Flood

by Maria Quinn

“What happened to moving away, getting away from everyone, everything?”

  “That plan is still in motion, “I pause,” I'm saving up money and going to college in another state.” Feeling strange for speaking about the beginning of my new life while it’s the end of hers, I endeavor to change the subject, but she redirects back to James.

  “How do you feel about him?”

  “I don't know,” I half lie. I'm crushing hard.

  “Liar.” She smugly grins eating a cookie.

  I sigh rolling my eyes, “I think,” I breath in, “I think I may slightly, barely, maybe like him a little sort of.” I breathe out, feeling a weight lifting off my shoulders, and heart.

  Her eyes and wide grin are shouting I told you so.

  “Shut up!” I shout.

  “I didn't say a word.” She defends.

  “You did with your face!” I slump back in the chair, what should I do?

  “Don't wait around for him to make the first move, life is too short.” She cautions from experience.

  I have to take her advice because she is basically a lady Yoda. Staring out the window crossing my arms I contemplate multiple scenarios in my head, creating conversations in my head that I know will never happen. My life is so much better in my daydreams. Time to make it a reality before I end up alone with cancer and cats.

  48

  Skipping through the cobbled streets in town I stop at a now hiring sign in the window of a small bookstore squeezed between a flower shop and a candy store. Getting fired from the diner was an expected punch in the gut, but this job would alleviate the pain. A little bell rang opening the door as the smell of old books delightfully bitch slaps me in the face. I must work here. The small store is an overgrown jungle of books new and old no ax could quell. Stacks fill corners that reach the ceiling, my feet tread the worn Persian carpet lining the floors. Roaming the aisles taking in all the potential stories to read, I fall into a little old lady much shorter than I.

  “Oh excuse me! I'm so sorry I wasn't looking!” I exclaim.

  “It's alright honey,” she says shifting around books in a box, “can I help you find something?”

  “Yes actually, a job?” I attempt to be cute

  “Oh your here for that, well,” she pauses leaning on a shelf to stand up, “let me get an application for you to fill out.”

  The smell of books and stories wafts from her as she passes by. Lingering, I gently touch the older books wondering what histories they hold, who owned them before.

  “Here ya go sweetie,” she hands me a pen as well.

  It’s an inky pen that bleeds as I write. For job history, I lie about getting fired. I write myself to be a magnificent potential employee, not someone with the skills equivalent to a stale piece of bread. Filling out the application I create a persona that I want to be, the daydream version of myself; I just hope I can live up to her standards. For skills I admittedly should be putting down having panic attacks, petting cats, not replying to texts, bottling feelings, and being the family disappointment. Instead, I just put I'm a team player and have leadership skills.

  After handing her the finished lies I purchase a book on ghosts and ghouls, hoping it will shed some light on my situation and buy some goodwill with Frannie, as her name tag reads. She is all smiles as if I am the first customer in a long time and from the looks of the languishing interior, I might be.

  “Why do you want to work here?” She questions as she hands me my change.

  My features lighten, “who wouldn't? It's one of my dreams to drown in books.” Not a lie. I’ve always loved reading books I’ll never be tested on, and it’s always shown in my grades.

  She looks over my application, “when can you start?”

  “Whenever you'll have me!” I proclaim, excitedly squeezing my new book.

  Leaving the bookstore with a fresh purpose in life and a start date, I frantically text Lea updating her on the day's adventures. In my periphery I spot a familiar face, Robert has graced the mini-mart and leers at me once again. So many questions for him tangle my mind, but with darkness encroaching, I start walking home to mentally prepare for my date.

  49

  Unable to stop vibrating with anxiety about my date, Lea tries to relax me by retelling stories of her terrible trysts. Though it only makes me think of what could go wrong on mine. Pacing the floor, Lea nearly empties out my closet arranging outfits for me to wear on my bed. When once an old dress and leggings would do it for me, now nothing seems good enough. Refusing a makeover for fear I would just sweat it off, I settle for tinted chapstick as she begins to curl my hair I begin paint my nails. Smiling, I almost forgot how fun being girly could be with all the primping and pampering. Why can't I stop shaking? Am I nervous because I know this is a bad idea or because I'm falling in love? No, not falling, that's so pessimistic, but flying in love. What is love anyway? From what I've read I know love is organic, that it can grow, it can decompose, it can be set on fire. But I am lost for a real definition, being so young and inexperienced.

