Hopes, Dreams and Sunshine
1/1
Lilly sits upon the floor; her head is buried in a book. It’s a book about nothing in particular – hopes, dreams and sunshine. It’s a book about everything, really.
Lilly’s blond locks are twisting away, stopping just inches from the floor. She didn’t have the time to tie it up this morning, and she can’t be bothered now. There’s a soft blowing noise, and a pop, as she creates a gum bubble, and destroys it immediately. With her knees drawn up, anyone could think they could see up her yellow dress, but if they care enough to walk by, they will see the colour matched shorts she wears underneath. Lilly’s eyes glow as she turns over another page, the fingertips on her right hand hardened from the constant crush of guitar strings. She’s a lefty, but plays better than her best friend, who’s a righty, but not quite as well as the kid in her English class, who’s a righty too.
Lilly doesn’t know that across the room, Tommy’s heart is swelling, then fraying constantly. Lilly doesn’t know that Tommy watches her day and night – from across the classroom, from the school gate, from the alley just beside her house. Lilly doesn’t know that Tommy thinks he loves her.
Even less does Lilly know that one day, Tommy will rush into her life, like a midnight zephyr into an open window, and sweep her off her feet with just one too many drinks. Lilly doesn’t know that she and Tommy will waltz into her own bedroom, ankles tangling, fingers sprinting. Lilly doesn’t know that Tommy won’t be nice, and he won’t be caring, and he won’t bring her a cup of coffee and a painkiller in the morning.
Lilly doesn’t know that a year later, she’ll have a four month old son, who will have escaped a bit too early, and a disgruntled husband who was forced into a bleak life in a small apartment during mornings, in a smoky office during afternoons, and in a desperate eyelock with a stripper during evenings.
Lilly doesn’t know that after thirteen years, her husband will leave for someone younger after finding out their son is gay. Lilly doesn’t know that she will only cry for a few days, then find herself a new, better man, who will end up going to prison for a life Lilly knew nothing about.
Lilly doesn’t know that her son won’t really be a clumsy sportsman, who manages to climb trees, then fall out, whilst clinging on for dear life, and scratching the insides of his arms in the process, on a daily basis. Lilly doesn’t know that he will grow up to be a drunk who marries a nice girl, but constantly runs to an even nicer man, who will further corrupt him. Lilly doesn’t know that her son will die of a drug overdose, having cried far too many times over the rejection of the world.
Lilly doesn’t know that she will follow shortly after, with a bullet having been picked carefully out of her skull, so as not to damage the proof that she was just trying to deposit a check she’d earned last shameful Saturday night, when some idiot strolled into the bank with a balaclava on his face.
Lilly doesn’t know that her funeral will be short and swift, and the few guests will constantly glance at their watches, sighing, and wishing their consciences hadn’t let them down.
Lilly doesn’t know that her headstone will have been made of the cheapest stone, paid for by her reluctant mother, who hadn’t made an effort to speak to her daughter for twenty years.
No, Lilly doesn’t know. She just sits there, reading about hopes, dreams and sunshine. And that’s everything, really.
Lilly’s blond locks are twisting away, stopping just inches from the floor. She didn’t have the time to tie it up this morning, and she can’t be bothered now. There’s a soft blowing noise, and a pop, as she creates a gum bubble, and destroys it immediately. With her knees drawn up, anyone could think they could see up her yellow dress, but if they care enough to walk by, they will see the colour matched shorts she wears underneath. Lilly’s eyes glow as she turns over another page, the fingertips on her right hand hardened from the constant crush of guitar strings. She’s a lefty, but plays better than her best friend, who’s a righty, but not quite as well as the kid in her English class, who’s a righty too.
Lilly doesn’t know that across the room, Tommy’s heart is swelling, then fraying constantly. Lilly doesn’t know that Tommy watches her day and night – from across the classroom, from the school gate, from the alley just beside her house. Lilly doesn’t know that Tommy thinks he loves her.
Even less does Lilly know that one day, Tommy will rush into her life, like a midnight zephyr into an open window, and sweep her off her feet with just one too many drinks. Lilly doesn’t know that she and Tommy will waltz into her own bedroom, ankles tangling, fingers sprinting. Lilly doesn’t know that Tommy won’t be nice, and he won’t be caring, and he won’t bring her a cup of coffee and a painkiller in the morning.
Lilly doesn’t know that a year later, she’ll have a four month old son, who will have escaped a bit too early, and a disgruntled husband who was forced into a bleak life in a small apartment during mornings, in a smoky office during afternoons, and in a desperate eyelock with a stripper during evenings.
Lilly doesn’t know that after thirteen years, her husband will leave for someone younger after finding out their son is gay. Lilly doesn’t know that she will only cry for a few days, then find herself a new, better man, who will end up going to prison for a life Lilly knew nothing about.
Lilly doesn’t know that her son won’t really be a clumsy sportsman, who manages to climb trees, then fall out, whilst clinging on for dear life, and scratching the insides of his arms in the process, on a daily basis. Lilly doesn’t know that he will grow up to be a drunk who marries a nice girl, but constantly runs to an even nicer man, who will further corrupt him. Lilly doesn’t know that her son will die of a drug overdose, having cried far too many times over the rejection of the world.
Lilly doesn’t know that she will follow shortly after, with a bullet having been picked carefully out of her skull, so as not to damage the proof that she was just trying to deposit a check she’d earned last shameful Saturday night, when some idiot strolled into the bank with a balaclava on his face.
Lilly doesn’t know that her funeral will be short and swift, and the few guests will constantly glance at their watches, sighing, and wishing their consciences hadn’t let them down.
Lilly doesn’t know that her headstone will have been made of the cheapest stone, paid for by her reluctant mother, who hadn’t made an effort to speak to her daughter for twenty years.
No, Lilly doesn’t know. She just sits there, reading about hopes, dreams and sunshine. And that’s everything, really.