thoughts on a page

right. this is a very sad story (i apologize) but it was definitely good for me to write it. it's also an older story (from last fall) so if it sounds a little different than my usual style, that's why. :) hahaha, it's also a little long. oh well. enjoy! WolfGrrl

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I want to start off by saying I didn’t really know her; we had a class together (in one of those big lecture halls, where no one knows anyone else) and I saw her around campus or on the bus sometimes. But the first thing I noticed about her was her smile. It was brittle, easily broken. Like a superficial shield to keep the world away. She wielded it continually in social settings; in fact, every time I saw her she was smiling that broken-glass smile and it cut something in me, even though I didn’t know who she was or why she needed that shield of normalcy.

She came and went in my field of view, and I forgot about her in the rush of life and everyday responsibilities. But I didn’t forget her smile, and maybe that was why when my friend Annabeth started to smile that way it rang a bell, dimly, in the back of my mind.

Annabeth already had enough “issues” to last a lifetime. But somehow I’d never noticed that she wasn’t always around or she wasn’t always as…engaged as the rest of us when we talked and laughed and ribbed each other. In fact, I didn’t notice that she’d been growing quieter and quieter and smaller and smaller until I noticed her smile, and if it hadn’t been for that other unnamed girl I wouldn’t even have noticed that. So I asked her about it one day when we were studying in the lounge, waiting for our mutual friend David to get back with the pizza. 

“Hey Anna, is everything OK?”

“Sure.” She looked at me like I was crazy, and maybe I was because when I met her gaze I felt like I was looking at two people: one who thought I was crazy and one who was begging me for…something. Something important. The dichotomy in her eyes made me uneasy, and I let the subject drop.

The semester passed, and it was almost Thanksgiving when Annabeth suddenly went missing. We had French together and one day she didn’t show up for class. Annabeth was always in class and always on time – I was the one who would forget to set his alarm (or sleep through it). But Annabeth was obsessive about things like that, and so it was a shock when she wasn’t there to learn about irregular verbs in the past tense. 

I texted her and considered my duty done, but at dinner I still hadn’t heard back and her friend Pam had called me, wanting to know where Anna was. That was when I realized she was missing, and for some reason I pictured her smile, and then that other girl’s smile. The two images hovered in my mind all night, making it impossible to sleep. So I was awake earlier than usual the next morning, and I heard my cell when it rang.

“Anna’s in the hospital.” I could barely understand Pam she was crying so hard. “They said…they said she’s anorexic and that they’re putting her in that program for really sick people – the one where they force you to eat and you can’t see your friends or go home…” She rambled on incoherently, but it didn’t matter because I’d stopped listening even though I still had my cell pressed to my ear.

Anorexic. But she couldn’t be, could she? Suddenly feeling chilled I tried to draw an image of Anna in my mind but I couldn’t. I knew her – she was a friend, we had class together three times a week – but I couldn’t picture her at all. All I could see was her smile, that damned, brittle smile, and with the image came the memory of that moment when I asked her if she was OK and she said yes, but her eyes said no.

No, I realized with growing horror and shame. She hadn’t said yes. She’d said “Sure” and anyone who has lied to their parents knows that there’s a big difference between “yes” and “sure.” I hung up on Pam without bothering to say goodbye and sat down on my bed, feeling like there was a Chevy parked on my chest.

Annabeth died. They tried to save her; from what little news I got from Pam (who got it from Anna’s brother) they tried really hard to save her, doing all kinds of scary, crazy shit to keep her alive. But she’d gone too far for them to pull her back and she died. I took my last exam on the thirteenth of December and then flew down to Wilmington, North Carolina to attend the funeral. It was a cold, sunny day with a stiff breeze, and everyone’s faces were red and numbed from the cold. I felt numb in more than just my hands and my nose though; I was numb inside, hit hard by the idea that someone I thought I knew so well could be someone I didn’t know at all.

Worst of all were the what-ifs: they plagued me at odd moments, and especially at night. I’d lie in bed and try to remember every moment we’d spent together (which was weird in and of itself, since I hadn’t thought of Anna as anything more than a friend) so I could analyze them. But I knew even from the handful of memories I was able to collect that it was a pointless exercise. I’d never before realized how superficial all my relationships were; Annabeth was someone I saw almost every day and talked to nearly as often, but she’d managed to keep something so huge from me without any effort at all. A smile. That was all I had to remember, even though I was haunted by the ghosts of all the things I hadn’t done and didn’t know. A damned, brittle, broken-glass smile and a glance where “sure” was very far from “yes, I’m fine.”

