Georgia
one
“In the winter,” she sips at her tea, steam clinging to her sharp cheekbones. “I like to sit outside while it snows.” Her hair hangs over her right shoulder, pinned in the back by many bobby pins. Her sweater, loose fitting and short, almost baring her midriff, is pulled down over her knees, locking her legs to her chest. He sits in the lawn chair next to her, teeth chattering and eyes stinging from the icy wind.
“Oh yeah?” he muses, rolling his eyes and folding his arms tightly across his chest. Despite wearing two shirts, one long sleeved, and a thicker jacket, bought from the GAP two years earlier by his mother, he wasn’t surprised to be cold. In general, he was always cold.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?”
“Maybe,” he answers, checking behind him through the living room window, wondering if maybe her parents were to come home soon. “Where are your parents anyways?”
“Out,” she scoffs, brushing it off, not wanting to talk about them.
“Okay.”
She releases her legs from her top, letting them hit the concrete beneath them with a thud. He stares at her, watching her fingers lightly grip the handle to her cup, her eyes as they blink every few moments, her lips as they part slightly before closing again. Like maybe she were going to say something, but wasn’t able to complete the thought. She doesn’t see him anymore, her mind is wondering off in the falling snow.
“I think I should go,” he says after minutes of silence. She looks at him shortly, her eyes only cutting to him and cutting away. He waits a moment, for some kind of goodbye, but she makes no intention of getting up, of acknowledging his words. He sighs and stands, his bones stiff from the cold. “See you tomorrow then.” She nods, sipping her tea and he leaves, closing the door softly as he enters the warmth of the house. They both feel frustrated, not sure what to do with themselves. As he reaches his car parked in front of her lawn, and she throws her cup to the brick wall, tea spilling out, and he slams the door shut and slams his head to the back of the seat. She doesn’t know why she’s thrown her favorite teacup as she bends down to pick up the broken pieces, and he doesn’t know why he’s left as he leaves the neighborhood.
“Oh yeah?” he muses, rolling his eyes and folding his arms tightly across his chest. Despite wearing two shirts, one long sleeved, and a thicker jacket, bought from the GAP two years earlier by his mother, he wasn’t surprised to be cold. In general, he was always cold.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?”
“Maybe,” he answers, checking behind him through the living room window, wondering if maybe her parents were to come home soon. “Where are your parents anyways?”
“Out,” she scoffs, brushing it off, not wanting to talk about them.
“Okay.”
She releases her legs from her top, letting them hit the concrete beneath them with a thud. He stares at her, watching her fingers lightly grip the handle to her cup, her eyes as they blink every few moments, her lips as they part slightly before closing again. Like maybe she were going to say something, but wasn’t able to complete the thought. She doesn’t see him anymore, her mind is wondering off in the falling snow.
“I think I should go,” he says after minutes of silence. She looks at him shortly, her eyes only cutting to him and cutting away. He waits a moment, for some kind of goodbye, but she makes no intention of getting up, of acknowledging his words. He sighs and stands, his bones stiff from the cold. “See you tomorrow then.” She nods, sipping her tea and he leaves, closing the door softly as he enters the warmth of the house. They both feel frustrated, not sure what to do with themselves. As he reaches his car parked in front of her lawn, and she throws her cup to the brick wall, tea spilling out, and he slams the door shut and slams his head to the back of the seat. She doesn’t know why she’s thrown her favorite teacup as she bends down to pick up the broken pieces, and he doesn’t know why he’s left as he leaves the neighborhood.