Something for Everyone
Amaya stared directly into Jon’s deep blue eyes. They were perfectly inperfect. There were specks of dark green in them, not enough to call them green or mistake them for it, just enough to make you think. They reminded Amaya of Lake Michigan on those clear days when, at the beach, you could see the bottom of the lake for as far out as she was daring to go. His eyes were perfect pools of fresh water lakes captured into a boy’s (soon to be man) eyes.
He tilted his head to the right and she did the same as they concentrated only on each other. Watching the other’s every move, being concious of every wrinkle in the other ones face. Studying the depths of each other’s minds.
Jon was suprised at how easily Amaya sat and just could look at him for so long. She was pretty, and he knew it. He liked the way her hair fell on her shoulder and slid off in an almost seductive manner. He watched as he tilted his head and she did the same. Sitting there, he felt extremely nervous, but at the same time confident. He straightened his neck and looked at her from a straight on perspective again. Lovely.
Each time the other tilted his head, the other did the same. It was silly to watch, but both of them were completely engulfed in watching each other. It was insane to think that teenagers could sit that long and just look at each other. Even if they only concentrate on one specific area of the other’s face, they seem’d to easily enjoy each other’s company in silence.
How nice.
Jon moved his head yet again, and looked at her lips. They were the shade of pink roses caught in a vase. He smiled.
“Jon, you blinked.”
“I did didn’t I?”
“Yeah. I win, again, you want to go another round?”
“Sure.”
Artists
The sun was blind that day, the clouds shaded it drearily. It was fall, and copper leaves decorated the sidewalk in cluttered beauty. The breezer picked up and the leaves danced in big undulations.
The blood red brick building stood old and discouraged among the giant shining skyscrapers. Fat, green vines climbed the entire east and north walls, never stopping to rest. The old building stood seven stories high, and in the left window, of the fifth floor, stood a girl, no a woman with a stubborn face, and crossed arms. She looked down at the minimized cars as they dragged on quietly, but with little effort.
She breathed in deeply, letting the breath turn into a lonely sigh. She casually smoked a Virginia Slim, and she drew in a deep cloud of smoke, then puffed it in a fuzzy blob out of her pouty lips.
Her name was Scarlet, and she turned towards the canvas, it only had a plain outline of the city that graced the view that her window gave her. It was only the creamy color of the canvas and the black lines of the charcoal. She had been striving for a perfect painting. In the end, it had only been a sketch in charcoal. When you looked at it, it made you tihnk of a clean city street. It was the exact opposite of what she had been striving for. She had wanted it to look real, make you feel as if you were covered in dirt and ash as you starred at a filthy street, covered in garbage, gangs, and city life...or what she thought city life was. But, alas, it had ended up as a clean Chicago street. No, she couldn’t keep it, she would throw it out.
A shallow knock came at her grey door, she knew who it was. The door slid open in a smooth, free motion. A tall red-haired man stood in the doorway with heavy deep green eyes. He had pushed his hands into his pockets, as far as they would go, and they stayed there as he walked into the apartment with no stride. He was like a single board of metal physically. Straight, unyielding. His face was stern, though his personailty was the opposite. He never held back tears, and often he couldn’t sleep at night because he was haunted by dreams of bad past, and horrific future.
“Hey Daryn,” Scarlet turned back to the window, then smashed her cigarette into a small wad of tobacco and poison.
“Scarlet, you just put your cigarette out...”
“I know I just put it on the canvas, Daryn.”
He automatically silenced and went to look at the drawing.
“Scarlet, it’s good,” He encouraged as he picked the wad of a cigarette off a lamp post. “You should keep going with it.”
“Daryn, it’s clean, and not, well, city-ish.”
“City-ish? What the hell is city-ish? Wait, don’t answer that, I can. In your opinion, ‘city-ish’ is dirty, bloody, full of drugs, crowded with gangs, and no peace at all.”
“You’re absolutely right!”
“What? That your opinion is quite melodramatic?” Daryn raised his eyebrows in a royal manner.
