Rose Petal Kisses

Nothing at all spectacular happened during the morning, and when I mean by something ‘spectacular’, it would be a minor interaction with Stormy McClellan. Matt was out, again. Oddly, Sarah and Charlie were gone as well, leaving me completely defenseless. Rather than hanging by the lockers and yammering with Matt and/or Sarah, I headed early to class or hid under the stairwell, trying to catch some sleep, and hung out by the dumpster at lunch.

“Oh, well if it isn’t Oliver, hangin’ around the dumpster like a dirty rat,” chided Lisa Gooden, today there were only two of her cronies and no Stormy in sight. I’m surprised though, she has actually taken the time to know my name.

I didn’t say anything, but continued to smoke my cigarette, staring lazily at a very interesting pinecone.

She lets out a disgruntled snort, “You’re an ugly little loser. I don’t understand how yeh even ‘ave a girlfriend.”

Continuing on my façade of not-giving-a-shit, I could physically feel the rising fury that was ready to erupt from Lisa Gooden’s chest. Almost like large coiling snakes were going to replace her brunette hair and rip off my arms and legs.

Instead, I am shoved forward and slip on a black patch of ice so my face is slammed into a corner of the dumpster. I lay on the ground, blood oozing from my busted lip and torn up cheek, vision blurring on the edges. Lisa glowers down at me and a red-headed lackey of hers kicks me roughly against my ribcage. There is a shooting pain of needles stabbing me as soon as her foot connects with my side. I remain quiet throughout this entire ordeal, and Lisa Gooden huffs off, not quite satisfied with my silent performance.

I’m not sure how much time has passed, but I remain there until I know I am completely alone.

“We need t’stop meeting like this,” a soft voice says.

My ears perk up, it’s Stormy. This is my motivator to force myself into a sitting position.

She laughs quietly, staring at me with her protuberant green eyes, “Yeh poor thing. I dunno why yeh let ‘er push yeh around.” Today her hair is curling around her shoulders like a cascade of seawater, enveloping her face in the shape of a heart. “Here,” she hands me a gauze, same like last time, “yeh know why she treats yeh like this?”

I shake my head, pressing the soft fabric to my lip. Stormy starts digging through her bag again and pulls out an antiseptic and a large, rectangular Band-Aid. “For your cheek,” she mutters as she begins wiping the ointment on. Chills run up and down my arms at her touch.

“Well… I know… an’ I probably shouldn’t tell yeh,” Stormy pauses, fluttering her eyelashes similar to butterfly wings. “She ‘as a big, corny crush on yeh.”

My hand jerks and I accidentally reopen my already tender lip, blood starts dripping out again. Maybe even more than when it had been originally opened. I stare at Stormy with wide eyes, there was no way that bitch liked me. Never has she shown the slightest interest and always she’s had an athletic, bigoted boyfriend, who Lisa Gooden would normally send out to beat me up. All through out our entire school career it has been like that, with no relief in sight.

“Oh yes, she’s liked yeh since we were ten, at least,” Stormy says, with the slightest shrug of her shoulder, like this news meant absolutely no big deal. “She’s so worried ‘bout being judged that she constantly picks on yeh. M’the only friend Lisa has ever confided in about this, but I figure yeh deserve t’know.”

“Could ‘ave told me sooner.”

“But who’s to say yeh wouldn’t go out and humiliate ‘er with that piece of information?”

“I-” stopping, I give Stormy a skeptical look. Why would she trust me now with telling me this? As if she read my mind, Stormy said:

“Well, yeh see... you’re a lot nicer of a person than what that cold exterior yeh put up, shows. Plus, when we’re younger, we try t’use any bit of information possible to crush our enemies. From what I can tell, yeh don’t seem the type t’be so sneaky about getting revenge. If at all.”

Exhaling, I let my shoulders drop. She was right. The only person I would be able to get myself to tell this to would probably be Tom, and he wouldn’t give a rats ass. There’s no way I would tell Matt, he wouldn’t let me live it down and would more than likely attempt to blackmail Lisa. Sarah was definitely out of the question, she got down right jealous when a girl even glanced at me. I couldn’t imagine how she would react if she knew that Lisa Gooden liked me.

Stormy smiles torpidly, and pulls out another gauze to hold against the slowly closing cut on my lip. She takes the used medical fabric and puts it in a plastic baggie.

“It’s my birthday today!” I blurt out. What I had really wanted to so say was why she has all of these medical supplies with her.

“Oh! Well, happy birthday, Oli,” she says cheerfully. Stormy stands up, hovering over me like a great, green humming-bird, her white teeth flash at me in the pale light, “we really need to stop meetin’ like this. Next time I see yeh, you’re gonna ‘ave a broken arm an’ then what am I gonna do?” Her laugh trembles out like wind chimes clinking together.

All I can do is stare, until I realize that she is staring right back and I feel instantly shamefaced. Clambering to my feet, I thank her about two more times before she trails off, waving at me with her never ceasing smile. Her septum piercing winking at me from the faint halo of sun, as if it too is saying good-bye.

The rest of the day feels like a dull blur since lunch. Lisa Gooden doesn’t even attempt to come and harass me, and honestly, I’m quite thankful. After school, I planned on huddling in my room, seeking shelter under my blankets and going to sleep. I didn’t care if it was my birthday.

