Short Story Contemplation

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Re: Short Story Contemplation

Postby smileyalways » Fri May 29, 2015 3:49 pm

I think most people will tell you it's the heat.

They'll say the heat is what hunches shoulders and leave bags under eyes. Smothering heat by mid-morning, unbearable heat by midday. It's what'll make people feel hopeless. The miles of scrub land and cloudless skies is what'll make you feel like you've got nothin to lose.

But it isn't. It never has been, and it probably never will.

Because I know. It's the people that weigh down shoulders and dreams. The heat adds on a miniscule amount, because people learn to adjust. From the youngest child, to the oldest senior citizen. The people around is what will bring down lives, swallowing them in the dust of the desert.

And I should know, I'm one of those people. Life gone before I half a mind to reach out to save it. Gone with him and gone with her.

I know, I should explain, but i've never been good at it. And I don't know where to start. The beginning's too long, the middle's irrelevant, and the end...well the end isn't finished. But I guess that's a good enough place to start as any-the beginning of the end.

I'm Miles Rodriguez and this is how I learned that Lucille Adams was just another girl.

***


heavily inspired by Just Another Girlby The Killers

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Re: Short Story Contemplation

Postby smileyalways » Fri May 29, 2015 4:04 pm

This started off as a narrative, became a rambling, became a narrative ramble, and full circled back into narrative. Enjoy.

***

Basically as a kid Zach was always sick. Colds, fevers, strep throat, ear infections, asthma-the whole nine yards. But he wasn't a sick baby, a sick kid. All throughout elementary school he had to be picked up from school and missed days of it. Storie and Mink pulled both him and his older sisters out to homeschool them because it got that bad, but in reality that was probably going to happen sooner or later anyway.

But because of this, they never really went anywhere. Rarely out of the town they lived in, never out of the state, or the country like Storie and Mink always wanted to and while the Twins and Zach never minded, they knew something was up.

He doesn't really start to get any better until about 4 years later when Zach is 8 and Twins are 10. In the four year time period however, Reggie, a foster kid, is adopted by Mink and Storie, and Penelope, born during this time period, is about 2 years old. Zach of course is able to understand things little bit better now, and goes literally nowhere near his sister, despite his complete adoration for her. He's afraid she'll get sick because of him.

Later when Penelope is old enough to go to school, Zach starts getting antsy. He's lived his entire life in their small city and has never been anywhere else. Penelope and Reggie go to public school and go on field trips and to museums and sometimes out of state and all Zach can do is listen to what they tell him when they come back and wonder. Zach, at the age of 11 starts to get wanderlust and it only grows stronger as the years progress. And as his wanderlust grows, so does his irritation; he can't do anything about it.

Fast forward 6 years and Zach is as good as he's ever going to get. His asthma is still terrible, but now he's only bed-ridden occasionally. He's taking Penelope to the mall with some friends and then he meets Lauren.

And Lauren, her parents are Skylar and Vincent, so she may as well be the offspring of wanderer. Only a few months younger than he is, and she's been everywhere her parents have been-they've taken her (almost) everywhere with them. The bustling streets of new york, quiet plains of the savannah, the Netherlands, obscure farms on the hills of New Zealand, towering forests in Brazil. She knows about five languages (her Portuguese is a little rusty, but her mandarin is spot on) and occasionally lapses into them, just out of habit.

She, Skylar and Vincent are back in town to stay, they want her to have some semblance of continuity and they enroll her in the local public school. The same public school Zach convinced his moms to go to at the beginning of the school year.

So, he sees Lauren a lot. And surprise, surprise she's pretty freakin popular. With everybody. She doesn't have any close friends, but everybody knows her and she smiles at anyone who greets her. She's always telling stories from the places she's been and Zach hears everything. overheard from her, from other people, even from some of the teachers.

He's wildly curious about her.

She's everything he ever wanted to be. She been places, seen things, expirened them with her own two hands. Zach has only ever been out of town about 10 times by the time he's 17.

Eventually they get to know each other better when Lauren needs an English tutor and Zach is in the top of his class and figured he needed something to do with his free time.

So they talk. Lauren, in a weird turn of events barely does any talking and just lets Zach go on and on and on about his life and about his family. About his Moms who taught dutch and Thai to each other and how they've been together forever, about his older sisters Stephanie and Amelia who are twins and live with each other, he tells her about how Reggie hates being called Reginald and how he came to live with them when has only 6, and then he goes on talking about Penelope and how their cousin Robin and her are inseparable.

Zach talks about his Uncles who are grossly in love with each other and how his Uncle Marc only has one eye and how his Uncle Radio has the best singing voice ever. Abut how Marc cries so much and Radiation is literally a forced to be reckoned with if you ever get him mad. He tells her how much they gush over their daughter (robin) and It's kinda embarrassing, but noone can really bring themselves to feel embarrassed.

Most of the time they don't even get any work done and most of the time they ditch completely, opting to just go out and explore the fields and even getting lost in the labyrinth of their town because Zach has never done this and Lauren never lived there for more than 2 months.

Those times are the only ones they ever talk, though because Zach likes Lauren, but he doesn't like the attention she brings with her in school. Zach, despite wanting to go to school, does not like people and Lauren understands, so slowly she starts to drift away from her 'friends' and starts to spend more time with Zach.