  As Lea rattles on about her laundry list of dates I can't help but wish I had her confidence. Holding a conversation is akin to holding onto a wet bar of soap for me, yet conversation clings to Lea like E. coli on day old meat. Trying to not think about where I lack skill, I focus on what I can do. I am not defined by what I am not, but what I am. Art has always come naturally to me, as has reading, gardening, being awkward, ignoring problems, and having mental breakdowns—this isn't going well. Stop criticizing yourself and just see what happens.

  * * *

  There's a bird I'm my stomach and storm in my mind; i'm going to be sick. Driving to James's house I try calming myself, but the more I focus on being calm, the more I wasn't. White-knuckling the steering wheel, I resist the urge to peel my skin off an die by counting the tall pines. But the swaying trees are many, too many on this winding road as a storm stirs overhead. They want to reach out and grab me; I want to let them. Succumbing to tree mutants is a wonderful excuse for getting out of a date. Almost to his house and on the verge of crumbling, I try to steady my breathing and not pee myself.

  Pulling into his driveway, my instincts shout retreat. He lives in a small cabin with large windows on a picturesque lake with tumultuous waves due to the brewing storm. Looking over to the plate of brownies, I chastise myself for not bringing something more classy in the manner of red wine, marbled rye, or another woman to replace me.

  Ringing the doorbell I lean into the wind, trying to let it blow back my hair like in a shampoo commercial, but it just tangles it into knots; so sexy. Standing there like a dunce with my plate of brownies like I'm heading to a bake sale, the door gradually opens.

  Standing there he looks relieved, as if I had finally found him after a long game of hide and seek in a mansion full of cupboards. Did he think I wouldn't come? Sleeves rolled up he leisurely runs his hand through his hair, smoothing it down while giving me a tired grin, "you made it! Come in," he leans to the side making room for me.

  “I didn't know if I should bring something, so I made brownies.” I bashfully say presenting my plate to him while slipping off my shoes.

  He closes the large pine door behind us and takes the plate half hugging me while thanking me, "you shouldn't have done this I'm going to eat this instead of dinner now." He smiles.

  Speaking of dinner, "it smells wonderful whatever it is," I say sniffing the air, trying to untangle my hair.

  "Italian" he gestures me to follow him into the kitchen, I hope you like spaghetti."

  "You know for a fact I do." I give him a sarcastic grin.

  Setting the plate on the counter, he quickly runs over to stir the pasta an turns back to me, "how are you doing, really?" He questions.

  Feeling more at ease now that I know we're not playing pretend, "better," I breathe out after unconsciously holding my breath, "a lot better actually."

  No ghost sighting for three days now. "I even got a new job, at the bookstore across the street f
rom that mini-mart."

  He looks genuinely thrilled for me, "that's amazing! When do you start?"

  “Monday,” I tell him as we begin a casual chit-chat.

  We ended up talking for half an hour before things got real. There was a long pause after he retold the story of me jumping off the roof, breaking my legs, and him caring for me. After our laughter died down, I broke the silence, "I never thanked you." I say shifting my arms in front of me.

  "For what?"

  "For what," I say sarcastically, "for, for everything," I stare at my feet.

  He curves his head trying to make eye contact with me; I evade him. He brought his hand to my face gently bringing me eye level, my gaze meeting his, his touch feeling like a thousand pleasant fire ants. My heart is a grenade exploding over and over again. Stop this; a queen cowers before no man.

  Holding my hands to prevent them from shaking, he takes his free hand to help steady them; they are soft like pillows with the warmth of a just slept in bed. Moving his hand slowly to my side he whispers, "you don't need to be afraid, pausing, you never have to be afraid." His words are straight from a romance novel.