I don’t know what happened to that other girl – the girl with the original smile. When I went back to school in January I had a different schedule, and I hoped when I didn’t see her that maybe she did too. But I rode the same bus, and the weeks passed and she never came.

Not knowing meant I could give her a happy ending if I wanted to; I could fashion a fantasy where they had caught her illness in time and saved her. But not knowing also meant that I didn’t know for certain. Annabeth’s funeral, painful as was, had provided closure. With that other girl – the unnamed girl, the original girl – I was haunted by a different set of what-ifs. It was no longer the “what if I’d noticed in time?” and “what if I’d said something or pressed harder to get her to share?” that ran around in my head when I crashed at two AM, jittery from caffeine or buzzed from a night out.  My what-ifs had grown up and grown teeth, and they gnawed at more than just my social conscience; after all, I’d known Anna personally, and I had no idea who this girl was. But over time her ghost became more real to me than Anna’s, and it was her ghost who prompted me to step up when I saw that smile on my brother’s girlfriend’s face four years later.

Liz wasn’t like Annabeth; her smile covered something different. But it was the same code, the same silent scream for help under the veneer of “I’m OK.” I don’t know how much I helped Liz, but I do know that I felt better when I reached out to her, and not just better in the immediate, short-term sense. 

I graduated from college, went to grad school, got my doctorate. I bet you think I’m a counselor or a doctor or a therapist, because of what I’ve told you. I will tell you that I see that broken-glass smile every day, sometimes multiple times a day, on the faces of the individuals that pass through my room. I see an Annabeth or a Liz hundreds of times a year, for a hundred different reasons and at a hundred different intensities. And standing beside me, unseen and unremarkable, is that first girl who will always wear the brittle, broken-glass smile in my memory. My ghost girl, who looks at me and, without me ever having known her, pushes me to reach out to the people behind those smiles and keep them from becoming ghosts themselves.

For Giggles

When I look out my window I can see the water. Right now it’s flat as glass, the soft peachy grey of morning. I can hear the surf and the seabirds calling. The wind smells good; it smells clean. I don’t have to go to the mall to find cleanliness – I push open the window and stick my head into the slipstream of wind, breathing deeply.

“What are you doing?”

“Look, you can see the boats.” I hear him roll over and mutter something, but the bed squeaks and I know he’s stood up. His hands are warm; broad and blunt as they cradle my hips. I relax against him, bones and flesh and spirit melting into him and the morning and the shore. He rubs small circles over my hip bone, over the bruise there. The little jolts of pain tickle.

“Crazy woman.” His mouth and my collarbone muffle the words. My hair catches in his; mine is finer, the strands glimmering like threads of sunlight and sea foam. His lips are warm on my skin, a delicious contrast to the cool air. “It’s freezing.”

“I want to go swimming.” The words slip out before my mind has a chance to process everything I’m feeling. I don’t care. I know what I want, and I know how to get it. He lets me step forward out of his grasp and I pull my old t-shirt over my head and drop it on a chair. We left the door open last night, wanting to bring the night into the cottage with us. Now the sandy deck is rough under my bare feet. He follows me out onto the deck and watches as I walk down the little hollowed trail we’ve made through the dunes. I start to run for the joy of it.

He catches me in the surf, laughing when I shriek as he scoops me off my feet. “Crazy woman.” One hand rubs my stomach; the other holds me safe. I drape my arms around his neck and touch my nose to his, eyes wide open.

“Hi.”

His smile takes my breath, as he took my heart. I feel foolish. I feel good. “Hi yourself.” The warm weight of his fingers there, over the gentle curve of my stomach, inspires me to kiss him. Thoroughly. “How are you?”

“We’re fine.” The water pulls at his ankles as each dying wave tries to cling to the shore. I cling to him and to happiness. This was the right choice. It felt right, from the very first words we exchanged. Words I’ve forgotten, yet which are engraved into my mind and my bones.

“I want to swim.”

“It’s too cold.”

“Then I want to wade.”

“You hate when your feet get sandy.”

I kissed him again, coaxing. Please. I love you. Laughter catches in our mouths, moving from mine to his like the trace of wine glides between tongues. He starts to laugh and then we’re both laughing. I feel the kick, the stretch and ripple of my skin. We’re all laughing. 

