Dying in Wine
II.
14 years later...
I stared outside the classroom window, watching the snow fall. If I wasn't already sick of seeing snow, I would think it majestic. It looked like a bed of white crystals covering the ground. Untouched. Pure. Beautiful.
Which were the same words that my fiance described me as.
I had to look away for fear of hurling my breakfast on my desk. The mere thought of this morning's events made my stomach lurch.
The rest of the period, I sat still, almost catatonic. The memories from this morning were relaying in my head over and over again like seeing a movie end and then begin again with no pause or break.
Dear God, I'm only 17. I can't get married, I thought in my head. Panic started to set in.
It's not like he was bad-looking. He was actually quite handsome. And he knew it. And that arrogant, egotistic attitude made him hideous in my eyes. He had a golden-blonde mane and dashing blue eyes that could make a girl's knees weak (except mine). He had a lean body with toned muscles and tanned skin. His voice was low and husky, and he would pass a smoldering look that even my own mother drooled over for.
There went my stomach again.
To get my mind off of him, I attempted to pay attention in class, but to no avail. The teacher's lecture was a blur as well as his notes on the board. It may as well been hieroglyphics, and I still wouldn't have noticed. And that's when I replayed the event this morning for the thousandth time.
I was dreaming about my grandmother again. The sky was blue and the grass was green. She was sitting on the porch in her favorite wicker chair, knitting a scarf for me. I was a small kid then.
"What color would you like your scarf?" she had asked.
I was wearing a white floral sundress and playing in the mud. I put my finger to my chin as if contemplating what I wanted.
"I like bluuue," I said, putting emphasis on the color, which made me laugh. My grandmother smiled at my own amusement.
"Why are you making a scarf, Grandma?" I asked her. "It's not even cold." I stared at her with my child-like eyes, wide and full of curiosity. But she wasn't looking at me. She was looking at whatever was behind me. Her smile faded almost instantly. I turned to look at what made my grandmother upset, but I saw nothing. Instead of our front yard, I was in a forest. The trees were bare and there was snow on the ground. I turned back to my grandmother, but she was gone. The forest encircled me. I was lost, so I started to cry. That's when I heard ghostly like words in my head.
You are so much prettier when you don't cry.
I woke up with a jump, startling my whippet who slept next to me. Those words kept replaying in my head when my mother's shrieking drowned them out.
"Valerie! VALERIE! Get ready and come downstairs!"
I looked at my dog, Windsor, and scratched behind his ears. "Hello, Windsor," I told him. "The harpy is up." Windsor groaned and put his paw over his eyes, just like I taught him to whenever I said the word "harpy."
"Good dog," I said, and got up.
I stared outside the classroom window, watching the snow fall. If I wasn't already sick of seeing snow, I would think it majestic. It looked like a bed of white crystals covering the ground. Untouched. Pure. Beautiful.
Which were the same words that my fiance described me as.
I had to look away for fear of hurling my breakfast on my desk. The mere thought of this morning's events made my stomach lurch.
The rest of the period, I sat still, almost catatonic. The memories from this morning were relaying in my head over and over again like seeing a movie end and then begin again with no pause or break.
Dear God, I'm only 17. I can't get married, I thought in my head. Panic started to set in.
It's not like he was bad-looking. He was actually quite handsome. And he knew it. And that arrogant, egotistic attitude made him hideous in my eyes. He had a golden-blonde mane and dashing blue eyes that could make a girl's knees weak (except mine). He had a lean body with toned muscles and tanned skin. His voice was low and husky, and he would pass a smoldering look that even my own mother drooled over for.
There went my stomach again.
To get my mind off of him, I attempted to pay attention in class, but to no avail. The teacher's lecture was a blur as well as his notes on the board. It may as well been hieroglyphics, and I still wouldn't have noticed. And that's when I replayed the event this morning for the thousandth time.
~*~
I was dreaming about my grandmother again. The sky was blue and the grass was green. She was sitting on the porch in her favorite wicker chair, knitting a scarf for me. I was a small kid then.
"What color would you like your scarf?" she had asked.
I was wearing a white floral sundress and playing in the mud. I put my finger to my chin as if contemplating what I wanted.
"I like bluuue," I said, putting emphasis on the color, which made me laugh. My grandmother smiled at my own amusement.
"Why are you making a scarf, Grandma?" I asked her. "It's not even cold." I stared at her with my child-like eyes, wide and full of curiosity. But she wasn't looking at me. She was looking at whatever was behind me. Her smile faded almost instantly. I turned to look at what made my grandmother upset, but I saw nothing. Instead of our front yard, I was in a forest. The trees were bare and there was snow on the ground. I turned back to my grandmother, but she was gone. The forest encircled me. I was lost, so I started to cry. That's when I heard ghostly like words in my head.
You are so much prettier when you don't cry.
I woke up with a jump, startling my whippet who slept next to me. Those words kept replaying in my head when my mother's shrieking drowned them out.
"Valerie! VALERIE! Get ready and come downstairs!"
I looked at my dog, Windsor, and scratched behind his ears. "Hello, Windsor," I told him. "The harpy is up." Windsor groaned and put his paw over his eyes, just like I taught him to whenever I said the word "harpy."
"Good dog," I said, and got up.