Walking home was a relief on the pulsing cut that has dispersed nearly half my lip, the cold wind chilled the relentless heat that has consumed it. My cheek is throbbing too, but I’m pretty sure that is from the bandage covering the scrape there. Snow drifts lay around me like lifeless bodies leeched of color and bloated with ice. I take a handful and press it to my upper lip, sighing in relief, and the wet trickles down my chin, mixed with old blood.

I slam the door open and before I can catch my bearings, five dark figures come leaping out, screaming:

“SURPRISE!”

Stumbling back, I barely catch hold of the door frame beside me. My eyes wide, “I-yeh guys- what-”

“Happy birthday, Oli!” Sarah says in a sing-song voice. She skips over to me and wraps her arms around my neck, her lips pursed out as she stared me down, “Omigod, your lip!”

I pull away and shake my head, “It’s nothing, just slipped an’ fell.”

“This is th’ second time you’ve fallen!” Carol, my mother, exclaims. Exasperation clutches her voice, “Yeh need t’be more careful, Oli, what if yeh get hurt even worse?”

“Funny. Someone else said something similar,” I mutter. Shrugging, I give everyone a wide smile, “Thanks, guys. I wasn’t expecting this at all.”

My mother gives me a fleeting smile, one that doesn’t quite catch her eyes, and turns away, “I’ve made us some beef stew an’ mashed potatoes. Afterward we can ‘ave cake.”

Matt comes over to me, holding a small box wrapped in bright pink paper, there is a large, mocking yellow bow swathed on top. “Your gift.”

Rolling my eyes, I thank him with a sly smirk adorning my face. Sarah comes bounding back with a big box wrapped in white paper covered with black swirls and dots; she sticks her tongue out at Matt and presses the box into my hands before trotting over to Charlie, who is sitting gloomily on the couch. Tom is the last to come up to me, there is a half smile on his lips and his face looks tense, as if he is worried about something.

I wrap my arm around his shoulder as he hands me his card in a neat, baby blue envelope. My name is written with small block letters, in Tom’s handwriting, on one side.

There is an underlining tension while everyone is sitting at the table, writhing like an eel being held down and ready to be sliced open. Matt and I talk to each other, while Charlie and Sarah speak mostly to one another in hushed voices. They toss random side comments when they hear a snippet of our conversation from the other end of the table. I know that Sarah isn’t saying much because of Charlie being still considerably angry at Matt. Nothing had to be said, the girl has the temper of a seething bull.

Mum eventually brings out a white cake slathered in random dabs of red frosting; the massive thing looks like someone puked blood all over it, but I suppress the urge to announce this and smile gratefully. She never was very good at cake decorating; last year, for Tom’s birthday, she attempted to make a beach scene but somehow the thing looked like a dog had a taken a big shit on a patch of grass. Though, mum did manage to make some nifty bright blue water. Tom and I gave her credit for doing that correctly while silently snickering to one another after the party.

One side of her mouth is tugged down, disappointment etched in her furrowed brows as she glared at my birthday cake, resting placidly on the hard oak-table. “I tried making roses, but… well, as yeh can see-”

“It’s beautiful, mum,” I say, standing up and giving her a thorough, back-cracking hug.

She gives another one of her brief smiles and I realize that my father hasn’t said a single word since I got home. He sits quietly, opposite of where mum and I are standing, staring much too interestedly at the chrysanthemums sitting in a yellow vase on the center of the table. I continue to pretend he isn’t there, if he had wanted to be acknowledged he would have spoken up by now, and from the pained look on my mother’s face, I can tell she’s having a rough time ignoring his existence. I only wish I knew what caused their hostility.

We break into the cake after everyone sings at the top of their lungs ‘happy birthday’ and a half hour later more than half the cake is eaten. Matt, Sarah, Charlie and Tom and I all sit out in the living room, a small cluster of mutinous words and loud laughter. Though the excitement brimming in the room is cut short when sharp, loud words are exchanged between mum and dad. Everyone freezes, all ears tuned into what is being said and we really don’t have to strain because their voices escalate. Tom covers his ears and moves a hairs length closer to me.

“YEH NEVER DO ANYTHING IN THIS FUCKING ‘OUSE ANYMORE!” Mum screams, I can hear the soft tremble in her voice and I wonder if anyone else can hear it, too. “All I want is for yeh to ‘elp clean th’ dishes yeh lazy asshole!”

“Fuck off, woman!” Dad bellows back.

I stand up and motion for Sarah and Charlie to get going, there was no need for them to witness this. Matt has known about the growing hostility between my parents for some time. Hell, his own parents argue probably three times more often, some times even shoving one another. Scenes like that freaked me out to my core, but I kept quiet, pretending that none of it phased me. Once, the girls are gone, I prod Tom into my room, Matt trailing behind.

By the end of our parent’s arguing, they’ve locked themselves up in their room. Random needling words of fury sprouted up every once in awhile, keeping us aware that they were still fighting.

I feel the worst for Tom, who’s sitting on one side of my bed, wrapped up in my blankets and listening to his Walkman and staring out the window. Snow is drifting lazily by, a street lamp illuminates them so they have an orange-like glow as they pass the lamp’s light. Suddenly, I realize how beautiful everything outside is… even as everything inside me is falling apart.