And Zach doesn't realize it at first, but he appreciates it. Lauren is literally his only friend. Their relationship is him lounging on her and Lauren bear hugging him and teaching him bits and phrases from the languages she knows so he can understand her when she lapses, food fights and spending nights up just talking about random crap and getting coffee in the morning to get them through the day.

And he doesn't realize it until he's coming back to the house near dusk grinning like a dork, drench from falling into a creek and having to borrow one of her shirts that maybe it's not at all as platonic as he thinks.

He doesn't freak out because he never felt anything for her before-he knows he's demiromantic. He freaks out because that's his friend.

One quick whiff of dove shampoo and cheap perfume and he feels like he's screwed.

He doesn't act any different, but Lauren knows something is up anyway and he knows she knows but he doesn't confess, and when they graduate Lauren's back to her circumnavigations and Zach wishes he could go, but he can't. He has to work and he's going to school, and he has to watch over Penelope and Robin and sometimes he gets sick. So, he can't.

And two years later she comes back. She's the same as ever, though her hair got longer and Zach swears that her eyes are purple when he sees her again, but her Portuguese is better and now she knows Afrikaan. Her already bronze skin is even darker and the first thing she does when she sees him is crushes him in a minute long bear hug that leaves him breathless.

And then she kisses him which he's pretty surprised about too.

They work out all the kinks of their relationship, Lauren's just as inexperienced as Zach but they make it work. She later finds out that she's heteromantic and she's okay with it and Zach understands. Their pretty much the same, though Zach isn’t big on PDA and now instead when they have to say goodbye it's accentuated with a kiss.

They realize that they really like each other. Despite both their initial fears of ruining their relationship it works out for them and when Zach finally gets his bachelors they both decide that maybe the world isn't so big.

Zach still yearns to see the world and one day when he mentions this, Lauren looks at him like he's crazy and starts to pack and plan and she tells him there's only one way to curb wanderlust and he smiles because when he's looking at her he swears her eyes are bright violet and time and time again he thinks 'I'm in love' and he wouldn't have it any other way.

They travel. To new places for Zach and old for Lauren. She takes him to the farm in New Zealand and old alley ways of Beijing where she talks with old friends and the freezing parts of Finland and the scorching areas of Argentina. Zach takes to writing down events and places and his thoughts a well as phrases and little things that help him remember how to speak certain languages. Lauren's more inclined to take pictures but usually she just doodles scribbles in Zach's journals.

They travel by bus and train, but most of the time walking and on one occasion by a purchased mule (which they named Prinxe FlutterButter) and sometimes by boat. They sleep where ever some nights. Barns, beds, under the sky, in musty motel rooms, in guest rooms of the generous, and even some nights in hotels.

On their travels though, it's not like they never did anything though. Most of the time Zach checks out sick kids and sometimes adults-free of charge all the time, and Lauren offers to cook and clean in exchange for places to stay and Paints for money, selling portraits and landscapes when she has to.

Two things they always have on them is food and money-in any form. They always have a little extra cash and always have some sort of food and water on them. They never know sometimes when they'll eat next and Zach thinks he should be worried or frightened by that, but he just feels happy. He's never been happier.

Eventually they have to return to the states after what feels like decades, but it's only been about a year or two. Mostly because of Zach's health. He gets the worst asthma attack of his life and then they decide it's best to go back-back to Nebraska and they pack up what little they have and catch the next flight out of Niue to the states.

And Zach with as much predictability as a coin does something he never thought he'd do before.

He asks Lauren to marry him.

She's just about as surprised as him, but she knows he means it. The blush that covers him from his neck to his ear tips are confirmation enough and when she asks for a ring he laughs in relief because she said yes, (she said yes) and she's joking with him-she hates rings.

They don't know the first things about weddings. Skylar and Vincent are no help, they got married in a court house and ten minutes later were on a flight to Bulgaria, so they mostly take tips from Mark, Radiation, Storie and Mink.

All four of them are ecstatic because Nebraska is a beautiful state and all of them were so sad they couldn't get married in it. Storie and Mink talk about flowers and decorations and the type of clothing everyone will wear and who's being invited (it ends up being their entire extended family, related or not).

Mark and Radio focus more on what Zach and Lauren are going to wear, getting them tailored and looking at bridal gown with Lauren, Skye and Vinc. Mark and Radio get into arguments over what songs their going to play, and it ends with Mark kissing Radiations pouting lips off his face and Zach and Lauren laughing because they really can't believe those two.

They mostly let those four focus on everything else, but Lauren and Zach pick out the food and the cake and decide who come. They eventually decide to invite close family (grandparents, family friends) and their friends from around the world.

Round trip, hotels, the whole nine yards. To them, they're family too.

The wedding itself Is a little messy. It certainly isn't traditional in the least except for a few key details, but they wouldn't have it any other way. Zach starts crying the moment he puts the tuxedo and only stops when their officially married. Their vows are said in perhaps the clumsiest way possible, with Lauren getting nervous and telling them in 4 different languages and Zach is trying to translate, but he gives up halfway through, what she's saying is for him; it doesn't matter if anyone else can understand.

and she knows that when he accidentally starts his in spanish, that she wouldn't to spend her life with anyone else.

Their kiss isn't like any of the other ones they've had before, it's their first kiss as a married couple and with the wind in their hair and wildflowers blooming all around them, they're married. By this time almost everybody's crying and Marc has to be led away because he really can't get it together, and Mink and Storie are crying too, because it worked out so easily for them and the both of them are so happy that it did. When Lauren throws her bouquet-a combination of apple blossoms, asters, Stephanotis and forget-me-nots- Penelope catches it. She laughs for a minute or two before handing it off to Robin who blushes five shades of red and Mark finally stops crying only to laugh and put an arm around his daughter.