  “I know,” I state defiantly, “I mean I'm, I'm not,” I say unconvincingly, heartbeat surging with desire.

  Smiling softly, he leans in and slowly kisses me, pushing me gently against the wall. At first, I feel a trembling sickness, like I may throw up, but as he lingers, I lean into him, leaving the trepidation behind. My body caves into his, it's no longer my own, his arms are my arms, his mouth is my mouth. And we couldn't stop, like a cliche I am a desert and he is the rain, staining me with a flood of feelings I've never felt before as a pomegranate discolors fabric; I'll never wash this out. My anxious thoughts vanish as I melt into him, his hands melting into my hair, my neck, my spine.

  It’s intoxicating.

  We finally part when the smoke alarm starts ringing, and we notice the pasta boiling over like a rabid dog, but he is in no rush to rescue the food. Giving me a solid final kiss he smiles into my soul, eyes twinkling into mine, and runs to the food.

  Falling back onto the wall I attempt to relax my labored breathing, clenching my dress all the while. Smiling softly, I couldn't help but laugh a little watching his kitchen nightmare.

  He looks back to me laughing as well after taming the smoke, "hope you don't mind extra soft pasta and crispy meatballs?” He says moreover as a question.

  Still unable to talk all I could do is grin and nod while fidgeting with my dress. Trying to offer my help multiple times, my voice refuses to work, so I give up and remain speechless watching him all the while.

  He has awoken something inside me, I don't know what or where it is, but it is aware, and it wants more.

  50

  You can hear the thrashing lake from his house when it's angry, the soft roar has awakened me, but I forget where I am. I'm in a comfy cocoon of warmth as if I'm at the beach relaxing under an umbrella, the waves almost touching me. As I come out of my dreamy state I groggily realize I'm sleeping half on James in the corner of the couch, television still on but black and buzzing. I must have fallen asleep during the movie. Tilting up my head slowly I see that he is still asleep, his chin on top of my head, one hand caressing the back of my head, the other on top of my hand that is resting on his chest. Still and quiet, I decided to stay at the beach a little longer and leave my worries by the shoreline. His heartbeat is my new favorite soundtrack. He stirs, running his fingers through my hair and kissing my forehead, I curl into him. One week ago I was busy ignoring him at a diner, and now I'm here, in heaven with him.

  Looking up to him letting out a tired breath, “sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep, you could have pushed me on the floor.”

  He chuckles tiredly, “Don’t be ridiculous, I needed a pillow,” he says squeezing my hand.

  Then my anxiety pissed all over my glorious moment like an untrained puppy. Remembering that my mom has no idea where I am, I jump off heavens cloud and check my phone, just as I thought; a bazillion missed messages. Rubbing my eyes and sighing, "I have to go, I'm sorry." I say almost tripping while pulling up my slouching socks.

  “But we never finished the movie,” he insists reaching out to me, knocking the remote to the floor.

  Giving him a sarcastic yet sad grin while pulling my sweater on, I grab my things and leave. Immediately I run back inside with a newfound confidence and give him a kiss goodbye, but he grabs me and pulls me under him laughing, kissing me for real, for too long, for not long enough. Shifting under his weight the old leather sofa squeaks and all I can do is just hope I'm doing this right. We part to breathe and stare into each other's eyes, but with a heavy sigh I'm adamant "I have to go."

  He doesn't say a word just leans in for a goodbye kiss, lifting me up as he does. Grabbing my keys I dropped on the floor I leave for real, hopping in my car and speeding all the way home on a lovers high.

  Pulling up to the house I begin to go through my messages, almost all from Lea. "I covered for you, whore, winky face x 20." Her texts read.

  Rolling my eyes at her crude messages, I relax a little knowing my mother doesn't know, though it shouldn't matter as I'm about to turn 18 and move away. Then un-relax knowing I have to explain it all to Lea. Deciding that can wait, I spend the day in my greenhouse around back, keeping all the promises I made to it when I was in high spirits, and now that I am happy.

