Little Girl Blue

“Maggs, you home?” I call, coming through the door with a bouquet of flowers I found on our doormat, assumedly for her. “Maggie…” I flip on the lights to find an empty living room. “Maggie moo-ooo… I have a present for you…” I coo, shutting the door with my hip. She said she would be home tonight, but I guess not. I kick off my shoes, shoving them beside the door with my toes, and then stumble into the kitchen to place the flowers on the counter.

Inside the kitchen, the home phone’s flashing a bright red ‘1’, Mom must’ve called or something. Hardly anyone calls our home phone, minus her and telemarketers. I press the play button and lean back against the counter, reaching for the zipper on my dress so I can get out of the damned thing.

“You have one new message and one old message… Message one; 8:46 PM… BEEP. ‘…Uh. Hey, um. This is… Shit.’ End of message. To replay this message, press—“ I squash my thumb down on the stop button. Wrong number, maybe? “Message deleted. Next message; 10:34 AM… ‘Hey, baby. I know you were feeling a little down, so I thought I’d send you a little love via telephone—Hey, that’s kinda good. Love via telephone—“ My breath hitches up in my throat. I whip around and stare at the telephone cradle. “’Yoooou are soo beautiful—to me. Better yet? Should I keep going? I will. You know—‘ Message deleted. End of messages.”

A sob curls up inside my throat, suffocating the air supply. I clutch my fists to my sides and sink down to the ground, the back of my dress gaping open like a gash, leaving me wounded on the floor, my flesh exposed to the open air. I heave up the crying sound and let moisture rain down my face, spilling over like a pot of boiling water, leaving nothing but burnt flesh and then the devastating cold in its wake.

Somehow, I end up between my sheets, shivering in my nakedness and feeling exposed although I’m alone. It’s sad how you can feel shy with your own self, can’t even be you around you. You should at least be your own friend. But I guess I’m not anymore. I’ve become something of a stranger to even me.



This is the second time this week that I’ve woken up feeling like crap. And let me tell you, crap doesn’t feel very good. Doesn’t look very good either.

I stare disdainfully in the mirror in the bathroom at my bloodshot eyes and frizzy hair, then glace down at my too-long finger and toe nails. “That’s nasty…” I whisper to myself and then look back up. “What am I gonna do with you?”

Shower. That’s what I’m gonna do with you. And so I do. I take a good long shower, using more conditioner than needed and I wash my face really well and keep the water really hot so maybe I can burn off all this worn skin and step into some that’s new. When I’m done, I don’t much feel like clothes, so I dry off and put on some socks and take my hairbrush with me to the living room.

I run the brush through my hair a couple of times and then almost drop my towel because déjà vu is working its magic today. “Whoa! You!” I point my hairbrush accusingly at my unwanted guest.

“Me,” the man still in black—Brian—says, a little amused and a bit confused.

“Y’know, buddy, this is weird. This is… This is becoming a weird habit. Weeeird habit of yours,” I say, attempting to wrap my towel tighter around myself.

“Buddy?”

“Don’t even.” I scowl, aiming the brush at him once more.

“Well, I just figured you’d learn my name by now. Me sending flowers and all,” he says almost smugly, but I can tell this sort of… banter is a little rusty.

So it was him… I look at him suspiciously. “…You don’t seem like the flower type.”

“I’m not.”

Okay. At least he’s honest. “Then why the…? You know what? Never mind. I’m not even gonna ask. I’m not gonna let you put a damper on my morning. No siree no,” I mumble mostly to myself, making my way to the kitchen.

He snorts. “Am I? Really? Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all.

“Yes,” I say, turning. “Yes you are.” And then I turn back to the counter and he snorts again. “Anyways—what’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. You just… ah, got a… You know what? Never mind. I’m not even gonna tell you.”

I shoot a glare back at him, wondering when our conversation had turned so hostile, but on the way, I catch a glance of bare skin that probably shouldn’t be bare. “Mother ffffire trucker.” I grab the back of my towel and pull it so that it covers my butt, like it should.

Snide laughter follows. “Screw you too,” I mutter.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry.”

Silence.

“Really. But… ah… maybe you should put on a robe or something…? Cover up your ass a little—?”

“—It’s my own goddamned house, I can wear whatever I goddamned please; you should get out so you can give me a little goddamned privacy!”

“Ooh. Feisty.”

“Shut. Up. Don’t you know when you’re not wanted?”

He’s quiet. Victory is mine.

But then it’s a little too quiet. I feel a bit guilty, but I’m not about to apologize. “So… You must really like my sister, huh?” I say, spooning coffee grounds into the machine.

“…Yeah. Something like that,” he replies, a little quieter than before.

“Of all times to be vague…” I mumble.

More silence. I leave the pot alone to brew and I leave the kitchen to grab my robe from my room. When I come back, Brian’s still in the same place, looking a little different than he had before. A little sad again, like he was yesterday, which makes me uncomfortable because my own sadness is even a little hard to bear sometimes. “So… what do you do for a living?” I ask, sitting myself down on the couch.

“I was in a band… Still am, I guess. Fuck, we’re not really a band… Not anymore” He rubs his forehead with his palm.

“No… I’m sure you’re a very good band,” I say, sounding a bit like a kindergarten teacher.

He smirks a little, kind of warily though. “Were. Used to be fuckin’ awesome.”

“Sounds…” I search for a word. “Awesome… Ah, what happened?”

Brian’s face grows a little darker and he looks down at his phone. “I gotta go.”

I open my mouth to say something, but don’t.

He stands from the chair, pockets his phone, then looks right at me, in the eyes. “Bye… Clare.”

Startlingly dark eyes. Darkest I’ve ever seen. “Um… Bye. Bye, Brian.”

And then he’s gone.

That… was weird.