“Wait for me,” he tells her. His eyes are endless oceans of grey, whirlpools and hurricanes lying, temporarily dormant, just beneath the surface.
He waits for a response, as do the storms in his eyes.
And it’s oh, so delicously ironic, because he’s the one doing the waiting, now.
He’s always just one step ahead of her.
They’re seven, and racing through the forest. He surpasses her easily, laughing as his short legs, already wrapped with lean muscle, carries him far ahead of her.
He spins around and grins, jogging backwards to face her. “Come on, Rena,” he taunts. “You can do better than that.”
Sweat drips down her forehead; her limbs are already aching with strain. “Wait,” she cries, “hold on. Wait for me, will you.”
He sends her a last flashing grin, before spinning back around and taking off into the forest.
They’re ten, and her mother forbids her from setting off on her Pokemon journey until her broken leg heals, which could take several more weeks.
She cries and screams, and when that doesn’t work, she goes to Calem.
“Wait for me,” she begs, “just a few more weeks. We were supposed to go together, remember?”
“Aw, Rena.” He sighs. “You know I hate waiting.”
Her throat closes up tight. “Fine, then,” she says, stiffly. “Whatever. Go.”
He smiles, bright and flashing as ever, and when he bends down to press his lips to her hair, she almost forgives him.
They’re thirteen and he’s just one gym badge ahead of her.
“We were supposed to take on the League together, remember?”
He nods, slowly.
“Wait for me, will you?” she asks, but she already knows the answer to that question.
And when he shakes his head, no, I’m sorry Rena, you’re not mad at me, are you? – the sharp pain in her chest is more of a dull ache. It doesn’t change, not even when he kisses her and tells her he’s sorry, he’ll miss her.
Experience does toughen a heart up, after all.
He lost, but she did not.
“I’m going to Hoenn,” she tells him. “I’m going to take on the League there, too.”
His eyes are searching, fierce. “Wait for me,” he says. He leans in, presses his lips to her, threads his fingers through her hair.
But his lips are bittersweet, and she knows it is not love in the kiss, not affection in his whispered promises, but a desperate need to not be left behind, to never take second place. Her chest tightens, because fuck, she loves him, she loves him, no matter what.
When she pulls away, she looks at him; his eyes are still fierce, but with a sense of calm. He’s confident of his own charisma, arrogant with the knowledge of her love. He knows he will not be left behind, not when it comes to her.
He waits for a response, as do the storms in his eyes. Confident. Arrogant.
“I won’t,” she tells him, with an ever-subtle shake of the head. She doesn’t apologise. She doesn’t need to.
Because she won’t be left behind, either. Not this time.
Sisters, Maia x Serena’s ‘Abstract the Realest’ is a collaborative series that seeks to pay homage to nineteen icons of subjective selection who’ve left formative impressions on both artists. From musicians to artists, street strangers and friends, the fusion of style captures both abstract and realistic representations of individual presence. The atmospheric aura that seems to emanate from the work visually through the layering of colour and linear progressions reflects the ‘vibe’ of the chosen subject, weaving in and out of the face, blurring the borders of inner and outer realms of being.
I highly support this work and recommend paying attention to the Calci tribe. :)