“No! Blood and gangs! That’s what it needs, what it’s screaming for!” Scarlet’s mouth sounded excited, but her eyes said another story.
“Jesus, Scarlet! Scarlet, stop. Stop for just a minute and think about what you’ve got going for you.”
“Okay, I’m living up to the standards of starving artist. Mainly because any money I do make, I spend on an addiction to rat poison and tabacco rolled into a tube. Not to mention, flunking college, my parents disowning me, and you know, the typical things that apply to starving artist.”
“No, I meant, you’ve got talent, and a nice place to live, and you’re doing what you’ve wanted to do since you were fucking ten years old! It’s a gift.”
“If I’ve got talent, how come no one has ever bought one thing that I’ve done?” Scarlet tossed her brown hair over her shoulder in an obnoxious gesture.
“Because what you’ve done is gross and depressing and just, yuk!” Daryn threw his arms up to punctuate the yuk.
“Well thanks!” Scarlet rolled her eyes and lit another cigarette, the last in the pack.
“You know what I mean, you do. You just don’t want to,” Daryn sneered.
Scarlet inhaled deeply on the cigarette and blew the smoke out through her nostrils. She tossed her brown hair again, and nervously flashed her eyes at first Daryn, and then the drawing.
“Yeah I know,” Scarlet admitted, a light flush had risen in her cheeks.
“Good.”
An uncomfortable silence settled itself in the room. Scarlet smoked hastily on the quickly burning cigarette, letting out puffs of smoke through her lips in quick, agitated clouds.
“Maybe I better go, here’s the check for your month’s rent,” Daryn muttered as he placed a check on the tattered green couch.
“Whatever.”
“Bye.”
Daryn turned towards the door, then turned around once more to tell Scarlet something.
“Scarlet, at least we’ll never be bored.” With that, Daryn left, and Scarlet was smiling.
The leaves attempted to tackle Daryn as he left Scarlet’s one room apartment. He looked up and could see her blowing smoke out of her window. He walked over to his car parked on the curb, the front tire slightly pushed into the cement.
He looked at Scarlet, she was still standing by her window. She took one last drag on her cigarette, then he watched her put it out, regretfully on the window sill. He could tell, even from so far away, that the cigarette still had a good drag or two in it. He could tell she was still smiling from his comment too. She was going to try to quit.
He knew he couldn’t watch her much longer, he had to go to work soon, the bar would be opening in an hour for the evening regulars, the floor would open two hours after that. Daryn just wanted to look at her for a little longer though, watch her. She left the window before he got his wish though, and he sighed. He kept watching the window, hoping she would come back. She didn’t.
Daryn glanced at his watch, he only had fourty-five minutes now, it would take him fifteen to get there anyway. He had to go. He climbed into his car and drove away, joining the other cars, dragging on with little effort.
Will and Luc
Where is she? Lucas thought hastily as he sat, huddled against the cold wall, surrounded by bushes. This is so annoying! It couldn't have taken Will this long! What if she got caught? Oh God! What if she got caught? I couldn't go in there and check, I'm too unadventurous to do something like that!
Lucas sat staring around th corner, waiting for any sign of Will. Willa had promised to be out of her house at 10, it was 10:15, and it never took her 15 minutes to sneak out of her house, especially on weekdays. Luc would wait for Will to get to the balcony above the place where Luc was sitting and then she would drop down a rope, classicly made from bed sheets, tied with knots. Luc would hold it steady while she climbed down then they would throw it back up (this often took more than one try) and leave it there until they got back. Getting back into the house was easier than getting out.
“Lucas you idiot! Hold the rope!” A familiar voice whispered down in haste.
Luc looked up and smiled as he saw Will standing in her zebra striped pants, a black tank top, and, just for the effect, black sunglasses. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a bun and she smiled with her calm lips, covered in red lipstick.
“I’ve got it come on down!”
She climbed down expertly then said, “We have to hide the rope in the shed tonight dear. Last time Pappy almost caught me untying the knots.”
“Okay, fine by me.”
