“Do you like ambrosia?”
The setting sun had tinted the cool bay a faint pink. I tried not to blink as flecks of ocean sparkle reflected into my eyes, and I watched as Oroson did the same. He had shifted into a more casual position: head dipped toward the breeze, legs lightly bouncing off the Manchester boardwalk into empty space.
“Huh?” I asked as soon as the words settled in. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, just, y’know. As they say, ambrosia is a God’s fill, and honestly, I just thought that you look like a God,” Oroson spoke as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He made a hasty camera shape with his two thumb and index fingers, as if he could actually capture a photo if he tried hard enough.
“But… Gods aren’t real,” I said, trying my hardest not to flush under his intense stare. He didn’t respond for an inconceivable moment, and if I hadn’t known him, I would’ve missed the slight squint in his eyes. It was, of course, gone after an instant, but I couldn’t get the image out of my head even after he started to talk.
“Oh… right, I’m sorry. I keep forgetting you’re an atheist since you go to church every weekend.”
“Maybe they are,” I said before thinking. “Gods- maybe they are real.”
Oroson clicked his tongue before sighing absent-mindedly. “Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t. All we can do as humans is believe.”
“What would you do if they were real?”
“If they were real…” he trailed off, tilting his head to the side in a sudden seriousness I’d never seen before. The sun cast a dark shadow over his back, surely illuminating the face I couldn’t see. “I would ask them to stop watching over me.”
I let out a chuckle, but it was forced. “How do you know they’re watching over you?”
“I can just tell,” he said, turning around. His eyes were dark and looking into a surely far off land I couldn’t see. I said nothing when he smiled, previous dark air dissipated and spirits high as ever. “It really would be funny if something like that happened, right? If they watched over me.”
As my knees dug on the balmy boardwalk, my nose once again inhaling the sultry scent of the sea, I let my mind rest just once. Tomorrow morning, I would wake up to the promise of an overcooked temperature soup, and for now, I’d be content with just that. Later I would look back on this encounter with a sense of exasperation, as I would’ve never learnt to appreciate the small things shared.
It was, after all, the closest I would ever get to love.