There's even more crying at the reception, the cake cutting is probably their favorite favorite part, the marbling is perfect and the strawberries are fresh and they give the first piece to Penelope and Robin.

They hate cake. And they spend the time cutting pieces for each and everyone of the people who attended their wedding.

When it's time for their first dance, both of them turn to bashful blushing messes. Marc and Radio picked the songs, choosing ones zach and lauren both liked and what they thought represented them the best. Lauren and Zach have no protests and when the first song starts up they laugh because if their Hearts were houses they'd definitely be home with each other.

It ends around midnight. Mink still has to open her bookstore at a decent time, Marc, Radiation, and Robin open their cafe early the next morning, and Storie has to do ordering and accounting for her bar. And Zach and Lauren, they have a flight to catch at 9 later that morning.

They may not be going to Bulgaria, or Japan, or Australia, but they do have some where to go.

At 7 they stop by the cafe and say goodbye to Kar-keid-him Colibri trio, grabbing coffee to go before stopping by Zach's moms' house and saying bye to Storie and Mink before they pick up Lauren's parents and begin driving to the airport.

They catch a plane to california and Skylar and Vincent, they catch one to Rio

Zach and Lauren decide that it's a big world out there, like really big, but while they already traveled it. They decide that since they've always been on the go, that maybe it's best if they slow down albeit only a little.

A quiet place is where they decide. One with rolling sand dunes and scrub flowers in vibrant colors. Sea salt regularly settles in their hair and on their lips and they can taste it with each and every kiss. The waves roll off and crash into the shore and the sounds lull them to sleep and together they're happy.

Their place is small by others' standards, but not by their own because after living in the alleyways of Beijing and Thailand and New York on one occasion, big isn't big, it's empty and in that respect, lonesome.

They move around each other as easily as the water that crashes into the land behind them and they like it. The solidarity, the quiet, the way it feels so natural to them.

And sometimes when the sun wakes Zach up before their alarm does, he kisses Lauren and when her eyes open he swears their purple, opposed to their usual deep blue, and he smiles, because he wouldn't want to have his life any other way.

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Flint & Steel

Postby smileyalways » Fri Jun 12, 2015 9:00 am

I'm not even really sure where and when it began. Maybe it was the way the words that cut my skin sharper than any metal ever could, begun to turn to flames, licking at my already dark skin. The way the bruises hid themselves in plain sight, betraying their own body. Maybe it even begun when my once hazel eyes, that held both hope and sadness, were set aflame and settled into the smoldering tawny-amber that I see reflected in mirrors nowadays.

A smoldering that settled not only in my eyes, but in my heart, workin' its way through my veins in only a matter of minutes, turning me from the person I was, in perhaps, just a blink of an eye. It smoldered alright, and struck just the right way, flaring into something newer, and in my opinion braver.

Fury. I got used to it. Eventually. The rage and anger that seemed to be the only constant emotion. Picking fights because it was the only way my anger was justified in some screwed up sort a way. The bloodied knuckles and black eyes that came from it because if I didn't focus on the pain, it only meant I'd focus on something else.

And focusing on other things is definitely something I don't want to do.

I don't know when it happened and frankly after these years passed, I don't give a damn. I let my rage get the better of me, and the way I see it, it ain't nobody's damn business either way. Besides, being known as the boy with the bleached white hair and temper hotter than the sun is better than the boy whose got demons like everyone else. The boy who loses his battles, just like everyone else.

At least that's what I keep telling myself.

****
drabble with roy
Last edited by smileyalways on Tue Jun 23, 2015 3:37 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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It's a Great Big World

Postby smileyalways » Fri Jun 12, 2015 9:31 am

Decided to add on to one of those snippets up there.

***


I think most people will tell you it's the heat.

They'll say the heat is what hunches shoulders and leave bags under eyes. Smothering heat by mid-morning, unbearable heat by midday. It's what'll make people feel hopeless. The miles of scrub land and cloudless skies is what'll make you feel like you've got nothin to lose.

But it isn't. It never has been, and it probably never will.

Because I know. It's the people that weigh down shoulders and dreams. The heat adds on a miniscule amount because people learn to adjust. From the youngest child, to the oldest senior citizen, we all learn how to cope. The people around is what will bring down lives, swallowing them whole in the dust of the desert.

And I should know, I'm one of those people. Life gone before I half a mind to reach out to save it. Gone with him and gone with her.

I should explain, but i'm very not good at it. And I don't know where to start. The beginning's too long, the middle's irrelevant, and the end…well the end isn't even finished yet. But I guess that's a good enough place to start as any-the beginning of the end.

I'm Miles Rodriguez and this is how I learned that Lucille Adams was just another girl.

***

It starts off slow, just like most things. A text that she took a while to reply to and little sighs of annoyance that became more frequent the longer I stayed around her. She'd start make excuses as to why she never wanted to go out. It was too hot for a walk, too late in the day for lunch, something was always too something. And the longer we were together, the less it seemed she wanted to do with me.

And I would have suspected her of cheating on me too, if it weren't for she despised cheaters. Lucille was many things, but a hypocrite was not one of them.

I asked her what was wrong of course-she was unhappy, but she always brushed me off. She said she was happy with us, happy with me and Lucille was many things, and being a [censored] liar was one of them. But I left her alone. I gave Lucille her space, instead of prodding and egging her on.

