The Sticky Note Chronicles

Tap, tap, rap tap, tap, tap tap tap, rap, tap…
It was a continuous thing. No beat, not rhythm. It was never ending, the sound of the gods crying, the sounds of water releasing from fat, pregnant clouds. It pattered at an angle, cascading against the windows of the apartment in sheets. Ten stories below, people scurried like ants to find shelter from the pouring water.
One young woman was already sheltered from the sting of the cold rain upon her pale skin. But she was far from ignorant to the noise that it made against her window.
Thunder cracked through the sky, disturbing the peace, rattling the trinkets in the room. The rain poured harder, large drops of cold water crashing ruthlessly into buildings, cars, people. The sounds thundering through the apartment, uneven pattering, loudly cascading against the windows.
Blue eyes snapped open, finally giving up on keeping a few more moments of sleep.
That had always been a weakness for her – light sleeper. Posing problems, the reason she originally moved away from the school dorms at the Swedish Institute. Too many people, too many noises. She groaned, a bit more than needed, glancing at her clock. Four hours of sleep, just about.
“I hate my life,” She muttered, rolling out from underneath the fluffy comforter, running her hand through her spiky hair. Rubbing her eyes tiredly, she slumped, sitting up on the bed. A tired shudder went through her at the coolness of the apartment, a bit reluctant to leave the warm confines of her tangled lavender sheets.
Glancing back on said bed, she stared at the covers longingly, but let out a short sigh of impatience as her stomach growled loudly.
Forcing her feet to drag across the hardwood floor of the living room, she yawned ungracefully, stretching her arms over her head, exposing her stomach to the cold air. The green studs in her belly button ate the cold up like toast to butter. She shivered, touching the piercing gingerly.
Patter, patter, tap, tap tap, rap, tap, patter, tap.
She paused, the shadow of the rain trailing down the huge window in her and Norah’s apartment was cast over her. She stood, staring at the rain that trailed lazy patterns upon the glass. The brunette blinked, watching the seemingly black rain trail, twist, turn, join, disconnect, dance, mingle with the other drops of rain, only to simply fall off the window as soon as they made their slow decent down the glass.
The room was almost completely still, the shadow of the passing rain projecting itself on the image of the lean woman. Mel stared, watching the designs, watching the rain.
Lightning crashed through the sky, the brunette jumped in shock, snapping her from the daydreams of dancing with raindrops, the size of a dandelion’s seed. Blinking, she glanced around the dimly lit apartment she had inhabited for a little over a year.
It was quiet, besides the sound of rain, and the distant calls of car horns and shouting people. Her roommate wasn’t home, again. It was a regular occurrence; they always just missed each other. The young woman sighed, pulling the loose flaps of her oversized lumberjack shirt closer to her body, hugging her midsection as she wondered into the kitchen.
A blank stare, a moment of complete silence, “…Pancakes.” She said, a dull voice coming from her mouth.
Yawning, she pulled one of the saucepans from the rack hanging above the bar/island thing they had in the center of the kitchen. Glancing at it, she looked back up at the rack. The thought that perhaps hanging heavy pots and pans where they could fall and hit someone wasn’t exactly a brilliant idea crossed her mind. Literally.
The thought was there, and then it wasn’t.
The brunette cranked on the stove, watching the pan heat as she got out the extra batter from the refrigerator. She paused, staring at the picture.
The picture of her and Emma, that summer… July perhaps, maybe earlier. How long had it been?
That relationship had ended in tears, and explosions. They hadn’t even stepped on toes; they had run over them with fucking bulldozers.
Another sigh left her lips. “What a way to end… something great.” She muttered, scooping some of the pancake batter onto the pan, where it spread and sizzled, cooking slowly. Her eyes didn’t leave the picture. A look of… intrigue on her face.
“What would have happened… if we didn’t fight..?” She asked herself, staring into the green eyes of the pretty young woman mirroring her ridiculous smile in that photo. Her hand lifted to press against her chest, above her heart.
A sort of weight remained there, making it hard to breathe.
Making it hard to realize the pancake was burning.
Until she smelt it.
“Agh!” She screamed, immediately flipping the pancake over. The dark brown of the burnt side caused the woman to make a face at the piece of sweet bread, as if to challenge it.
Plates clanked against each other as the woman pulled down some of the ceramic squares to serve her meal upon. A pink sticky note fluttered down from the bottom of the plate, landing with a ‘thwap’ upon the floor. She stared at it momentarily, the small, pink square of paper on the floor, processing the actual idea of it being there and why.
Click.
“Oh,” Mel bent down, picking up the small square, reading the messy scrawl of her not-so-mysterious roommate.
Can you stand on your
head?
-Norah
A smile, a nod, a burnt pancake, a simple sentence; “Maybe this is a way to get past the… what if’s.”