Melissa Vereor
A Symbol.
"I think you're crazy," she says, "I think you're absolutely crazy. Why are you?" a whisper of a voice barely escapes her lips, and yet I hear her clearly. "Tell me, why?"
The brown leather on the couch I'm sitting on starts sticking to the back of my legs. My feet is tapping to non existent music. I'm clicking a blue pen repeatedly. My left hand's fidgeting. You know how sometimes you phase out and you can't hear certain noises? Well, there's a clock on the wall right in front of me, telling me it's 7:07 p.m, but I can't hear it tick.
"You have no reason to. Absolutely no reason to. There's no basis for your argument. You're just crazy on your own. Stop blaming me." She walks around the room and stands in front of me, smiling. Her brown hair is in braids, and I can clearly see freckles on her pale, baby face. She looks like the sweetest girl ever, the type of girl who would give you hugs all day long. Mind you, she only looks like it. But...who am I to say she isn't? Then again, who am I to say she is? I wouldn't know.
Red heels hit black carpet; red dress contrasts sharply against ugly, olive walls. I want to watch something on the not high definition not plasma screen pre-2000 television she's blocking, but I can't find the remote.
"No reason to what?" I'm tired, and my voice cracks. "What are you talking about?"
"You can just let go, you know. You're accusing me of something, I know it." She stops smiling, but she can't do it for long. A flicker of a grin spreads upon her face once again. She's walking around again, except she's not really walking. It's more like a mixture of floating and arrogant strutting, as if she knows what she wants, and she knows what she does...and yet she retains a certain grace while doing so. The wooden coffee table and the Cosmopolitan magazines on it swim in front of my eyes.
"I never said anything." My voice sounds strange to my own ears.
"You didn't have to, I can see."
"You're wrong."
"No I'm not." She doesn't brag about this, and she doesn't press the point any further. She says this simply, as if it is an irrevocable fact that I cannot deny. She says this with the assurance of a salesman selling his wares.
I wish she'd sit down. In a small room like this I wonder how and why she walks around. She's readjusting the black and white frames on the walls. She's walking to the window. She's whistling a tune to herself. She's obviously calm.
I, on the other hand, am sitting on a couch, sweating through my shirt, while the poor pen in my hand is being subjected to violent and unrelenting clicking during the pauses in which the girl and I don't speak.
"You, my dear, are a curious case. On my own, I'm nothing. I'm a harmless little fly trying to get by in life. With him, I'm something to be noticed. And yet, here I am, alone by myself, and you're acting as if he's here with me." She smooths out her dress, and rests her hands on her hips. "I'm no threat. Why are you acting like I am?" Her eyes are traveling all over me before resting on my own, and in an instant, I feel ashamed, unclothed, completely in the nude, as if she has uncovered my every flaw without having to lay a hand on me. She grins again; she looks more gorgeous, but at the same time, more terrible. There's an unfamiliar light in her eyes.
All the while my hand is digging between the seat cushions to retrieve the remote control. I find it, and click the Power button. Her cell phone rings, and she puts it on speaker.
"Hello?"
Hey, honey, I'm on my way over, okay? Stay put." At the sound of his voice, she smiles with the same gorgeous terrible smile.
"Okay, I'll see you in a few minutes, thanks for telling me. I love you, baby." She blows a kiss into the phone. She seems truly happy.
"Love you too, muah. Hehe see you." I can hear him smiling into the phone. Behind the girl I can see music videos being played. The volume's on high, and I wonder why it sounds so far away.
Within the next five seconds she hangs up, takes a few long strides towards me, pins both of my wrists down with her hands, and looks me straight in the eye.
"Tell me why you're acting like he's here with me." Her voice gets deadly quiet, and already I can feel my heart beating out of my chest.
"I don't know understand-"
"You know damn well what I'm talking about." At this point, her face is maybe two inched away from mine. Long, perfectly painted claw-like nails are softly tracing a pattern on my skin. I shiver involuntarily. Her touch almost pains me, and I can't look straight into her eyes. "Aw, poor sweetie, are you okay?" She's wearing a look of mock concern, and I hate her even more. "Poor baby, you like you're going to cry. But guess what? This is all you. You are bringing this on yourself."