  51

  The sky seems a little more blue today, I can feel the earth's heart beneath my bare feet and I'm just now realizing how far the sun travels to reach me, to nourish me. Yet within these glass walls, my greenhouse has languished, sun unable to help. Shrouded in a film of dust and decay everything is where I previously left it years ago, like a broken hourglass. Seasons have no meaning here. But with a renewed hope and a bag of fertilizer, I know I can replenish the dried out foliage to its former glory, seasons will pass once again. Holding seeds in my hand a sweet hope for something better crystallizes like sugar in my mind.

  Spending the day cleaning away the dead debris and potting the fertilizer and seeds, the evening swept the sun away and a mellow darkness remains. The evening yellows and oranges reminds me of the same evening I saved Robert. Humming the same tune I sang to him relaxes me, singing, even though a mediocre songstress, always puts me at ease. It is almost a reflex when doing busy work or mindless wandering, and of course in the car.

  Something in the air had changed, the wind stopped blowing, the forest is quiet, the flowers scent is stronger than ever.

  The flowers.

  They weren't there before. They were just seeds, and now, are blooming like its spring. I touch them and feel them as though they're real. Excellent; I'm hallucinating again, a perfectly terrible end to a wondrous day. My crystalized hope dissolves in a vat of sadness and lost progress. I hate myself.

  52

  The isles of the mini-mart are narrow and dense with products, barely enough room for Lea and I to walk side by side. Gathering my mother's list of items, Lea forces me to retell every inch of my date with James. Trying to hold back the most intimate details, she runs circles around me like a child embarrassing me until I tell all. Lea is the human equivalent of flicking the lights on and off until you snap or have a seizure. At this point, I wish I had the seizure as she squeals in excitement.

  Squeezing apples for their ripeness I mutter, “that's it, that's everything, now will you please keep your voice down?”

  “Oh my god your blushing, are you in love love?” she questions in a deep voice.

  “No, I'm blushing because you're making me uncomfortable in a store full of strangers.” I began feeling claustrophobic, panicky. As I backed away from her giving her my evil eyes I ran into someone dropping my hand basket, fruit proceeding to roll across the floor in all directions.

  Kneeling down, “Sorry I wasn't paying…” I look up to find James crouching down to help.

  Of all the people to run into, I quickly look to Lea and say, “can you get the rest
of the things on my list please?” trying to be rid of her.

  She bites her lip holding back what I know was an inappropriate remark, “surely girly,” and thankfully she takes it and leaves, for the moment.

  “What are you doing here?” I direct to James.

  He holds up his basket as his answer, “shopping.” He grins.

  Duh, we're in a grocery store idiot, make inferences. “Oh. Of course,” I laugh it off awkwardly.

  After a pause he asks, “what are you doing this weekend?”

  “Nothing I think,” I giddily twirl my hair knowing what's coming next.

  “I was going to take my boat out; I'd like it if you would come.”

  Play it cool, sure, “I guess, if you don't mind.” Of course he doesn't mind that's why he asked you. I mentally slap myself. Screw butterflies, Sonic the hedgehog is running circles in my stomach and using my heart as a punching bag.

  Lea returns quickly with arms full of groceries, I open my basket to her and she dumps everything in, “thanks,” I say gratuitously then turn back to James.

  “This Saturday then?” He reaffirms our impromptu plans.

  “Saturday, yes,” I repeat analogous to a parrot, and then we part.

  “Saturday, yes,” Lea repeats miming a robot after he leaves.

  I elbow her, trying to be angry.

  “So you're getting married this Saturday?” She says sarcastically as we get in line.

  “Yes,” I say mockingly, “and the baby is his.” I joke rubbing my stomach.

  Laughter fills the vicinity as a pair of old ladies gives us disapproving glares. Our chuckling intensifies.

  As we move up the line the tv on the wall comes into view, “hey look,” Lea points shaking me, “Austin's on the news.” The news channel has in large print "wanted for questioning in jewelry store smash and grab."