Safe With Me

After an hour of lugging box after box into the house, Florrie and her Aunt decided to take a break and sat down in the living room, each with a cup of tea in hand and a tired sigh to offer. As she settled onto one of the large cushions, Florrie noticed something both familiar and tiresome on the sofa. Tossed over one arm of the large, tan couch was one of Florrie’s mother’s quilts. It was made during one of Amanda Lee’s short and random fazes; her knitting hobby nearly drove everyone mad. After seeing a special on TV about all the different things you can make with two needles and some wool, Florrie’s mother began knitting everything and anything she could. After buying and reading through a few how-to books, the obsession began. Her mother knitted gloves, scarves, hats, even garbage can jackets and toilet covers. The knitting faze only lasted a few weeks, the shortest of all her spur of the moment hobbies, but during that time, she drove her husband and daughter mad with all of the stupid things she made.

But Florrie had to admit, her mother was really good at it. She made intricate patterns within all of her designs and no two were the same. Even with her talent though, Florrie was relieved when finally, her mother packed up all her knitting materials into a box and threw them into the attic, right next to the yoga mats and painting easels. It was one of the many things that annoyed Florrie about her mother. She was constantly starting up new hobbies to keep herself entertained and she’d drag Florrie and her father into the mess as well, trying to get them interested and make them participate. That was something she wasn’t going to miss about her home in California.

“So, how are your mom and dad?” Lorraine asked, taking a sip of her tea carefully, as to not burn herself with the near scalding drink.

“Uh, they’re good, I guess,” Florrie answered, stirring her tea with the silver spoon in the white cup. She didn’t really know how they were. Despite living with them for twenty years, Florrie didn’t communicate with her parents often. Either she was mad at them or they were disappointed in her; with either of those feelings involved, a conversation wasn’t likely nor was it a good idea.

Lorraine stared at her niece, tilting her head to the side, trying to read her body language. “Things are still rough with your mom, aren’t they?”

Florrie just shrugged her shoulders, placing her untouched tea onto the coffee table at her feet.
She preferred coffee over tea; she preferred beer over coffee and she preferred her cigarettes over anything.

“She just wants what’s best for you. She just isn’t exactly sure of how to dance around the subject.”

“There shouldn’t be any dancing going on. We’ve been dealing with this for years; I’ve been dealing with this. I don’t know why she feels the need to treat me like some fragile infant.”

“Your mother always knew what to say to the kids she was counseling at her school, but with you, from the moment you could talk, were different.”

I snorted, “I’m like her; stubborn and pigheaded.”

Lorraine nodded her head, more than familiar with her sister’s personality. “You have no idea. Growing up, the two of us got into so many fights – we drove your grandma up the wall with our arguments. I used to have dreams of loading her into a crate and shipping her off to Africa.”

Florrie couldn’t help but to let out a laugh, having those same dreams as a teenager herself. “I was thinking Alaska, but I guess Africa could work too.”

Her aunt laughed, the lines around her mouth creasing and the pink hue of her cheeks shining. She turned serious after a moment, looking down at her now cold cup tea and back up at Florrie.

“Your mom really does love you, Flor,” Lorraine murmured, watching the young girl as she rolls her eyes, familiar with those words. “She does, and you can list a million things that she does that say otherwise, but I know that all of it is not in vain. She’s trying to do what’s right, or what she at least thinks is right. There are no manuals for how to raise a girl like yourself.”

“She doesn’t need a manual, she needs to listen.”

Conversation was mostly one-sided from there, and eventually, Lorraine allowed Florrie to head upstairs and get settled. She had just driven for 11 hours and she was beyond exhausted – all she wanted was a hot shower and a decent night’s sleep.

Florrie’s new room was small, much smaller than her bedroom back in San Francisco, but she liked the compactness of it. The walls were painted a deep purple and the floor was glossy, hardwood. There were two windows bringing in some natural light, one straight ahead against the far wall and one to the right, just above the bed. There was a set of small patio doors that led out to a balcony, where an equally small, round table sat, two chairs on either side. The room was cozy and for the most part, Florrie couldn’t complain. Not only would that be completely pointless because she’s stuck here whether she likes her bedroom or not, but it would also hurt her aunt’s feelings and that’s something Florrie would never do intentionally.