She leans in, and now, she's barely an inch away. "Like I said, you're a curious case. I am on my own here. He's not with me. You're reacting. You're sweating, you're panicking." Her eyes light up as if a stroke of revelation has finally hit her. "You're afraid. You're afraid of me, aren't you?" She takes my chin with two slim fingers. "Aren't you?"
"Hey, there you are!" I rub my eyes and the image of a tall boy floats before my eyes. I look around - he's standing at the door, leaning against the ugly olive walls, surrounded by vintage furniture. "You know, you really shouldn't leave your door unlocked. Someone could get in...like me." He laughs at his own obvious knowledge and walks over, dressed in a crisp suit and tie. "Why didn't you pick up your phone? I've been calling you, and all I get is your voicemail." At this point, without thinking, I look at the coffee table and see my phone, lying there. A quick flip reveals that I have three missed calls from him. I stare at nothing in particular.
"Why are you here?"
"Prom tonight, remember? I know you're not going, but I still wanted to drop by. I have about an hour or so..." A few clicks of cell phone buttons and a yawn later, he plops himself down right next to me. "Hey," he puts a hand on my own - which starts to twitch - and looks at me with an unwavering glance. "Are you okay? You're not looking at me."
"I'm fine." I shake my head, as if I need to reaffirm this statement with some bodily movement, and finally stand up. "I'm fine." His touch still tingles on my skin.
"Well...okay then." Without words he tells me he doesn't believe me. "But...anyway. I want you to finally meet my date." Upon muttering the last word, he smiles and walks over to the door, and at this point I finally realized he has left it wide open. There's a black shadow cast on the bright wall from the porch light. A body makes itself over the threshold and stands next to him, smiling.
Red heels. Black carpet. Red dress. Olive walls.
I'm sure that whatever color is left in my face drains.
"Hi there! It's so nice to meet you!" Her voice alone radiates happiness.
Is gorgeous the right word? Or is it terrible?
"Hello..."
The brown leather on the couch I'm sitting on starts sticking to the back of my legs. My feet is tapping to non existent music. I'm clicking a blue pen repeatedly. My left hand's fidgeting. You know how sometimes you phase out and you can't hear certain noises? Well, there's a clock on the wall right in front of me, telling me it's 7:07 p.m, but I can't hear it tick.
"You have no reason to. Absolutely no reason to. There's no basis for your argument. You're just crazy on your own. Stop blaming me." She walks around the room and stands in front of me, smiling. Her brown hair is in braids, and I can clearly see freckles on her pale, baby face. She looks like the sweetest girl ever, the type of girl who would give you hugs all day long. Mind you, she only looks like it. But...who am I to say she isn't? Then again, who am I to say she is? I wouldn't know.
Red heels hit black carpet; red dress contrasts sharply against ugly, olive walls. I want to watch something on the not high definition not plasma screen pre-2000 television she's blocking, but I can't find the remote.
"No reason to what?" I'm tired, and my voice cracks. "What are you talking about?"
"You can just let go, you know. You're accusing me of something, I know it." She stops smiling, but she can't do it for long. A flicker of a grin spreads upon her face once again. She's walking around again, except she's not really walking. It's more like a mixture of floating and arrogant strutting, as if she knows what she wants, and she knows what she does...and yet she retains a certain grace while doing so. The wooden coffee table and the Cosmopolitan magazines on it swim in front of my eyes.
"I never said anything." My voice sounds strange to my own ears.
"You didn't have to, I can see."
"You're wrong."
"No I'm not." She doesn't brag about this, and she doesn't press the point any further. She says this simply, as if it is an irrevocable fact that I cannot deny. She says this with the assurance of a salesman selling his wares.
I wish she'd sit down. In a small room like this I wonder how and why she walks around. She's readjusting the black and white frames on the walls. She's walking to the window. She's whistling a tune to herself. She's obviously calm.
