Breaking Suburbia

“Where do you live, Chester?” Her pouted lips queried, it was the only words she’d spoken all night, and they filled the living room’s open space. These words echoed off of the standard beige walls, draping the entirety of the space in a murky purple as the sinfulness of the night seeped through the panes of glass. The purple attached to her pale legs, it attached to the light blue lace of her baby doll pajama top composed of a light fabric fit for summer.

Chester was perched near her, in some general men’s clothing with the not-so-general smile and breathtaking irises that had Maggie confused. She was tired of running herself in circles, trying to decide whether or not she liked him, and feeling bad for developing an attraction to him. “An apartment near the downtown area.” He shrugged. Maggie bit her lip and took her eyes off of the flickering television screen; she wasn’t paying attention to the program anyways.

“Oh.” Maggie interjected a half-saddened response. It conveyed more indifference than anything because she only cared for the moment they were living currently. Chester was here, she felt his roughened calloused skin beneath the softness of hers, and she knew she wouldn’t change it for solitude. It was dangerous how attached she’d become, and for once, Maggie didn’t seem to mind her situation, having made the decision moments earlier to simply enjoy every last minute of this intrinsic love they shared for each other. For all good things are fleeting.

Chester had seemingly caught onto the girl glancing at him intently, studying every feature he possessed, and a leer crawled up his face like ivy to an aged brick wall. The only difference being that Chester was built from fresh bricks, just experiencing the weathering of life, like we all are new bricks in the first storm at that time in life. We’re figuring out that the world is actually a rather terrible place, that childhood was our prime, a prime we spent wishing for the mess before us. “What’s stopping you?” He asked her, tightening the grip around her hand.

Maggie felt a rock in the pit of her stomach slowly forming. As his face drew close to hers, she couldn’t help but keep her eyes pried open, she wanted to recollect every single moment of this later in life. She wanted to remember this moment, and the moments that followed this capital peak. Their foreheads touched, both slightly glazed in sweat due to the humidity wafting in from the firefly twinkling July night. Thick in the air, there was a wafting aroma of hope.

Their heavy breathing distracted from the crickets, from the drone of the television, and they focused on each other’s eyes. Maggie refused to move, frozen into place as an electric shock coursed through her lips.

He had kissed her, and she sat there motionless, like a china doll crafted in fine porcelain on a shelf. Lifeless, her lips don’t move, she was in a mental limbo. That was when she realized that the heart thumping against what she presumed to be the base of her lungs. That was when she came to the epiphany that everything would be different now. “Maggie?” Chester looked at her, obviously concerned.

He always appeared concerned. Maggie’s rock, now boulder, which nestled in the churning stomach of hers increased in weight. Her palms perspired. “I’m sorry.” She blushed, trying to conceal the embarrassment that stemmed from the affective flattening, not the kiss itself. In fact, while that boulder kept her grounded, Maggie felt in flight. Her fingers dipping into the cool dew that is a crisp, refreshing cloud that paints a blue sky, she lived such a life in the world of nonexistence.

“Don’t be.” Chester shoved his hands into his pockets, faux focusing on the rapid speed of the picture moving on the screen. She knew that the last thing he was worried about was the program.

“When’s your next shift?” Maggie inquired, trying to make some kind of talk. Now that she had a taste of human interaction, she felt as if she’d never get over it. Fickle, the girl was hopelessly fickle in nearly all of her endeavors.

“In the morning, I’ll probably leave sometime in the morning.” Chester whispered.

Maggie exhaled, resting her head on his shoulder. He remained stiff as a board, failing to loosen his rigid nerves. “How come we never go to your place?” Maggie continued on her curiosity. Her fingers tapped on her bare thigh, trying to relieve some of the pent up tension she could feel between their bodies. It was only expected, as they were opposites.

“I have a roommate; she’s a little out there.” Chester chuckled, a slight blush caressing the apples of his cheeks. The word ‘she’ resonated in Maggie’s brain. She. Jealousy began seeping through her tissues. He lived with a she that wasn’t her. “But she’s my best friend, nonetheless.” He shrugged.

“I’d like to meet her.” Maggie bit her lip, making a rash decision to crane her neck up to his cheek. Planting her lips there, she let them linger on his skin momentarily, long enough to get her point across before she sulked down to her normal stature.

He gave her one odd look, studying the austere beauty of her face. She was like gossamer in the wind, very flighty and transparent when it came to her feelings. “We’ll have to meet up sometime.” Chester snagged his lip between his two front teeth. Maggie admitted she didn’t know Chester that well, but it was blatantly obvious he was retaining something deep within himself. Most likely, it was a simple fear of not living up to expectations.

“I want to see where you live though, you spend enough time here.” Maggie pointed out, trying to sound mature in her argument. However, it was hard not to sound childish due to mere inexperience.

“You have more space.” Chester argued weakly, the effects of fatigue blanketing him.

“We both know this house is too big to be healthy for me.” Maggie frowned. As she spoke her words, an echo only affirmed her statement. Ringing from the walls, the mere observation came back to her.

And as he shrugged his shoulders, she felt her eyes suddenly begin to drop. Slowly, her limbs went numb and her aspirations were belittled to a black room she invaded during her resting hours. In that black room she found a solace, tranquility that neither the crispest spring nor the warmest broth could bestow upon an earthly body. Maggie thought of the black nothingness to be heavenly.

Yet, this solace was absent for the first time in the longest time.

In her pair of lacy white pajamas, she wandered in an open pasture, hand bound together tightly with Chester’s leathery fingers. Maggie felt the chilly breeze run through her hair, the leaves creating a vortex around them in the autumnal rainbow of yellows, burnt oranges, and vibrant reds. Chester whistled a hallowing, but comforting, tune that contested with the birds chirpy cries to the overcast skies. The gauzy, ethereal fabric spun around her, rippling like serene pond water against her body. Her limbs stung with the chill of the wind, but it wasn’t so much as uncomfortable as it was the feeling of life itself.

Everything was moving, changing so rapidly around her. The colors, the odor of wet dirt and hope, even the freshness of the cotton that lingered under her nose was there and gone without so much a warning. Maggie wasn’t in control of her life, and it was beautiful. When she let go of the reigns and inhibitions, she realized that her life could finally take off; she could finally bloom like a tree in spring…

But in order to bloom in the spring, the tree must shed its leaves in the fall to prepare for the brutality of winter. Instead of shedding the needed leaves for winter, Maggie Wentworth is one to hold onto the traditions of the past.