Sunday, August 31, 2014

Night Light #StorybySunday

She lay in bed, like she did every night, staring up into emptiness, counting a steady stream of nothing until she fell asleep. If she fell asleep. Some nights this was all there was, the gentle in, out of her breathing and a frustrated 1, 2, 3, 4... until the sun started to creep in through the window.

She had lost count four times somewhere around 3,246 but her eyes were still stubbornly staring and there was not a single yawn threatening to escape from her lips. That was when she saw it, when she sat up, twisted her body around and titled her neck at a curious angle to stare at what shouldn't be there. A thin thread of light slipping in underneath her door. There were no muffled or whispered voices, no near or distance footfalls; only the light.

She tried to ignore it. She told herself to close her eyes and go back to her counting. She knew that was what she was supposed to do. Ignore the light that shouldn't be there. She tried.

The floor was cool against her bare feet as she slid out of bed and out of the room and down the hall. The house was almost entirely dark. There was a light, somewhere, that was struggling to make its way towards her but she could not make out its source. It was so faint she still could not even see her feet hitting the floor in front of her.

She walked toward the light because she couldn't think of a reason not to. If she could not make her body want to sleep than she might as well use it. Creeping through darkened corridors towards an unknown source of light was preferable to boredom. Anything was better than lying on her back staring up, unblinkingly, at an infinity of nothing. Again.

The light did not appear to be growing, nor did it diminish, it remained a constant question, a whisper she needed to lean in just a little further to hear. She kept walking. The path was clear even though she was ever unsure of what her next step should be.

She paused once; she stopped. She thought that maybe she should turn back. The girl turned around. Her feet fixing themselves in place, she twisted at the hips to get a look behind her. There was nothing there, only darkness like a wall. Even though somewhere inside her she knew that was where she had come from, she was afraid. The fear sent chills through her arms and she turned back towards the light. She didn't know where she was going or how far she had come, only that she needed to go forward until she figured it out.

Sunday, August 24, 2014

School Supplies #StorybySunday

She lines three pencils in a neat row next to a blue pen and a black pen and a thick yellow highlighter. A virgin marble notebook sits closed beside them and she lightly taps a tattoo on the black and white speckled cover.
It excites her, new pens, a completely untouched 100 sheets of wide ruled paper. Her classmates start to file in one by one and two by two and sometimes in groups that have to undo themselves in order to make it through the door. She smells change. She smells fear. It all feeds her. She smiles at the summer clean blackboard and sits taller in her chair. Soon the room is almost full and, without looking, she can feel the ring of empty seats around her. The smile doesn't waver, though it wants to.
The bell rings. Textbooks are passed down the rows like a bucket brigade. She has to stand and stretch to take a book and pass it on. Finally, when the book she takes is hers to keep, she stares at the flaws in its facade; the cracks in the corners, the scratches on the cover- some accidental, some deliberately carved. She runs her hand across the face of the book and shudders. She does not like used things.
She looks at her notebook to calm herself, at her three newly sharpened pencils with unblemished pink buds of erasers, at her pens and highlighter, all unspoiled and perfect and waiting. She looks down at herself, at the blouse and skirt and shoes and everything she put on for the first time tat morning, removing tags, taking off protective plastic packaging. Everything is clean and new. She is clean and new. She showered so many times she really ought to be.
Mr. Conroy is pacing and wringing his hands and lecturing about his love of politics and she feels a pull and she wants to be drawn in but instead she slides back ad she thinks that maybe she can slink to the floor and slip out the door and run away from all of this.
She thought she was stronger than this. She told herself that she had won. She believed it when she was alone in her bedroom with her wet hair and clean clothes, placing a marble notebook into a brand new backpack. She thought she had won, had stuffed the secret down her throat and swallowed. But the illusion only lasted when she was at home. As soon as she came back here she knew; no one has any secrets in this place.
She could see it on their faces and in the way that they turned from her. She could feel how she only existed in the corner of their eye now, something to be whispered about but never approached. She saw herself the way she knew they saw her. She saw the dirt pouring out from her skin turning everything she touched a crumbly black.
The dirt was everywhere, dripping down from under her skirt and piling up at her feet in tiny hills. It was running down the side of her face and churning in her stomach. It wasa pushing up, crawling through her, trying to escape. Her eyes were full of it; she could not blink.
She wanted to scream but bit her bottom lip to keep the breaking pieces inside. She had been here before, she knew what to do. She stared at something far away, a photograph on the classroom wall of a place she'd never been. She went there. She left her body and the dirt and screaming need behind and she just kept breathing until the bell rang.

Sunday, August 17, 2014

But I Remembered the Blueberries #storybysunday

This is the moment they're always talking about in movies. The sun is rising behind her face, tendrils of light touching on her hair so that blonde is transformed to gold; she glitters as she starts to wake up.

Sarah turns toward me, scrunching down our sleeping bag with her caterpillar crawl so that goosebumps spread out across my bare shoulders. But I don't mind. She smiles with her eyes closed, yawns, full mouth to the world, and when she presses into me all of the chill is gone. The goosebumps remain.

I stare at the golden glow of her, the light that I have to remind myself that she is borrowing. Somehow though, I feel that she would be luminous even in the pitch black of a cave. Science be damned.

This is the moment, the 'I just knew' moment that reaches back and rewrites history so that from now on I feel as if somehow, some part of me has always 'just known.'

Sarah mumbles something into my chest and it takes every ounce of willpower I've ever earned to peel myself away from her. I pull on jeans, grab a t-shirt and step out of the tent to start a fire for breakfast. I'm making pancakes if I can ever figure out how any of this is supposed to work. Sarah is walking towards me before the kindling even starts to smoke. As soon as she takes over, sparks fly up.

Her blue eyes are grey as she holds a hand up to shield them from the fire and the sun fighting to get to her through the trees. She is full of such surprising beauty in even the smallest moments that I swear I'm going to burst trying to breathe it all in.

I want to spend the rest of my life in this moment. Armageddon will come and go and we'll still be here standing between the fire she built and the tent I didn't quite put together right, feeling the universe move through us.

I have just enough breath for one word. "Pancakes?"

Her smile is mysterious and sad and gone from the right side of her mouth before the left side knows what it's doing.

"You didn't pack the griddle."

"I remembered the blueberries though, your favorite. We could walk into town, buy a griddle."

"Steve."
"Or just forget the pancakes. There's plenty else we-"
"Steve."

I step towards her and she backs away. She stumbles but catches herself before falling towards the flames.

"I really should be getting home."