3: What she believes
Autumn wore white one night. It reminded Theodore of Marilyn Monroe, the way the material got caught by the wind and danced like butterfly wings as she walked. Her footsteps were silent as she crept across the lawn, her feet bound by twists of leather vines that snaked up her calf. She looked like a warrior. She looked beautiful.
“Do you believe in luck?”
“Hi to you, too.”
Autumn laughed as she dropped onto the ground and folded her legs underneath her. “Hi, Theodore. Now, answer the question.”
“Luck is just another word for chance,” he answered.
“So, you don’t believe in objects that increase your chances?”
“You mean lucky charms?”
“I thought you didn’t believe in luck.” Autumn gave him a mischievous grin.
He was intoxicated by her smile and couldn’t help but return it. Theodore sat up on his section of the lawn until their knees were almost—but not quite—touching.
“What’s your point?” he asked.
She leaned forward, her long, delicate fingers reaching up behind Theodore’s ear. He didn’t dare to breathe, but he remained eye contact with Autumn. The colour of someone’s eyes was always described with such beautiful adjectives, as if they were unforgettable concoctions a painter used on a masterpiece. In books and music and film, it was always idolised.
Theodore didn’t find anything particularly stunning about the colour of Autumn’s eyes. They’re brown, she once told him when she caught him staring. It was true. They were brown, a completely ordinary shade that she shared with a majority of society. It didn’t deserve an extraordinary name to describe the pigmentation. Nothing like rich mocha. They were brown.
But that didn’t mean they weren’t astonishing. The creases that formed in the corners when she laughed were beautiful. The way she squinted when she laughed was unforgettable. It was the little details that needed the appreciation writers and musicians and directors often forgot about.
Something cold pressed against the sensitive skin behind Theodore’s left ear, snapping him out of his trance. Autumn’s warm fingers brushed against the exact same place, the juxtaposition of sensation sending a shiver down his spine. When she drew away from him, a fifty cent coin sat in her palm.
Autumn smiled, flicking the coin up with her thumb. The pair watched it spin in the air before it landed in her open hand. Before any of them could see, she slammed the coin on the back of her other hand.
“Heads or tails?”
“Are we just going to ignore the fact that you magically pulled a coin from behind my ear like I’m some sort of human piggy bank? By all means, if I have a twenty stashed behind there, feel free to pull that out, too.”
Autumn laughed. “Theodore.”
“Autumn.” He was smiling.
“Heads or tails,” she repeated when she sobered.
“What do I get if I win?” he bargained.
“If you win, I’ll buy you a crispy chicken twister. If I win, you buy me one. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“Now, heads or tails?”
“Tails.”
Autumn lifted her hand to reveal the outcome.
“Guess you’re buying me dinner tomorrow night,” Theodore said.
“This is a lucky coin. I knew you’d win.”
“There are only two outcomes. I wouldn’t call that lucky.”
She just dropped the coin into Theodore’s hand. It was warm from her touch as he ran his thumb over all twelve edges.
“Keep it. Always choose tails. You can never lose.”
“Impossible.”
But when Theodore flipped the coin over, he saw that it was possible. Both sides contained the same face; the Commonwealth Coat of Arms.
The whole situation reminded him of an Audrey Hepburn quote: nothing is impossible, the word itself says 'I’m possible.'
YOU ARE READING
Autumn
Short Story"Why jump?" "Do you know what another word for 'autumn' is?" she asked. He stayed silent. "Fall."
