto a hill. The weather was bleary and relentless, transferring its hazy, fatigued quality onto whoever stepped outside. The route they were taking was called the Latch Trail. Before they had set off, Eliza had turned excitedly towards Toby and asked him whether he had ever done one before.
Toby turned to her. ‘You know I haven’t. I only moved here a year ago.’
‘But did they not have a Latch Trail near Birmingham? I know it’s the city, but there must be some countryside around there.’
Toby paused, his brain working like slow machinery, trying to figure out the logic behind her words.
‘You do know it’s called the Latch Trail because you get a view over the Latch at the top, right? As in, this is the only Latch Trail.’
Eliza laughed at herself. ‘Right.’
Shortly into their ride, the inexhaustible heat cut deeply into the heart of their optimism. Already sweating and dehydrated, they pushed their bikes up the rest of the way. Eliza complained in the heat, so Toby offered her quiet words of encouragement. Once they reached the top, the view from the hill was bolstered by their sense of achievement. They sat and relished their small victory.
Toby had made them a lunch of sandwiches and boiled eggs, carefully packed into two metal lunchboxes. The tuna and cheese had broiled together in the heat of the container, forming a sloppy mixture that oozed from between the bread. Toby had the foresight to pre-peel the eggs, but unfortunately this meant they were now covered in the leaking sandwich filling. Eliza didn’t mind. She laughed as oil ran down her sticky fingers, before wiping them clean in the long, dry grass. Toby stared at her without expression but couldn’t bring himself to eat.
‘It’s nice up here,’ said Eliza, once she had finished. Toby smiled slightly.
They sat together on the floating hillside. The trail had been empty; Eliza guessed that most people had the sanity to take refuge from the heatwave and remain indoors. Toby thought of the cool, sheltered homes of the townspeople and felt far away. Meanwhile, Eliza was talking, always talking, beside him. He noticed that she carried the faint smell of body odour and was momentarily comforted.
Toby suddenly buried his head in his hands. Eliza turned to him, her eyes squinting in the sun. She said nothing; a small prickle of irritation bubbling within her. Instead, she held his hand on the searing seat of the edge of the world. Eliza shut her eyes and felt the red glare of the sun on her eyelids. Everything simmered. The valley continued endlessly.
Toby’s words stumbled from him: ‘The sandwiches.’
‘Were delicious,’ Eliza said, resting her head on his shoulder.
[Author Bio]
Olivia Lowden [twitter: @_olivialowden] is a writer and other from Cornwall, England. She likes to write about the complexities of navigating the world as individuals despite our base desires for intimacy, comfort and mutual understanding.