WolfGrrl

Cat and Mouse

A Short Story by Gasybeans.
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You scare me. You probably already know that. Do you remember that day when I first noticed you?

You were looking at me, taking in the small framed, curvy girl in her sheer white tank top and cuffed denim shorts. Your jaw clenched tightly as your eyes linger on my lean, moisturized, newly waxed, tan legs that had been accented by those awfully high wedges. You knew that I saw you, yet you had no shame.

Your gray eyes met mine in that bookstore that day. Had it not been roasting outside, do you think I still would have been dressed in such a way that brought you pleasure? Maybe. I guess you knew that. You already knew me, yet I knew nothing of you.

That last sentence is true, for sure. Just like how you already knew that I would be there that day, looking for that exact book you had in your hand. You watched me as I uncomfortably walked over to the British Literature shelf. You never once took your eyes off of me. You knew that I was afraid, and that I wouldn’t find the book. Is that why you came over so silently extending your hand to me with the book in your hand?

“Looking for this?” You had asked me.

You held my skeptical gaze at you and you smiled. Your gray eyes were beautiful and rare. I guess you knew that I like rare things too. You thought it was fun, didn’t you? Scaring me, that is. I shook my head at you, but I needed that book and you knew it. You knew that it belonged to my late mother. You knew everything.

You grabbed my wrist to place the book in my hand, but I quickly pulled away before you could do it and the book fell on your toe. Sorry, about that. It was rude of me, I guess. I ran away from you, but you did not chase after me - not at first. The doorbell jingled when I got outside facing the heat again. I turned around and there you stood, staring at me through the glass with those gray eyes, aged with time and pain. You watched me walk away, but you knew I wouldn’t get very far.

It was hot, much too hot in this empty town. Dehydration ensued as the saliva in my mouth ceased to produce. You were waiting for me in that diner. You had driven ahead and I did not see you. You handed me a glass of cold water. I drank it all and you smiled as you watched the sweat on my skin glisten and the water in my mouth spilling over. You knew I was too desperate to care. You offered to buy me a glass of lemonade, my favorite summer beverage. I declined. But you ordered one anyways, a sparkling one. When it was ready, you walked over to the counter and grabbed it for me. You saw me analyzing the carbonated beverage with my gaze. Then, you saw me look at you.

You had bluish-gray eyes and they were beautiful. You looked to be in your 40s, old enough to be my dad. Your brown hair was beginning to gray and the structure of your face told me that you were quite a stud in your younger years. You still kind of were. You smiled at me again, and this time I noticed your dimples.

I took the cup in my hand and you watched me as I brought it closer to my mouth. You knew I couldn’t resist. I was much too thirsty. I drank it all and it was refreshing. You smiled as let out a sigh of satisfaction. I thanked you for the drink and quickly sat up, but something was wrong. You had anticipated it coming. You planned it after all.

I felt dizzy and nauseated. I felt your cold, strong arms swoop me up before I fell. The owner expressed concern but you told him you would take care of it and bring me to the hospital. You told them I was dehydrated, that was all. I bet you enjoyed that, looking like a hero in front of all those people. You fooled them, the same way you fooled me. How did you do it? You looked at me with those eyes and smiled when you realized that my sight was blurred. You whispered something.

“Never take anything from a stranger.” But you weren't a stranger, were you?

i imagine

these are a series of very short scenes i wrote as an exercise for my brain. i hope you enjoy them! :)

I. i imagine pale green walls with white curtains on the windows. i imagine a grey cat asleep beside a chocolate and eggshell dog, in a puddle of sunlight. i imagine that the dog's ears are soft and limp like damp mittens, and hang over his front paws. i imagine you can hear his whispery snore from the hall but not beyond.

II. i imagine two girls lying on hot plastic lawn chairs by the pool, browning their backs as they prop their heads on folded arms and talk idly about boys and friends and nothing. i imagine the air smells like chlorine and ozone and sunscreen, and that the rumble of the drink machine causes the overzealous lifeguard to call thunder and clear the pool. i imagine that the sky is cloudless right now, but whipped cream clouds are rising and will bring storms as the day ages.

III. i imagine a father standing by his car, waiting with crossed arms and leashed impatience as his daughter hugs her mother one last time. his handsome face looks older. i imagine his car smells like peppermint and Calvin Klein for men, and that he took it to be cleaned before he came to pick her up. i imagine that he forgot to check the glove box, and that she'll find a small make-up bag and a spotted tissue that don't belong to either of them.