Maybe I should'nt've done that. Maybe if I just a bit more abrasive, or stubborn, maybe she wouldn't have-

Maybe she wouldn't've left me.

Here one day, gone the next, taking a little piece with me. Just like dust and dirt on the wind. She broke what was whole and didn't even think twice about it.

She did it at night, The full moon, cast a pale glow on her ochre skin, emblazing those blues eyes I could never forget. Lucille looked agitated when she came knocking at my door. Like someone had ticked her off once too many times and she needed to rant. I brushed the thought aside though, thinking she just wanted to talk, to really talk. I thought she was ready to say what was on her mind. And I guess was right, but not in the way I wanted to be. Not the way I expected.

"I'm breaking up with you." Her clear, voice cut through the muffled heat of the night. Time seemed to stop as I processed what she said. All I could hear was white noise in my head, with only one clear concise question pushing through my conscience.

Breaking up…with me?

I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to, and the blunt honesty of her words hit me like a sucker punch. We had been together for years. We had been through so much, and now she was tossing me aside like a club footed puppy. I don't know if she said anything else, but Lucille didn't even bother waiting for a reply. She turned and flounced right off my front porch, her world continuing to turn without a hitch while mine all but stopped. She left me gaping like a fish in the heat of the desert night, wondering what I'd done wrong.

She didn't want to be with me anymore.

You feel like the world should stop turning. I felt like the world should have stopped turning. I had done no wrong by her, or at least I tried not to. She hadn't told me what I done wrong, and I never saw her again after that. But I heard of her. I heard in the whispers in grocery stores and barber shops. I heard tidbits of what had happened to her months later, after she left with only the moon and the stars bearing witness.

And it was months later, because I was a wreck. I don't drink, but I'll be damned if I didn't know why people do.

Five years, five goddamned years of being together for it to be ruined within a single night. Five years of being happy and being with each other only to be replaced with nine months of soul crushing loneliness. I was depressed. I was wishing she'd come back to me. Change her mind, say she didn't mean it, say anything. But I haven't seen her since that night.

I don't want to either. Lucille won't give me any answers that I haven't heard middle-aged women outright say while i can hear them.

She left me for some one else. From the moment she met them, she fell in love. That's what I hear anyway. Lucille couldn't bear to not be with them, but at the same time…I guess her love for me ran out, I guess five years of being through thick and thin meant nothing to her. And now she's out gallivanting with some other guy, or girl, or whoever, flying all over the world while she left me in the heat of something else.

She left me with sleepless nights and looking at full moons and wondering why it seemed off. Wondering why the moon didn't look right and my friends and even my little brother telling me "it wasn't meant to be" and "She's just another girl".

"She's just another girl". That's what everyone told me for months- "She's just a girl and she doesn't mean anything". Months of this. They never bothered considering that maybe to me, Lucille wasn't just another girl. They didn't bother thinking that maybe it wasn't meant to be, but it was meant to be to me. That's what none of them understood. Not Lucille, not my friends, and not my family-even if it wasn't to any of them, it was always meant to be to me.

In the back of my mind, I guess I believed them, though. I started to get better, showered, ate, started to do things that made me happy. It's weird really, being with someone for that long, you forget how you were before you met that person, everything that was you became we. I had to relearn myself and at the same time forget about her. It's a little visceral really, and at some point it became habit. Forcing myself not to think of her while living a life that she had imprinted upon, and to be upfront I probably never would have never completely moved on if it weren't for him.If it weren't for a guy with eyes like copper and a laugh that even out-shined the sun.

The end isn't finished yet, and for good reason too. When a story is on-going and you're the author, you decide the end.

***

I met him when I could finally look at moon and not think of sky blue eyes. When kicked up dirt didn't remind me of soft skin. I met him when every little thing no longer reminded me of Lucille.

Sleepless moonlit nights were now spent walking when I could muster up the energy to. It seemed I wasn't the only one with nights like these though, and soon I found my self being accompanied by the same person, twice a week, same time and same place. Same dark hair braided here and there, same chipper posture, and same pace, three in front of me and two to the left. I began to look forward to seeing him, and the one time he showed up an extra time, i decided to talk to him.

"An extra time this week?" Maybe my question was too, i don't know, something, but I cringed mentally at my conversational gaffe. I was getting better, but everything was still baby steps. When he turned, however, a grin was spread over his face, over the freckles I could barely make out, and the umber eyes that turned to meet my own.

"Finally he talks." He laughed and slowed down to match my withering pace. "I've been wondering when you'd say something for weeks now."

"Well, y'know when the cat's got your tongue, the cat's got your tongue." Was my reply. Unconventional, dodge-y and hopefully letting me off the hook. He chuckled instead, a light hearted thing that made my heart constrict painfully.

"So that's the reason, huh?" He knew why I didn't talk. Of course he did, the entire town practically knew, despite my efforts to try and be normal and forget.

I shrugged in response, falling silent again. I didn't like the direction the conversation this was going. Neither did he apparently because he fell silent too, and we walked, the scuff of our shoes and chirping crickets the only sound in the still night. I didn't have anything more to say to him, whoever he was. He brought up something that wasn't even his own business, even if it wasn't explicit, he still did it.

Soon enough we reached the point were we'd normally part, and I was about to when he called out to me again.

