RainiSky
Member
It is difficult to function when the one word on your mind is suicide.
“Stop being so melodramatic.” Rosalie says.
The night sky above our heads glitters with stars, sprinkled along like a trail of bread crumbs.
She is sitting beside me, her hair seemingly spun of gold and pulled back in that untidy way of hers. The flashlight in my hand lights up her face as I set it in her direction, her honey glazed eyes suddenly fluorescent.
My own gaze finds the ground, inspecting the blades of grass that are reaching for the sky. The forestry around us is vacant, void of other human beings. The only sounds are the hissing of cicadas, chirping of crickets, and croaking of frogs. The two of us sit on the back of my pickup truck, the neighborhood in which we reside a couple miles back.
“What do you mean? I am completely serious right now.”
Suddenly I switch off the light so that the darkness may shield the stinging tears that spring to my eyes. The moonlight outlines our bodies and I can just glimpse her sad smile, the gap between her front teeth that she attempts to hide with her thin fingers. “You are such a mess.” Her thumb catches a tear that had begun streaming down my cheek.
I don't mean to complain. I like Rosalie. Maybe more than like. Though somehow her understanding of my emotions tugs at my nerves. Probably because I don't understand them myself. It is practically impossible to open my mouth right now to spill my attitude toward her.
Instead, “You said I was being melodramatic.” The words tumble out in her direction and I can't force them to cease. “I like you Rosa, I really do, but I honestly could care less about your opinion right now.” That came out all wrong. My words are about as smooth as the gravel road behind us, all chunky and flinging at the tires with fervor. To stop myself from coming off as any more of an ass, I grab my red cup, which once held Bud Light, and begin to toss ice into my mouth; keeping it under my lip until it melts.
“You really like me?” She doesn't sound offended. If anything, she seems optimistic.
I am stumbling on an explanation, icy bits dropping from between my lips. Realizing that I am ruining this, I become very quiet.
Rosalie utters something I can't decipher. I have made a fool of myself. This is the first time we have had a serious conversation as well. The both of us have known each other since we were fourteen when she first moved to Anchor Falls, but within these past four years we have become more distant. Separate groups of friends, differing schedules. We only ever spend time together when we are able to sneak out on nights like this and enjoy the break we offer each other from reality. This agreement was decided when she moved next door. Once, as the clock stoke midnight, I had heard a faint knock on my window. I opened it only to reveal Rosalie herself, only much younger and weeping. “Can we go somewhere?” She had asked, and so we had ended up at the local playground. I never once asked why she was so distressed, or why she chose me, but I figured it was none of my business. In the end, I wouldn't call us friends.
“I don't know. I don't want to like you like that, but...” Jesus Christ, I would love her to be my girlfriend more than anything, but it wouldn't work out. Not if we only ever have the nights as our refuge. “I think its because I'm too jealous of your beauty.” I sputter, making up shit as I go along.
“You should be an actress.” She tells me. “I just love watching you make up stories.”
“Why wouldn't I be jealous of you?”
“Screw off.” She adds a certain finger at the end for effect.
“But, like...” Flipping my flat-as-my-chest hair behind my back, I tilt the side of my head and study her. The freckles that litter her face like constellations, the fine slope of her nose, her creamy complexion without a mark of flaw in sight. I swear she was photo shopped or something. Scooting closer, I explore her deep eyes and become lost in a whole new type of darkness. “You're perfect.”
I will never understand this girl. The way her nose scrunches up at me, the corners of her eyes creasing as she stretches her delicate lips into a grin. “No way.” She will never believe me. Soon her stare becomes glossy and she begins to lean in.
“No, yo, its true.” I have no clue why I interrupted this moment. Laying back and resting my head on the window, I laugh at my own stupidity and stare out into the woods. A breeze tickles the branches as they sway to music I wish I had the pleasure of listening to and the stars above wink at the two of us, as if attempting to reset the mood.
Tugging at my sweatshirt, I continue, “We have so much potential, you know? Like our whole life is right in front of us; an empty highway stretched out before us with promise.” I can't tell if she is listening. “And here we are, stuck in the same shit school repeating our parents' same shitty mistakes over and over again. If I had to live here one more year, I would end up hanging myself in my closet.”
“Am I a mistake?” I want to deny this, but she doesn't give me the chance. “We have been dancing around this for four years now, Donna!”
“I guess.”
“Do you have herpes? Is that why you are too afraid to kiss me?”
Neither of us can contain the giggles that bubble out of our throats.
The thought that she may have liked me this whole time never even crossed my mind.
As our fit begins to fall apart, I ask, “How could you even say that?” Awkward silence. “Of course I don't!”
She doesn't say anything for a while. Then, “Take me home.” She hops down and disappears from sight. The only sound she makes is the slam of the car door. I follow suit. Before I can grab my keys, though, she sets her dainty hand on my arm. “You should know...”
Bzzzzzzzzzz.
Grabbing my phone, I find it to be my mom texting rants to me. “Shit. I'm not supposed to be out this late.” It is two in the morning. I said I would be back three hours ago.
“Oh. Well shit.”
“Don't worry about it.” I don't know why, but I practically shove my face into hers until we are what I assume could be labeled as kissing. “I will live another night.” Shrugging like nothing matters to me, including our first kiss, I start the ignition and back out of our secrecy.
Rosalie is frozen, the bumpy road causing her to appear as a glitch.