“Well, this is it. I hope you like it,” her aunt chirped, walking into the bedroom with some extra blankets. “I know it’s small, but it’s the only room with a balcony so that makes up for it, right?”

“It’s fine; really, I just appreciate you taking me in.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, Florrie. I’m a little young to have any kids but I guess you can be the exception,” her aunt joked, nudging the girl playfully.

“Still don’t like to be reminded of your age?” Florrie laughed.

“Please, I am 23 in my mind and will be so for the next 30 years.”

Florrie nodded her head, a smile on her face as she looked around. Her aunt always was much like Florrie herself. A free-spirit that didn’t play by the rules or keep to the ordinary standard. She lived her life how she wanted to, and even acted like a teenager on some occasions. Florrie was always convinced that she was born much too soon, and instead was supposed to be Lorraine’s daughter. The two women were so much more alike than Florrie and her parent’s, it only made sense that there was some sort of mistake, despite how impossible that truly is.

“Well, I’ll let you get settled in. Call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks Aunt Lorraine.”

Lorraine smiled sweetly, giving Florrie’s shoulder a comforting squeeze before exiting the room. Florrie took a deep breath and headed straight for the bed, collapsing amongst the pillows and sheets. Her body melted into the confines of the mattress and as her mind finally emitted it’s exhaustion throughout her body, her lids began to droop and her eyes fell shut, sleep taking over her body faster than she could blink. It took a mere few seconds before she was completely asleep, the clothes from nearly 12 hours ago still on her body, shoes and all.

When she woke up a few hours later, the house was silent and her room was pitch black, the only source of light coming from the small, bedside lamp she had never turned off and the moon’s glow seeping in through the windows and balcony doors. She turned over onto her back, stretching all her limbs with a yawn, her eyes watering from both the release of carbon dioxide and the makeup she had never taken off. Pulling her phone from her pocket, Florrie realized it was only 2 a.m. – she had barely gotten five hours of sleep and with a frustrated sigh, she realized that the odds of her falling back asleep were slim.

She sat up and unlaced her boots, throwing them across the room haphazardly, not caring where they landed or in what fashion. With heavy eyes, she pulled off all her clothes and grabbed a towel from her closet, wrapping it around her body. She peeked her head out of her bedroom door, listening for the sound of movement. The only thing that could be heard were her Aunt’s snores coming from the room next door, so with quick movements she made her way into the bathroom across the hall, closing the door quietly behind her.

Florrie turned the water on, hot more than cold, and plugged the drain, letting he bath fill up with water. She put a few drops of Japanese Cherry Blossom body wash under the running water, bubbles instantly filling the tub as the water level rose. As she waited for the bath to be filled all the way, she turned towards the large vanity mirror above the sink counter, inspecting the reflection staring back at her. Green eyes surrounded by heavy bags and dark circles just hidden by makeup held her gaze steady, brown hair falling like perfect waves down her shoulders and perfect, pink lips set in a straight line. Just above the beginning of the towel, collar bones were just apparent against smooth skin. Rosy cheeks marked with sleep lines and a few, barely visible freckles dashed along the bridge of her nose. It seemed like she was the example of your typical California college student, but deeper inspection within the confines of her skin and muscles said something from an opposite spectrum.

Florrie turned away from the mirror and to the tub, were the water level was just reaching the maximum limit before the flood preventing drain. A few candles lined the back of the counter, all lavender scented to match the relaxing tone of the light tan walls. Grabbing some matches from the medicine cabinet, Florrie lit them all, lining them up along the edge of the counter, spaced apart equally. She turned the bathroom light off and was immersed in darkness minus the candlelit glow. The towel slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor, and after turning the water off, Florrie stepped into the bubble filled water, hissing as the hot water burned her skin. Slowly, she sunk her body further into the water, until finally she was immersed up to her shoulders, her head leaning back against the foam pillow and her eyes slipped closed once more. She could feel the tension in her muscles dissipate as the warm water worked its magic and unwound all the stress of the last few hours.