'What's up with this guy?' I remember thinking that. Some random guy had started talking to me, like I had all the time in the world. And maybe then I did, but then I felt as if my time was running out; I was teetering on the edge of a impossibly short stick.

"Hey," he began and to most likely both of our surprises, I turned. "That was kind of crappy of me."

I shrugged again. I didn't feel like talking to him anymore. "I guess."

He scrunched up his forehead a little, put off by my response, but it didn't last long, not even two seconds later he was laughing again, this time racking his entire body and though he wasn't, I felt as if he were somehow mocking me.

When he finished laughing he opened his brown eyes, the moon's light catching them as he offered his hand to me.

"Sorry, I do the whole 'laughing' thing a lot. But I shouldn't have said that...stuff. I'm Sorry." He smiled and I didn't know how to respond for several seconds. No one had ever really apologized and meant it. Meek looks and sneered apologizes are what I got. Not one person in this entire damned town was sorry for talking behind my back about Lucille. Well, I guess not everyone. I found myself gripping his hand before I even took my eyes off his face.

"I'm Miles Rodriguez." His warm hand was soft, too soft compared to my own, rough with callouses and scars. And this close I could see he was only slightly taller than me and had more freckles than I originally thought. Clustered on his ears and even some on his hands, but most of them being right under his eyes and the bridge of his nose.

"I'm Charlie. Charlie Vasquez."

Charlie giggled (honest to god giggled) when he said it, like some inside joke between him and his own name, my cold hand still encased his. When he finished his fit he looked at me again and held my gaze, and I found my self unable to look away again for the second time that night. And in that moment of looking into brown eyes with his hand still in my own, I knew: maybe, I couldn't convince myself Lucille was just another girl, but maybe someone else could.
Last edited by smileyalways on Tue Jun 23, 2015 3:37 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Re: Short Story Contemplation

Postby smileyalways » Tue Jun 23, 2015 3:32 pm

So eight months and a week ago from today I made this thread. Nice

***

I've noticed, as the years go on, it's still the little things that still really matter. Tiny, almost miniscule happenings that seem to be so insignificant in the Grand scheme of all goings on. How events are so intertwined when you look back on them years later.

The car your parents died in and the car you drive today.

The song you remember being played the first time you met your future husband, and the song that the two of you danced badly to, at your wedding years later.

Your daughter's first word when she's a baby, to her last words before she goes off on her own.

The smell of coffee grinds and old hard wood floors, how they smell in Cafes and how they smelled in your first apartment.

And Marc and I, the hand I shook when I first met him, to the hand he's always held since we've been together.

The kisses that pepper my lips, forehead, nose, anything he can reach.

Kisses below mistletoe and kisses below arches of lattice and blooming wildflowers.

His graying hairs that I comb my fingers through, time and time again laughing still about past mistakes involving hair dye.

The life we have lived together, while not exciting to many, has been exciting to me. Being able to be with the man I love and watch as we pass milestones together, is all that I have ever could ever really ask for.

Him and I, together. During blizzards and thunderstorms and tornadoes.

Me and Marc together on lazy Sunday afternoons and hyper Tuesday mornings. Moving so easily around each other, as if we were always meant to be existing, not around, but with each other.

Marc is still pessimistic, but I still find that after all these years, through hand holding and hair dye, through surgeries and sobbing, it's the little things that have always mattered. Whether I’ve realized it or not.

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Re: Short Story Contemplation

Postby smileyalways » Sun Mar 27, 2016 10:42 am

And pretty soon, Marc was asleep, his soft snores the only sound permeating through the dark room.

My face was on fire, I just knew it. The way my cheeks grew steadily with heat told me all I needed to know - and I knew. I wasn’t embarrassed - I don’t think I ever could when it came to Marc, but being in such a close proximity to him like that was new and foreign to me.

While occasionally we’d doze off next to each other on the couch or on one of our beds, it was just that, none of it was on purpose. Whenever it happened, Marc and I would be a blushing spluttering mess come morning, not wanting to forget, but like an unspoken rule, pretending to all the same.

It was by far one of the most intimate things I’d ever done with a there guy, let alone a human being.

Even with Kitsune and I we never crossed that border between platonic and romantic when it came to us sharing a bed, but I supposed it never would have anyway.

With Kit and I there was never any tension of any kind, or that spark of just something more. With her and i, it was just awkward angles and hogged blankets and more often than not, one of us ending up on the floor in the morning. With Marc and I there had always been something there. From the moment we laid our eyes on each other and for every glance and every touch (intentional and otherwise) afterward.

And after seven years of walking around each other and shying away, something I had always thought as unattainable was right there, lying next to me, his arm around my waist hugging me closer to him, while my head was pressed up against his chest where I could hear the steady beat of his heart.

Seven years all for it - all for him - to finally be where I wanted him the most. Seven years of nursing a crush and having our sisters shoot me glances that said more than they ever would, and seven years of my nerves getting the best because I’ll be damned if anyone says he never gave me mixed signals.

But one Christmas mistletoe and one kiss later and here we were, sharing a bed while I struggled to relax after he fell asleep. I was just thinking about how I’d never done that and ‘what was I even supposed to do?’ Kept rearing its head. The obvious answer was to just stop overthinking it and go to sleep, but try as I might, that just wasn’t the case.

Because as tired as I was, I was also restless. Sleep kicked at my body, but I could quell the energy that burned through my veins.

My mind was racing with all the what ifs and woulds and even whys I couldn’t help but think.