“Whoa.”
“Stop being so melodramatic.” Rosalie says.
The night sky above our heads glitters with stars, sprinkled along like a trail of bread crumbs.
She is sitting beside me, her hair seemingly spun of gold and pulled back in that untidy way of hers. The flashlight in my hand lights up her face as I set it in her direction, her honey glazed eyes suddenly fluorescent.
My own gaze finds the ground, inspecting the blades of grass that are reaching for the sky. The forestry around us is vacant, void of other human beings. The only sounds are the hissing of cicadas, chirping of crickets, and croaking of frogs. The two of us sit on the back of my pickup truck, the neighborhood in which we reside a couple miles back.
“What do you mean? I am completely serious right now.”
Suddenly I switch off the light so that the darkness may shield the stinging tears that spring to my eyes. The moonlight outlines our bodies and I can just glimpse her sad smile, the gap between her front teeth that she attempts to hide with her thin fingers. “You are such a mess.” Her thumb catches a tear that had begun streaming down my cheek.
I don't mean to complain. I like Rosalie. Maybe more than like. Though somehow her understanding of my emotions tugs at my nerves. Probably because I don't understand them myself. It is practically impossible to open my mouth right now to spill my attitude toward her.
Instead, “You said I was being melodramatic.” The words tumble out in her direction and I can't force them to cease. “I like you Rosa, I really do, but I honestly could care less about your opinion right now.” That came out all wrong. My words are about as smooth as the gravel road behind us, all chunky and flinging at the tires with fervor. To stop myself from coming off as any more of an ass, I grab my red cup, which once held Bud Light, and begin to toss ice into my mouth; keeping it under my lip until it melts.
“You really like me?” She doesn't sound offended. If anything, she seems optimistic.
I am stumbling on an explanation, icy bits dropping from between my lips. Realizing that I am ruining this, I become very quiet.
Rosalie utters something I can't decipher. I have made a fool of myself. This is the first time we have had a serious conversation as well. The both of us have known each other since we were fourteen when she first moved to Anchor Falls, but within these past four years we have become more distant. Separate groups of friends, differing schedules. We only ever spend time together when we are able to sneak out on nights like this and enjoy the break we offer each other from reality. This agreement was decided when she moved next door. Once, as the clock stoke midnight, I had heard a faint knock on my window. I opened it only to reveal Rosalie herself, only much younger and weeping. “Can we go somewhere?” She had asked, and so we had ended up at the local playground. I never once asked why she was so distressed, or why she chose me, but I figured it was none of my business. In the end, I wouldn't call us friends.
“I don't know. I don't want to like you like that, but...” Jesus Christ, I would love her to be my girlfriend more than anything, but it wouldn't work out. Not if we only ever have the nights as our refuge. “I think its because I'm too jealous of your beauty.” I sputter, making up shit as I go along.
“You should be an actress.” She tells me. “I just love watching you make up stories.”
“Why wouldn't I be jealous of you?”
“Screw off.” She adds a certain finger at the end for effect.
“But, like...” Flipping my flat-as-my-chest hair behind my back, I tilt the side of my head and study her. The freckles that litter her face like constellations, the fine slope of her nose, her creamy complexion without a mark of flaw in sight. I swear she was photo shopped or something. Scooting closer, I explore her deep eyes and become lost in a whole new type of darkness. “You're perfect.”
I will never understand this girl. The way her nose scrunches up at me, the corners of her eyes creasing as she stretches her delicate lips into a grin. “No way.” She will never believe me. Soon her stare becomes glossy and she begins to lean in.
“No, yo, its true.” I have no clue why I interrupted this moment. Laying back and resting my head on the window, I laugh at my own stupidity and stare out into the woods. A breeze tickles the branches as they sway to music I wish I had the pleasure of listening to and the stars above wink at the two of us, as if attempting to reset the mood.
Tugging at my sweatshirt, I continue, “We have so much potential, you know? Like our whole life is right in front of us; an empty highway stretched out before us with promise.” I can't tell if she is listening. “And here we are, stuck in the same shit school repeating our parents' same shitty mistakes over and over again. If I had to live here one more year, I would end up hanging myself in my closet.”
“Am I a mistake?” I want to deny this, but she doesn't give me the chance. “We have been dancing around this for four years now, Donna!”
“I guess.”
“Do you have herpes? Is that why you are too afraid to kiss me?”
Neither of us can contain the giggles that bubble out of our throats.
The thought that she may have liked me this whole time never even crossed my mind.
As our fit begins to fall apart, I ask, “How could you even say that?” Awkward silence. “Of course I don't!”
She doesn't say anything for a while. Then, “Take me home.” She hops down and disappears from sight. The only sound she makes is the slam of the car door. I follow suit. Before I can grab my keys, though, she sets her dainty hand on my arm. “You should know...”
Bzzzzzzzzzz.
Grabbing my phone, I find it to be my mom texting rants to me. “Shit. I'm not supposed to be out this late.” It is two in the morning. I said I would be back three hours ago.
“Oh. Well shit.”
“Don't worry about it.” I don't know why, but I practically shove my face into hers until we are what I assume could be labeled as kissing. “I will live another night.” Shrugging like nothing matters to me, including our first kiss, I start the ignition and back out of our secrecy.
Rosalie is frozen, the bumpy road causing her to appear as a glitch.
“Whoa.”