Shadows danced menacingly across the walls, the flame from the candles illuminating different objects in the bathroom, casting large silhouettes and figures across the entire space of the small bathroom. Florrie’s eyes followed the wave like pattern the dark shades made, watching as they sunk down and flew up, and chassed from left to right. It was almost like an intricate dance. The way each shadow allowed the other to have the spot light as it moved erratically – it was a team effort amongst lost souls. Despite the lack of feelings Florrie felt towards nearly everything, she couldn’t help but find the simple shadows beautiful. Each one, different in size and shape, was made from something entirely different looking from its new form. It looked like one thing, but in all actuality, was something completely opposite. There was a sense of paradox between them all.

There was something about being awake before the sun rose that just didn’t settle well with Florrie. Even after countless nights of little to no sleep, and waking up at all hours of the night, she could never quite get used to the oddity of not being asleep when nearly half the world was. She was used to never sleeping – she’d gotten so these last few years. There always seemed to be something keeping her up, whether it be another person, a physical matter, or her own daunting thoughts; something was always fighting against the much needed sleep she constantly fought for. Somehow, when the sun fell and the moon rose and stars littered the sky like dust, her mind became wired, electric pulses bouncing around in her brain like a shot of heroin. Sleep wasn’t even an option – it wasn’t even a possibility. And even though the countless nights of restlessness made her feel lethargic most of the time, she almost enjoyed the feeling.

It was a strange way to relate to her insomnia, but Florrie only connected her lack of sleep with being alive. It made her feeling something; the way her body grew tired after being awake for only a few hours let her know that she was still living and breathing and she was human like everyone else in the world. She consistently struggled with her own self-doubt and her own vigorous internal battles that worked so hard to bury her in the sand and keep her head just barely above land that even the slightest sense of strength, like working through layers of sleepiness, made her feel like she could make it through another day. The black cloud that hung over her head followed her around, reminding her that even as she walks with her head held high, there’s someone out there, demons even, that are simply stronger than all she claims to be. And it wasn’t just the feeling of exhaustion that gave her a sense of breath, but it was those small moments that made her heart race – any moment that made her feel something, anything other than emptiness.

When her fingers and toes were pruny and the water had turned lukewarm, Florrie decided she had been soaking long enough. She emptied the tub and started the shower and after washing her hair and shaving, she climbed out, goosebumps breaking out over her skin as the cool air hit her skin. She wrapped a towel around her dripping body and after ringing out her hair and running a brush through it to rid it of all its tangles, she blew out all the candles and headed back to her room, quietly closing the door behind her. Looking at the clock, she notices only an hour has passed since she left to the bathroom and the sun won’t be rising for another three or four more hours.

There’s not much to do to pass the time, so after throwing on a pair of cotton, plaid pants and a plan black v-neck, she climbs back into bed, burying herself underneath layers of blankets, her eyes turning to look at the bare, white ceiling. She can feel the water from her wet hair seeping in through the back of her shirt and into the pillowcase beneath her head, but she doesn’t do anything to stop it. She doesn’t seem to care either as it causes a chill to run up her spine and throughout her body.

It seems like years later before finally the sun has risen in the eastern sky, red and orange light casting its glow on Florrie’s walls. She’s barely moved from her spot, only turning to lie on her side twice before finally settling on her back again. Her mind races, but with white thoughts so translucent it’s hard to even decipher what’s going on.

At around eight, her bedroom door creaks open and she meets eyes with her aunt, who seems to be wearing a surprised expression.

“You’re awake already?” She asks.

Florrie shrugs her shoulders in response, “I just woke up a second ago,” she says, not wanting her aunt to find out or worry about her sleeping patterns, or lack-there-of.

“Oh, well, I was just going to tell you that I’m heading out for work. I should be back by around five. I left the directions to your doctors on the counter. You have an appointment today, right?”

“At ten,” Florrie says with a short nod.

“I also left a grocery list and some money. If you could just run out and pick some things up for me after your appointment, that’d be great. It’s not a lot and the market is right across the street from the doctors. There’s some extra money so you can get a few things that you want too. Buy some candy or something, okay?”

Florrie smiles and nods once more.

“Have a good day at work, Aunt Lorraine.”

“I’ll try.”

With a final parting goodbye, her aunt slips out of her bedroom and closes the door behind her. Florrie rolls over onto her stomach, wrapping her arms around her still damp pillow and watches the sun continue to rise through her patio doors. It seems impossible, even as her eyes droop and her body begs, for her to fall asleep. So she settles on closing her eyes and relaxing as much as possible, doing her best to fain sleep as she can, if not for herself than for her deprived body.