Would Marc regret this in the morning? What if he wanted to forget this entire thing happened? If he didn’t, how long would this go on before he did? Before he found someone else? Someone better? Why would he even want to be with someone like me anyway?

Why would Marc want to be with someone so...awkward, socially inept, and not very attractive just to name a few.

All the things Kitsune, for years, worked so hard on having me not believe, were revealing their ugly heads in that one night of actuality with Marc and I. Just as we knew it probably would. But in that night of actuality, while my mind still raced by Marc’s side, he gave a small almost incoherent mumble, and pulled me even closer to him, my nose squashing against his clothed chest.

In that night I learned two things:

1) Most of Marc’s clothes smelled like uncooked bread dough, mint, and lavender-iris shampoo, and 2) Despite all the doubts that swirled in my head, I knew that if Marc really didn’t want me to be there, then I wouldn’t have been. Because Marc wasn’t one to beat around the bush or toy with someone’s feelings. He knew what he wanted and was honest with people almost painfully so, and even back in high school I admired him for that.

(After all, I admired Marc for everything I wasn’t and more back in those days.)

So in the darkness that was his room (and without trying to seem like a creep), I wound my arms around his waist, and sighed deeply, contentment finally dissipating what energy was left in my bones.

It didn’t happen right away, but soon enough I was asleep, his heartbeat lulling me into a deep slumber.

***


When I woke up the next morning, I blearily registered that, instead of the blaring of my alarm clock waking me up, it was the cold mid-winter sun.

Never in my life had I been more pissed off at a flaming ball of gas.

Even with me being half asleep, it didn’t take me long to register that morning. I was still in Marc’s bed, and we were still sleeping next to each other. Our arms around each other’s waist. Our legs tangled together. Despite my previous track record, I knew it wasn’t my room because unlike my sister and my current bed mate, I didn’t rely on the sun to wake me up in the morning.

My alarm clock which was supposed to be waking almost everyone else up at that hour, I later learned had been unplugged by Sawyer, which was good news for me, because at that point I already knew next to nothing could have gotten me out of that bed.

I felt comfortable. I felt like for the first time in years I wasn’t being held down by some invisible weight on my chest or like my life ( or lack thereof ) was suffocating me, holding me down and always holding me back while I was helpless to whatever it brought.

(That was a bit of an overstatement, unfortunately.)

And still irritated by the sun, I buried my face into Marc’s chest once more, squeezing him closer to me, while a groan escaped my mouth.

The only thing about that was I wasn’t the only one the sun had woken up. And I knew this from the soft gasp that Marc had emitted, unintentional more than anything.

I froze. I didn’t mean to but...I did. And Marc and I were left in the painful awkwardness of knowing that we were both awake, while pretending we were still sleeping ourselves.

We were young.

We were awkward.

We were idiots. Albeit idiots in love, but idiots all the same.

We were avoiding what would probably an inevitable graceless conversation. But that was the thing about it being inevitable: It was inevitable. Unavoidable. Ineluctable. There was no getting around this one, especially since now we were dating. And I figured, if there was going to be something I’d probably regret, I may as well initiate.

So like any “rationally” thinking 20 year old, I stopped pretending I was sleeping, leaned up and kissed Marc. Actions always spoke louder than words to me, and doing that would give me all the answers my questions seeked.

( God, I kissed him. The second of many and it was soft, sweet, and everything I loved about us being together.)

Looking back on it, it wasn’t that big of a deal, but in that moment, it was for us.

( But we got over it pretty soon if I’m going to be 100% honest. )

Marc pulled back first, laughs thickened with sleep.

“Mmm, well, bonjour a toi aussi. ” He hummed, reaching behind me to the nightstand and groping blindly for my glasses.

“Anglais s'il vous plaît.” I said back, knowing that if I didn’t correct him then, he was liable to go for at least the next 15 minutes in French, regardless of what I said.

“Attendre.” Marc grumbled still trying for glasses. “Ah, nous y voila.” Still half asleep and still speaking French despite my efforts, Marc with clumsy fingers, put my glasses on my face, settling them against the bridge of my nose, and brushing wayward strands of hair from my face.

And then nothing. It was as if just then we had entered a bubble, oblivious to everything but what was happening in that room, under the blankets piled on us. Marc with his hand moving down to cup my cheek, and myself growing bashful under his gaze. Marc always looked at me with such fond expressions, that I still had a hard time believing that they were only for me.

I spent so long believing no one would.

I just never thought anyone would ever be able to fall in love with a gay, mostly guy, from Thailand, who was too tall (for my liking) and only talents included music and singing crappy k-pop and electro rock tunes. The only thing I had going for me back then, were my green eyes. Somehow unusual and weird and made me ask for colored contacts.

And maybe that’s why I was always so hesitant to be with Marc in the first place. Or more accurately apprehensive. I never disliked or not trusted him, I mean I looked up to him, but he was this attractive guy (who was always a guy), who was at least attracted to girls in some way, and who was from France. He baked, he was multilingual, he was subtly attractive even in high school.

He was stereotypical.

He took an interest in me of all people.

He did and seven years later, he was kissing my doubts away, while I sighed, melting next to him.

I was happy, I was at ease enough to think about going back to sleep, but I wasn’t one to sleep the day away, but before I broke the spell that had explicitly laid itself over the two of us, I wanted – no needed - to tell Marc something.

Something that I would – in time – grow braver to repeat, but I was still so timid, afraid to break what I had thought was fragile.