IV. i imagine a soldier disembarking from the civilian flight from DC. i imagine that he flinches every time someone thanks him, and doesn't notice when the businessman who sat two rows behind pushes past him at the gate. his mother is waiting at baggage claim, and she cries when she sees his face.

V. i imagine a woman with too much eyeliner locked in a staring contest with a tired cop. i imagine they've done this before, and they both know how it ends. the cop is thinking about his daughter; the woman wants to forget hers. she slides her chair back and crosses her legs, and he can't help looking.

VI. i imagine four mourners standing at a grave, the priest wrapping up the service as the first snowflakes begin to fall. i imagine all four are dressed in shades of black and grey, and that the woman on the end refuses to cry and ruin her makeup. i imagine not one of them is sorry to see the small coffin lowered into the cold ground.

VII. i imagine a wash-out young man sitting on a perfectly made bed with his shoulders slumped and his hands hanging between his knees. on the floor between his feet is a framed photograph, the face distorted by broken glass. i imagine that he can't make a sound, even though there's no one to hear. he waited too long and said too little. he's lost more than his chance.

VIII. i imagine a young woman sitting on a curb at midnight, wearing heels and a fuck-me red party dress. she has racoon eyes from her mascara, and hiccups from the wine. she's bleeding, and trying to hold onto the alcohol haze to deaden her fear. but shame has eaten away the numbness and she presses call on her cell phone. her voice breaks when her mother answers.

IX. i imagine he is standing at the window of a small apartment, the woman of the night asleep on the rumpled bed behind him. he can't remember what they did, but he feels the cold when he puts his hand against the glass. she wakes up to the sound of sirens, and someone banging on the apartment door.

WolfGrrl

The Sky is Pretty Today

A VERY short story

The sky is pretty today. The clouds are big, white, and fluffy, floating in its vast, faint blue ocean. Coming in all shape and sizes, they create stories in the sky, and someone somewhere is looking at them wondering what they’re saying. A big, yellow circle is hiding behind them, shining brightly and sending rays of warmth and comfort to those below it. It is shy, but it constantly plays peek-a-boo with me. Sometimes it makes me angry and I can not handle the constant heat it wishes to resonate.

The wind whispers ever so softly. Its cool breeze keeping my body comfortable in the presence of the sun. It reminds me that world is meant to be balanced, that there is always a good in everything that happens to us. I can not see it, but I can feel its gentle touch as it interweaves between him and I, whistling a comforting tune that keeps my feet on the ground as my head wants to make way to the clouds.

We laugh. What we are laughing about, I can’t even recall, but we laugh and a blanket of calmness takes over me. I feel light. I feel calm. I feel...burdenless. Our eyes meet every once in a while causing me to look away as a smile secretly makes its way on my face. Stories and jokes are exchanged again, and more chuckling and giggles seep out of our lips.

Sometimes things get serious. Questions about life interpretations are asked, and answers full of perspective and concern are returned. It sends the troubled soul in me into a relaxed state, allowing life to settle in again. Thoughts of self-reflection begin to ensue and I begin to wonder who I am. I shake it off.

He looks at me with his gray eyes and asks what I’m thinking. Hiding my thoughts I smile and say “Nothing. I’m just really glad I met you.” A bit taken aback he slowly begins to smile again and says “I'm glad I met you too.”

There is a short interval of silence before we begin clearing our throats. Things return to back to before as we pick fun at each other and waste our energy away. In the middle of a laugh his eyes diverge away from us and the laugh begins to die down. A different smile forms on his face and his eyes are full of adoration and excitement.
I smile. She’s finally here. Turning my head, I see the beautiful being approach us, her hair mid-length and straight. Her smile is grand and contagious, genuine. Her eyes are full of life and laughter. She greets us, and it is returned. I keep quite as her natural energetic spirit consumes the two of us. Her words dance in coherent sentences as she animatedly paints stories with them. They laugh. I laugh.

Taking in the familiar scene, I smile. They laugh, exchange jokes, and speak of the events in their lives. A slap of the hand and a head thrown back in laughter makes its way into the conversation once in a while. The wind segues around me and I appreciate its coolness and its comfort before letting out a neutral heavy sigh. I look back up at the sky again, admiring its baby blue color and random chunks of white cotton candy.

The sky is pretty today.