They pulled the sheet until it came loose of the balcony railing, then stuffed it into the shed at the back of the property, which was a huge one. The house itself was not impressive, it was a brick house, plain and ordinary appearing. Which it was. The yard however, seemed to stretch for hundreds of yards all the way around the house. There was a pool house in the back and a giant trampoline. The front was a marvelous garden wth exotic flowers, how they survived in Suburbia, well, it might be one of the greatest unsolved mysteries.
After they had done that business, Will and Luc ran to Lucas’ car and were off to Hayton’s party.
“You think I need more eyeliner?” Will asked as she fluttered her eyes in a flirtatious manner.
“No, you have enough, stop taking out your make up.”
“Oh, come on Lucas, one little kiss...” Will leaned over with her lips perked out. Luc pushed her away and swerved the car a little as he started to get angry.
“Will, you know what happens when you drink, people including yourself get hurt, what do you have in your purse this time?”
With that Luc stopped the car and grabbed her purse. He rummaged through the thing (it seemed bottomless) until he found a small unlabeled bottle, filled with some liquid or another.
“Will is this...”
“Vodka darling, just a tad!” Will finished in her syrupy voice.
“Willa, you know what happens when you drink, we can’t just, I can’t just let you do that again.”
“It’s not for me, it’s for you!”
Luc sighed and pushed Willa over to her side of the car again. He turned the key and the engine hummed in a gargled whisper.
“Will, I have to admit I had fun that night, but I also have to say I was drunk, we’re just friends, and if I ever did want you in that way again, I would want you to be sober.”
“Aw! Lukey Pookey! Just one lil’ kiss won’t hurt...” Will leaned in again and smiled, the eyes were fluttering again, like butterflies with birth defects that left them a wing short. Lucas couldn’t push her this time. She had come to close and he was afraid of hurting her or swerving the car again, it always made him flashback to the one night he had gotten wrapped up the whole drinking scene.
“Willa, c’mon, Will, please stop, please?” Lucas pleaded, trying to keep an eye on the road, another on Will to make sure she wouldn’t surprise him.
That’s when Will’s mood seemed to change. She sat back in her seat, made an angry face, let the tears well up in her eyes, and screamed, “Why don’t you love me?! Am I not good enough for you Luc? Am I not fucking good enough?”
Lucas could smell the alcohol on her breath and it reeked like a dead animal, one that had been decaying for some time but was still wagging it’s not-so-bushy (anymore) tail in his face. He stopped the car and turned to her, letting her wailing echo through the town, not caring that she was waking up who knows how many babies and pissed off working parents. She kept spewing out insults at him, questions in a threatening tone, like “Why aren’t I good enough Luc? Am I not whorish enough for you? You fucking shit heap!” He just let her scream out all of her anger and just sat there watching her with the calmest appearance on his face. When Willa started to cough he unlocked the doors ran around to her side and opened her door, leading her out just in time so she could throw up in the street. He went back to the car and put his head on the steering wheel, listening to her cough and cry and moan as she let the alcohol take posession of her.
It was about a half an hour after the screams had begun that they slowed down. Willa climbed back into the car, she looked pale and her eye make up was dripping down her face with her tears that still flowed in thick constant streams. She took out a pack of travel size tissues and wiped her cheeks and mouth. She flipped down the mirror and looked at herself, she wiped the eye makeup away and then looked at Luc, smiling warmly though her eyes still held the sad in her.
“Got a mint? I’m gonna need one since we’re going to that party.”
How I feel
“You can’t fix something that’s perfect.”
“Well, nothing’s perfect.”
Wait, rewind that part.
“There’s a lot in me that’s needed some fixing. So don’t bother even starting and not following through.”
“You can’t fix something that’s perfect.”
“Well, nothing’s perfect.”
“Only to people who think like you.”
Wait, rewind it all the way then let it play through.
“You’re lovely, you know that? Just like a broken piece of glass. Like a broken crystal vase.”
“There’s a lot in me that’s needed some fixing. So don’t bother even starting and not following through.”
