Gemini

short story

5/10/2003

The grass was dewy as the sun dispersed rays of pink light through the marine layer yesterday afternoon. I was calm, then. It was Friday. The back of our little house was situated facing a flat grassy field, a few miles from the coast. A wide expanse of wheat and grass ahead, brown and black cows in the distance. I was on the porch sipping a diet coke with a shot of malibu rum out of a darling little mug, with a picture of a kitten holding on to a tree and “Hang in there!” text printed underneath. Eating kettle chips and grilled broccoli and a small ham sandwich off of a paper plate which sat on a dark wooden stool. Bathing suit drying, only damp against my warm, burnt skin in the cooling air, as we had just gotten back from swimming in the river an hour ago. Olive, my roommate and best friend in this town, is inside, taking a shower.

At the river we saw a fresh-water otter swim by. Two vultures, or condors, flew over at one point. We saw it as a gift. Seeing those birds and that otter made us all feel alive whether it was said aloud or not. It made us want to embody their freedom, and we have been, every day. I made Olive a flower crown out of daisies. She wore it until it fell apart.

A dark blue triangle top and black bottoms, bows at each hip, lay on my body. I lounged back on the chair of woven wood covered in white, ever-chipping paint next to the stool with my sustenance sat on top of it. No cracked nail polish in sight on my fingers, nor my toes. Bare nails and body. The rum made my lips hum, much like the bumblebees visiting some of the potted lavender next to me. I looked down at my abdomen and notice how even the slightest hunch in my spine bore wrinkles into existence across my stomach. I’m tired of it. I wonder if one day this summer whether or not these wrinkles will be permanently printed onto my stomach if I hunch like this in the sun for too long, and the exposed skin tans while the wrinkled skin stays pale, peachy.

5/14/2003

I was sitting on the couch next to Olive this morning watching music videos on the television in our living room with blue-teal walls and lace curtains beside the windows. They were open, and a dry, warm breeze flowed consistently a few feet inside. This town is cold most of the year, but as soon as the end of April hits, the sun starts to heat us up before even the middle of the day. The air conditioner was on, and a mechanical, constant rattle came from the old vent near the ceiling. We ate red grapes out of a ceramic bowl I made in the old university ceramics lab last year. My kitten mug is on the coffee table in front of us and I am drinking cranberry juice. I have class at noon. I’m wearing my boyfriend’s boxers and a white t-shirt because I slept over at his house last night. He’s coming over later.

7:18 p.m.

Earlier today in my bed, while laying next to me, “what are those white lines across your stomach from?” he asked.

In my mind, I whimpered. Out loud, I said “The sun.”

“They’re cute,” he said.

I will never understand him.

He stayed for dinner, I made him and Olive and I cheap pasta and roasted brussels sprouts and it reminded me of us all having to eat in the dining hall last year, when we lived in the dorms. Not sure why I chose to make something not so good for the sake of comfort, or maybe nostalgia. We drank water. Damn, I thought to myself — I’ve got to make better dinners for these two. They don’t need me to, it’s just I love them and sometimes I fear that’s all I can give them. They’re my family here. They have their differences, and sometimes they argue, but I always try to mediate even if it doesn’t help. I’m not good at keeping the peace between them, usually when they make up it’s their own doing. Regardless, no matter how much they may not get along, I would cook the best meals for them every day if I could. I should, I’ve got to. I need to be good for them. Sometimes it feels like they’re all I have when all I want is this little world up here.

5/25/2003

I’m living paycheck to paycheck, even though my parents are rich and don’t give me more money — which is fine, I just wish I was a better person and made more money on my own. I wish I could do it on my own. Everyone else can, and even with a leg up it feels like I can’t. Moving back home with my parents and going from a state university in a small town back to the suburbs and a community college near home is my worst nightmare. My little world’s not there, it’s here. I need to stay. I don’t want the bad ending.