I, on the other hand, am sitting on a couch, sweating through my shirt, while the poor pen in my hand is being subjected to violent and unrelenting clicking during the pauses in which the girl and I don't speak.
"You, my dear, are a curious case. On my own, I'm nothing. I'm a harmless little fly trying to get by in life. With him, I'm something to be noticed. And yet, here I am, alone by myself, and you're acting as if he's here with me." She smooths out her dress, and rests her hands on her hips. "I'm no threat. Why are you acting like I am?" Her eyes are traveling all over me before resting on my own, and in an instant, I feel ashamed, unclothed, completely in the nude, as if she has uncovered my every flaw without having to lay a hand on me. She grins again; she looks more gorgeous, but at the same time, more terrible. There's an unfamiliar light in her eyes.
All the while my hand is digging between the seat cushions to retrieve the remote control. I find it, and click the Power button. Her cell phone rings, and she puts it on speaker.
"Hello?"
Hey, honey, I'm on my way over, okay? Stay put." At the sound of his voice, she smiles with the same gorgeous terrible smile.
"Okay, I'll see you in a few minutes, thanks for telling me. I love you, baby." She blows a kiss into the phone. She seems truly happy.
"Love you too, muah. Hehe see you." I can hear him smiling into the phone. Behind the girl I can see music videos being played. The volume's on high, and I wonder why it sounds so far away.
Within the next five seconds she hangs up, takes a few long strides towards me, pins both of my wrists down with her hands, and looks me straight in the eye.
"Tell me why you're acting like he's here with me." Her voice gets deadly quiet, and already I can feel my heart beating out of my chest.
"I don't know understand-"
"You know damn well what I'm talking about." At this point, her face is maybe two inched away from mine. Long, perfectly painted claw-like nails are softly tracing a pattern on my skin. I shiver involuntarily. Her touch almost pains me, and I can't look straight into her eyes. "Aw, poor sweetie, are you okay?" She's wearing a look of mock concern, and I hate her even more. "Poor baby, you like you're going to cry. But guess what? This is all you. You are bringing this on yourself."
She leans in, and now, she's barely an inch away. "Like I said, you're a curious case. I am on my own here. He's not with me. You're reacting. You're sweating, you're panicking." Her eyes light up as if a stroke of revelation has finally hit her. "You're afraid. You're afraid of me, aren't you?" She takes my chin with two slim fingers. "Aren't you?"
"Hey, there you are!" I rub my eyes and the image of a tall boy floats before my eyes. I look around - he's standing at the door, leaning against the ugly olive walls, surrounded by vintage furniture. "You know, you really shouldn't leave your door unlocked. Someone could get in...like me." He laughs at his own obvious knowledge and walks over, dressed in a crisp suit and tie. "Why didn't you pick up your phone? I've been calling you, and all I get is your voicemail." At this point, without thinking, I look at the coffee table and see my phone, lying there. A quick flip reveals that I have three missed calls from him. I stare at nothing in particular.
"Why are you here?"
"Prom tonight, remember? I know you're not going, but I still wanted to drop by. I have about an hour or so..." A few clicks of cell phone buttons and a yawn later, he plops himself down right next to me. "Hey," he puts a hand on my own - which starts to twitch - and looks at me with an unwavering glance. "Are you okay? You're not looking at me."
"I'm fine." I shake my head, as if I need to reaffirm this statement with some bodily movement, and finally stand up. "I'm fine." His touch still tingles on my skin.
"Well...okay then." Without words he tells me he doesn't believe me. "But...anyway. I want you to finally meet my date." Upon muttering the last word, he smiles and walks over to the door, and at this point I finally realized he has left it wide open. There's a black shadow cast on the bright wall from the porch light. A body makes itself over the threshold and stands next to him, smiling.
Red heels. Black carpet. Red dress. Olive walls.
I'm sure that whatever color is left in my face drains.
"Hi there! It's so nice to meet you!" Her voice alone radiates happiness.
Is gorgeous the right word? Or is it terrible?
"Hello..."