“You can’t fix something that’s perfect.”
“Well, nothing’s perfect.”
“Only to people who think like you.”
“Every other person thinks like me in that sense.”
“And it’s every other person who inspires the offbeats like me.”
“Inspiration? Now what am I inspiring you with?”
“Perfection.”
- Molly
The wind was sharp the first day. I always wanted to close the window, but I knew Molly would never let me. She didn’t like being warm. She was crazy. She really was. I remember the first time I saw her how she reminded me of a rag doll, only thinner. She had these dark brown eyes, that looked almost black, and it was hard to see her pupils. Her arms were long rails of ice, and they scared me. They looked sharp. They couldn’t melt though. She was too cold to melt. Too rock solid. I hated how her spine jutted out of her pale almost transparent skin. It looked like small spikes. I wondered if it was hard for her to sit in a chair. She used to always say, “I could die any day. Maybe I’ll be lucky tomorrow.” She really scared me.
I used to sit and smoke by the window, I wasn’t supposed to, but it helped relax me. I hated that damn school. It was always either too hot or too cold, and the people there were all stuck up snobs or seriously screwed up. Like Molly. She could be happy one moment, and cutting her legs up the next. And she never ate. She scared me, she really did. Sometimes she would tell me how bad smoking was for me. I already knew, she didn’t have to tell me. I used to tell her it was bad to cut yourself. She used to say, “At least I can accept I’m dying.” She was scary.
One day though, I walked into the room, and heard something playing in our dorm. I walked in and sat down on my bed. I listened to that song, and it soothed my always tense nerves. I pulled out a cigarette, lit it and walked over to the window. I pulled over the desk chair, and stared out the window, letting the smoke come out of my nostrils. It burned, but at the same time felt better than anything else. Better than Molly. That was for sure. I watched people walk by, and I wondered where Molly was. It was about three in the afternoon, and it was a Thursday, so I imagined she was either at a class, or at her boyfriend’s apartment. He was older than her, a real trashy guy. He drank a lot, and smoked weed. Sometimes I think he would do more serious drugs. It wasn’t my problem though. Molly made it hers.
I had been sitting at the window for a while, and finished my smoke. I felt better than I had when I had gotten back from Adam’s. Adam was a real gentleman. He really was. He would whisper in your ear, and even if you said no, he would insist. If you still said no, he would open the door for himself. That Adam was a real gentleman. A grade A fucking gentleman.
So I walked into the bathroom, ready to take a shower, clean myself, try to feel better. I remember putting my hand on the door, and realizing that my hand was very pale. I remember realizing I was very pale. And I remember seeing Molly. On the ground, she had her back to me, she was leaning on the edge of the bathtub. I walked so close to her, I could feel her body heat. I looked at her eyes, I could see her pupils. She looked at me, blinked, and looked at the ground around her. She let her hand drop, and told me to call a doctor. I nodded but didn’t feel my legs move. She didn’t see them move. I sat there, and looked at her hands. They were almost as pale as mine. I looked at what she had been holding. The test was positive. It was written clearly.
I sat there, trying to tell my legs to move, but instead, I turned and got the nail cutter, and even if you ask me now, I don’t know why I did what I did. I pricked my pinky finger, and then pricked her cold hand. The blood flowed easily, and I pushed our fingers together. I made sure to keep them like that for a good five minutes. She couldn’t move. She had taken too many of my prescirbed pain killers, and I could tell she was too drained to try and resist. Her eyes told me that I was an idiot, and I should stop what I was doing. But, in the back of my mind, I knew I was doing the right thing, no that’s not it. That it didn’t matter if I did this or not, because I already had the goddam disease. When I was finished, I watched her eyes grow dim, and then I saw them glaze over. It was amazing.