(It never was. From the first time Marc and I laid eyes on each other I knew, but never acknowledged it. We were smitten, infatuated, enraptured, enamored. Marc and I had always been in love, in whatever form it came in.

First with the friendship that had undeniably tethered us to each other, Then a stronger more familial love, before I realized what I had been avoiding, and what Marc had just been waiting for. He had been waiting for the first blossom of romantic love to bud, until it flourished for us.)

But that was just the thing: our love never had been fragile.

“C̄hạn rạk khuṇ.”

And those three words I uttered as he looked at me, gay, mostly a guy, Thai, green eyes and all, only solidified that one single truth for me.






“Je t'aime aussi, Radio.”

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What I've Seen Without You There

Postby smileyalways » Tue May 23, 2017 7:01 am

Penelope’s cousin isn’t the same after coming back from college.

Sitting at a worn cherry wood table in her Uncle Marc’s patisserie, The Honey Pot, Penelope sips at a black coffee and watches Robin as she greets customers and hands out warm cannolis and frappuccinos with whipped cream and chocolate chips.

Robin’s eyes, a deep blue like blossoming hydrangeas are stowed away by deep, forest green contacts, and look straight at strangers as they approach the counter. She gives bashful chuckles as they make jokes about how quiet she used to be, and how much she’s grown, questioning if it’s really Robin - as if she’d be anyone else. But Penelope can’t blame them.

Running from Robin’s left eyebrow to her right cheek is a large scar, the raised skin splitting and dividing her face in two. It bulges, drawing attention to it’s discoloration, and Robin brushes off questions that most customers ask about it.

She’s grown out her hair in the year she’d been gone and dyed it a brown, weathered terracotta color, and instead of letting it curtain her face, she clips it back with a dirt smudged honey bee barrette. Her skin is deeply tanned like her Dad’s is, and through the glass display case showing off the best of the gateau cakes and rhubarb pies, Penelope can see Robin is wearing blue capris instead of a long pure cotton bubble skirt, or baggy jeans that would hide her prosthetic leg.

Leaned against the counter, Robin’s shoulders are lax and an easy smile graces her face as she drums her fingers - clad in Band-Aids - in a toneless tune and fiddles with the fire opal in a necklace. Periodically Robin will glance Penelope’s way, and her smile widens into a grin that Penelope returns, but knows doesn’t reach her eyes as she studies Robin. Inspects her.

A year ago, seeing Robin so amicable and loose would have been impossible to imagine. Because of her severe social anxiety, a year ago, seeing Robin outside of her house for anything less than coming to The Honey Pot was wholly unheard of.

Penelope waits for the discomfort of her cousin’s embarrassed flushed cheeks, for her to slip off into the office part of The Honey Pot, her Dad or Papa manning the counter in her meek place. But she’s been sitting at her table long enough for two waves of customers to barrel through so when the anxiety doesn’t appear, Penelope stops expecting it, but continues to watch her cousin.
When they were younger, growing up in Ashland, Nebraska, Robin had been...quiet. Timorous. Talking to customers at The Honey Pot had been more than a daunting task for her and on days when her stutter was another smothering, uncomfortable coating, Robin only withdrew more into herself. She had nearly been an agoraphobe because of her anxiety, afraid to be seen and overthinking the one in a million chances of disaster that could come with just taking a few steps outside.

Observing Robin from the weathered table in The Honey Pot, Penelope concludes that this isn’t the same girl she grew up with. She isn’t the soft spoken ten-year-old, who convinced everyone over the age of 15 in their extended family she sunburned easily to avoid going outside. The Robin that smiles easily at customers doesn’t have her ocean blue eyes trained on her flats as she rasps out greetings, near tears when she’s asked to repeat herself.

Penelope’s happy, but she knows people don’t - people can’t - change that much in just a few months.
And Penelope knows she could overlook all of it. Robin’s eyes are bright and she walks outside like she was born to be in the open air. Her life isn’t a constant struggle of anxiety attacks and the walls of her house. Penelope can see that Robin is finally enjoying her life and her town.

But Penelope had also been the first person in over a year to see Robin. She had volunteered to drive 30 miles to the nearest airport, and Penelope’s memorized each syllable that left her cousin’s lips, each miniscule change in her expression as she tried to piece together her best friend, whom she was unaware was a puzzle that could be taken apart.

The scar is what Penelope had noticed first.

And she refuses to overlook the changes, without an explanation to it.

“Robin, oh my god, what happened to you?” She had gaped at her, pushing her wireframes too hard into on the bridge of her nose, leaving circular imprints.

Robin had furrowed her brows. Her hand had tightened around the handle of her suitcase and Robin’s eyes had flickered away from Penelope’s until she had to look back at her. Too slow for Penelope’s tastes she’d tilted her head and stared too long at Penelope’s face with wide dilated eyes and blinked slow against her cousin’s onslaught of exclamations.

“Penelope, what are you talking about?” She had asked and Penelope closed her mouth with a click, eyes looking even more owlish behind her thick lenses.

“Sparrow,” Penelope starts and blinks at the old nickname that still slips easily from her lips. “Your - y-your face! What happened to your face, did someone do that - do that to you at college, is that from - is that from - did you get into a bar fight? Or - or a - a fight fight?”

Robin had let Penelope ramble on for a few more minutes mostly because she’d missed her. Robin had missed Penelope’s long-winded ramblings as her imagination became even more grandiose and wild with each word that poured like hot sand from her mouth, unfiltered.