I called 911 after I had watched her eyes. I told them she had killed herself, and I made myself cry. I tried to sound frantic, desperate. I think they believed me. After they had taken her body, and I had been questioned, I went to my bed and smoked. I stared across the room, and realized how empty it was, how empty it had always been. I looked at her side of the room, and then remembered, she had no side of the room. I closed my eyes then, and took another drag. My last drag, her last drag. It felt good. The ambulance hadn’t even arrived yet, I knew that now. I remembered. I let the cold sink in for the first time in a long time, and let Molly slide the blade across my wrist. It felt warm, a good warm. The ambulance was outside, and I flicked the cigarette out the window. Molly was scary. Only to me though, only to me.
- Ms. Lorelei's Fable
The heat was clinging to the frost in a sweaty, sticky love affair that was destined for loss and dissapointment. Sweet smelling Lilies of the Valley were licking the air with their pollen, and the clouds had run to a monsoon in India. Particles in the sky were reflecting the oceans in a brilliant velvet blanket of (as Crayola would describe it) robin’s egg blue. A plum building contrasted the bright day.
The deep mahogany colored walls echoed the peeling paint of the door eloquently numbered 927. After walking through this door, there was a small hall with a modest blacktable straight ahead. It was short and piles of keys, letters, old newspapers, and unloved packages rested for a large portion of their simple lives.
Then there were two doors. One labeled ME, the other YOU. If you entered either, you were introcuded to a short corridor, with Winnie the Pooh wallpaper, and lime green carpet (though every few feet appeared more of a lemon or a tree leaf). As you walked down this corridor, there would be 3 doors that would introduce themselves. Down ME, the doors were labeled, “Peace”, “Happiness”, and “Chitown”. If you went down YOU, the doors were lovingly called, “Eggward”, “Tomothy”, and “Stanlietta”. Now, if you entered Chitown or Stanlietta, you entered a large public sort of room. There was a plum colored couch, and a hard wooden floor tinted the color of carmel chews. A cable deprived television sat on the floor with only a shaggy rug between it and the carmel. There was a dog bed, covered in light hairs, and a spot on the shaggy rug that cleary showed it had been earlier attacked by a feline predator. In fact, if you entered precisely at 2 o’clock when the sun shone in at perfect angle, you would find Ms. Lorelei, the American Goddess of shag rugs and Sony televisions, joyfully stretched out in a sun spot across the carmel chew floor. It was a room too comfortable to be cozy.
Tumai came through the peeling door of 927 and rested her leather coat on her shoulder, dangling from her fingers in a super model dream. She brushed her short, thin fringers along the piles, found her keys and entered YOU. She walked down YOU hall, and entered Eggward.
She dropped her innocent coat upon a tall backed wooden chair, and eagerly searched the refrigerator for a Pink Lady apple to satisfy her craving. She claimed defeat in this and picked up a fat orange. She peeled it greedily and the juice flowed down her hands. Tumai picked a cell and stuffed it between her pink lemonade lips as she walked down YOU and into Tomothy. The orange was retired to a paper towel on Tumai’s desk and Tumai herself retired into a “No Nukes is Good Nukes” tee-shirt with accompanying scrub pants. An eager eye searched for a good book on a wide selection of writings, and settled on a comedic novel. The orange was taken hostage again, and escorted through Stanlietta and into Ms. Lorelei’s haven.
As Tumai clicked the television onto channel four for the daily evening soap, Symon was walking through ME, down the lime carpet and into Peace. He placed his daypack on the matress that sat barren on the floor. His corduroy’s hung loose at his hips, and a meaningless black belt lazily swung at his side. His curly long hair hung just above his eyes, and he threw his shirt on the floor. He took off his sneakers, and threw them against the far wall. Symon walked down ME and through Happiness. He checked his healing scrape across his cheek and wiggled his jaw a little. It was going to scar and Tumai knew it. She had known it as soon as she had seen it. Symon walked into the ME hall once more, and continued into Chitown. He already knew Tumai was in the living room.
She was listening to a soap opera. A late evening soap opera. Symon casually scratched Ms. Lorelei’s head and she purred with adoring recognition. Tumai knew Symon was in the room, but she chose to stare at her book, the television drowning out his footsteps as they came nearer. She could smell his aftershave from where she was sitting, and as much as she hated having to stay at that apartment, stay with him, she still loved smelling him.
Symon sat down next to her on the couch and picked some cat hairs off. He could see her faded makeup from the day, and it was almost charming the way it had faded into tones so faint that they were barely noticeable. It was something he would only notice, and he knew that’s why she didn’t bother to wash it all off.
“I got the job at that restaurant. So between that and my internship, I’ll be out of here in a week. Is that soon enough?” Symon starred straight ahead, waiting for her reply. The characters on the soap opera were acting out a dramatic scene in public.
“Yes. That’s fine.” Her words were cold and unyeilding. He wanted to glare at her, but instead, he watched the soap.
Michael how could you?! (slap) At least I’m not sleeping with my son’s best friend! How dare you say that lie in front of his ears! It’s true though! I saw you both! You’ve ruined my life!
“Is that all?” Tumai put her book in her lap and starred at the television.
Symon sighed, and looked at the television buttons. He could feel her building the next Great Wall between them on the couch. It was made of steel though, steel and fucking titanium. He let the silence sink in a moment, letting the ball roll out of bounds.
“Do you really want this?” Tumai’s eyes were turned back to her book. She suddenly sounded calmer than she had in the past month. Symon thought for a minute and then took a few more for the road.
“I need this.”
Tumai closed her book and sighed a long bitter sigh full of grey tones. She threw her book at the television. Symon looked away from the buttons and back to the screen.
Tumai stood between Symon and the television. He stood up and walked towards Ms. Lorelei, scratched her confused head, and then to Chitown. He opened the door, and whispered to himself, “You need this”.
The lime green carpet made his toes drag, it felt like sand. The floor in Peace was wooden, and only interrupted by the bed and desk. Symon craved some television but Tumai was still in the public room, probably petting Ms. Lorelei and reading. There was a single window above his bed that showed a brick wall, though a few beams of light pasted themselves across the wall around 3pm every day. Symon opened the window and let the air seep in. It was cool and the crisp freshness reminded Symon of how badly he wanted to get out of that apartment. Out of her grasp. Symon sat on his bed and let the air of the outside world gently fill his lungs. Each breath was more and more relieving.
Tumai sat back down on the couch and opened her book again. It wasn’t the same page she had been on but she didn’t care, she had read it before. She needed something to occupy her mind. Ms. Lorelei gracefully lept next to Tumai on the couch and purred comfortingly. Symon’s footsteps echoed in her head, and she needed to hear something else. She started flipping the corners of the pages of her book and it reminded her of a perpellur on a plane, ready to escape the runway’s grasp. Escape. It was beckoning her name. Tumai thought another moment, and then walked through Chitown. She opened Peace and looked at Symon’s surprised face. She smiled, his hair was slightly in front of his eyes, and it reminded her of when they used to sleep on his bed. His hair was always on his face in the morning. Tumai knew she would miss that the most.
“Tumai, please leave.” Symon begged. He couldn’t look at her. He could feel his heart stuttering in a frantic resort against his emotions. “Tumai, get out. Now.”
“I’m leaving now. I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. I want you out.”
With that, Tumai turned around and left Symon in wonder, his heart in his feet, and eyes most likely filling with confused tears, but she felt better than ever. It was as if she had rid herself of a layer of dirt. It felt fresh, clean. She liked having control. Tumai quickly walked into her quarters and grabbed her coat. She knew she would be out all night.
She put on eyeliner, eyeshadow, and mascara. The light was gently shading her cheeks and she felt good. She looked good. She felt amazing.
YOU slid behind her in a gently swing, and ME starred at her with an evil glare. She would go out all night, come home the next day around noon, and Symon would still be there. He would apologize, argue, and then beg to stay.
Tumai knew what she was doing. The mahogany door of 927 shut with a gust of air and dust. The neighboring door stood back in awe of 927’s confidence. Ms. Lorelei purred.
FIN! ;-)
*Yawn* It's getting kind of late, almost time to go