She had missed her entire family, but Penelope had been one of the people she had missed the most at college. They had grew up together, as side by side as they could, and now, any resentment she had ever felt at their pushing, evaporated like murky fog on what would later be a brilliant day. College was harder than it should have been, especially with her family so far away.

“Penelope.” Robin eventually interrupted and Penelope had froze. Teeth clacking again. “I’m sorry, it’s just that everyone on campus is so used to it, I forget it’s there.” Robin had brushed her fingertips over the discolored skin on the bridge of her nose, lips pulled into an uneasy grimace. “It was just an accident; it was...it’s nothing.” She said and tried to smile at Penelope, but it was half hearted and fell into a frown.

Penelope had hundreds of more questions about the scar alone, but she ignored them. Shoved away the misshapen and bedraggled box of her curiosity and bewilderment and took the hand Robin was tracing her scar with.

“Robin how…” Penelope started and gritted her teeth. “How was college, Sparrow?”

Robin’s shoulders had slumped, her entire body exhaling and had squeezed her cousin’s hand.

A similar scene had happened with their family. Robin’s dads and brother had been more frantic and Robin didn’t tell them anymore than what she had told Penelope. Apart from it was an accident, and it wasn’t really any one’s fault. Everyone had been skeptical at her explanation, but Robin had ignored them, going into life at Nebraska State University and effectively derailing attention from the skin of her scar.

Now, watching this version of Robin is like when Penelope first saw a black swallowtail emerge from its cocoon when she was eight years old. She was entranced as it struggled out of its shell and the sun caught every incandescent shimmer of its scales. Penelope can’t believe that she’d witness it firsthand, and now looking at Robin, the amazement and curiosity that buzzed in the back of her mind like an insistent wasp is back.

Penelope stares as Robin takes of her apron at the counter during a lull in business and hands it to her Dad as he comes from the back office. He takes it with a bright smile, and they exchange a few words Penelope doesn’t pay attention to, but they both look happy as Robin makes her way to where Penelope’s seated.

“Sorry, Penny,” She says speaking just loud enough to be heard over the general hum of background conversations. “Dad and Papa said they’ve been too busy since Aaron started his business classes.”

Penelope waves her off, taking a sip of her coffee that’s gone long cold. “It’s fine, Robin, I know how much this place means to you. Even though you couldn’t talk to people in it for most of our lives.”

Robin giggles at Penelope’s comment and they’ve missed each other and their friendship. How easy words are to say while sharing the same space. They continue to chatter about their experiences in the past year, Penelope taking generous bites of gooey turnovers and Robin nibbling on a croissant and sipping at water.

Nothing really has changed at all in Ashland. Business for The Honey Pot rarely falters, and apart from the standard who’s dating who and other mundane, general gossip Robin, thoroughly hasn’t missed much.

They reach a natural lull, a pause, soaking in the ambience they’ve created around them. And Penelope decides she won’t overlook the changes. Not with the truth sitting across from her.

“Robin…” Penelope starts, breaking their quiet silence. Her tone must give her away - Robin eyes, when they meet Penelope’s, are apprehensive. Guarded in a way that Penelope didn’t think would ever be directed at her. Robin clenches her jaw.

Penelope presses on. Instincts screaming no, something isn’t right, while her mouth goes on anyway. “What...What happened at Nebraska State? Something changed you Sparrow.” Penelope whispers and looks into Robin’s eyes. It seems like they never were that clear ocean blue. “You couldn’t...A year just - just seems so...No one - no one changes that much in a year.”

Robin’s eyes don’t waver from Penelope’s. Robin takes her gaze and holds it, longer than necessary and Penelope knows she’s being picked apart, analyzed like a predator sizing up a challenger, but can’t discern for what reason.

Robin pulls away. Whatever she was looking for in Penelope’s dark citrine eyes and black ringlets of coiled hair isn’t there. Robin rivets her eyes on the table in front of them and refuses to look at her cousin.

“There’s that girl from a year ago.” Penelope thinks. She can still see Robin’s face, closed off like a stubborn corduroy curtain.
But Robin must feel obligated after sizing her up.

She continues on.

“Not long after the semester started, I managed to find some friends.” Robin begins and breathes in deeply three times. “One of the guys, Al - Al -” She stops. Starts again.

“Anthony. Anthony.” Robin blinks. Her green eyes are glassy. “He and our friend Ram - Ramone, they - we - got into a car accident.”

Penelope wishes Robin would look at her. Instead Robin looks up from the table, to the closest window, eyes trained on the smudged window panes, midday sunlight streaming in. The honeybee barrette is still clipped close to her scalp, dirty like Robin had been up to her elbows in dirt and clipped it on as an afterthought, just remembering her hair.

“He saved us.” Robin says traces her scar again and Penelope takes her hand, rubbing the back of her hand.

“Sparrow…” Penelope’s stomach twists uncomfortably.

“Anthony, he-he died, Penelope.” Tears drop off of Robin’s cheeks and onto the table. She doesn’t bother to try and wipe them away. “He was our age, Penny, and his friends were a wreck. I couldn’t let them stay that way.”

“Robin, you changed for them?” It doesn’t sound like something Robin would do, but there they are, having a conversation because she has.

“No Penny.” Robin looks at her, tears still drip down her cheeks. “I changed for him.”

Penelope doesn’t know what to say.

For once, she’s at a loss of words.

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