Twisted Summer

by Lucy V. Morgan

  We didn’t hug. We’d talked about it; just didn’t seem proper in front of Mum. Instead we shook hands in a brief, firm manner as if we’d just hashed out a shady business deal. I guess we kind of had.

  As we pulled away in the car, I watched him slump in the mirror. He grew smaller and smaller until we twisted round the corner and were back on the road. I felt like I’d left behind my eyeballs.

  “There are snacks in the bag by your feet,” said Mum. “Feel free to put the radio on.”

  Really?! Maybe this long weekend apart had been good for both of us. And maybe I could cut her a bit of slack…or at least try.

  My appetite was still in Gabe’s bed, but I helped myself to a bottle of water. “Cheers.”

  “No problem. Nice to have to you back.”

  Well. If she was in a good mood…

  “Mum?”

  “Yep?”

  “Do you remember the name of Gabe’s band?”

  She tutted for a second, then snorted with derision. “Heck, Danni. What’s he been telling you?”

  “I just want to know what they were called.”

  She made a show of calming herself. “Turnip Jesus.”

  We laughed together for the first time in months.

  I’d been silently mouthing the words to songs on the radio for about an hour when I realized I’d have a phone signal. Three messages from Esmé had accumulated in my inbox: one was from the night before, and said just love you pixie. Sweet dreams xx. The others were from this morning, and the water threatened its return in my throat as I read: so excited about tonight. Got a surprise for you. And then: ok, you twisted my arm! It’s lacy. Know you love lace xx

  I bashed in the best response I could muster and then stared at Gabe’s number on my phone, as if the digits were some sort of secret code. Had I really spent the past forty-eight hours making love with my not-uncle? The notion already seemed blurred and fuzzy (although that could have been the hangover from the pear cider).

  I’d been looking forward to the drive back to Bristol because it signaled a return to cupboards stocked with junk food, the Internet. My own room. Now the whole idea was empty and flat, and the thought of facing Esmé that night made me queasy.

  Back at home, I tore open my suitcase to find that Gabe had tucked my uneaten bar of butterscotch chocolate in with my bras and knickers. Couldn’t help smiling. And then in with the shoes was the last bottle of pear cider, with a note scrawled along the bottom of the label in biro ink: what cider webs we weave xxx

  Damn him and his poetic punnisms. Was punnism even a word?

  I couldn’t—wouldn’t—throw the bottle away. If I hid it, it might look suspicious (even Mum wouldn’t baulk at me having just one drink in my room); if I left it out then somebody might ask what the hell that pretty little line meant. Drunk spiders?

  Yeah, I sucked at lying. Which was rather bad preparation for seeing Esmé.

  In the end, I pushed the bottle to the back of the drawer on my bedside dresser. I know it was wrong, but it was kind of cock-shaped. And hey, I couldn’t fuck anything worse than my uncle, huh?

  I had a late lunch and took care of my laundry. Then I hopped to the laptop to check my emails.

  I had the usual: Viagra spam. Discount vouchers (as if anything was going to make me shop at the Gap). There was a website update for some YouTube stuff I liked about gay werewolves. When I logged into Facebook, Esmé popped up immediately on chat.

  Esmé: OMG! They just left. You have to get over here!!

  Me: now? Thought not til seven?

  Esmé: They went early! Come on, pixie. I got your surprise, remember?

  Me: Will have to c if Mum can give me a lift early.

  Esmé: ok, ok. Just don’t be too long. Might get started by myself otherwise ;)

  I smiled faintly.

  Me: aww, baby…u waited for me?

  Esmé: you know I don’t like doing that without you.

  Me: no wonder ur so desperate, lol.

  A light blinked on my bed and then my phone began to ring. Oh God…Esmé could be a little smothering at times. Why had I never noticed it before?

  And then I noticed the number flashing on the screen.

  It was Gabe’s.

  Esmé: I’m desperate when it comes to you

  I shouldn’t answer it. We’d agreed. I knew I hadn’t left anything at the cabin because I’d unpacked everything I went with. Why was he doing this to me?

  Esmé: so you there?

  My finger hovered over the green button. He’d call off in a second, if I could just hang on…ah…but that voice must sound so lovely over the phone…

  Esmé: pixie? You there?

  Esmé: Danni?

  Esmé: so I guess you got your lift Gonna go get ready!!

  Esmé: …

  Esmé: ok, so where the frick are you? Why’s your phone engaged? Don’t tell me you’re back off to Devon again?

  Esmé: Hey!!

  I hid in the corner of my bedroom, my heart simmering against my ribs like a ball of acid. I’d been on the phone so long that it was hot in my palm.

  Esmé: I’m getting pissed now.

  Esmé: Danni ;(

  “I know,” I murmured into the phone. The tears that pricked my eyes were made of glass, and as they fell, they were just like everything else was about to be: smashed, broken. A lot prettier in the sunlight. Kinder to people who like pain.

  “I shouldn’t have played it so cold,” he whispered. “I don’t think this is where we end, Danni. Is it?”

  I took a last glance at the laptop and closed the lid with a slow hand.

  “No.” My voice cracked. “It isn’t.”

  PART TWO

  “Tiny bodies, their cries never reach human ears

  But they feel like we feel before they disappear

  And my longing for her was a thing carved in dreams

  She said, have you ever heard a butterfly scream?”

  Dexter’s Noose

  “So what do we do now?” I asked.

  “We write letters,” he said. “Phoning like this is too tempting. Text is overkill. Email’s just plain dangerous. Danni, I don’t know how we’re going to work this out but until we do…I’ll write you letters.”

  “What, like paper letters? Real ones?”

  “Real ones. One every week.”

  “Aren’t they, like…not very eco?”

  “That’s true.” He paused. “But we have to be so careful. Letters, they aren’t as instant as everything else. They’re eco for desire.”

  ***

  10thJuly 2012

  Danni,

  So here it is. The first letter. I’ll be surprised if you can read my handwriting. I don’t write any better than I dance.

  I thought it would be easier than this. Truth is I have fuck all to report…we only talked on the phone on Tues. Do you mind if I use bullet points? I like ‘em. There’s something very manly and fuss-free about bullet points.

  1. I have a friend, Jared, coming to stay this week. He’s just back from Hawaii and he’s got plant samples I’m way too excited about. Rock, and indeed, roll. We’ll probably drink a lot of beer and write terrible theories about spores. You sure this turns you on? Really?

  2. Totally slaughtered at pub quiz yesterday. As you would say: epic fail.

  3. There are two inches of 7Up left in the bottle, but I can’t bring myself to throw it out because they’re your inches. Which sounds kind of wrong, but there you go, madam.

  4. I miss you. I EPICALLY miss you. You and your pretty sundresses and your mocking little comments like you’re actually cleverer than me.

  5. A bit of me thinks that you are.

  Your Gabe xxx

  14thJuly 2012

  Dear Gabe,

  Congratulations. This is like the third letter I’ve written in my entire life. Unless emails count, that is. Anyway, yeah. Congrats. You are seventy six per cent more awesome for receiving this.

  I feel like I have
to write something very interesting and funny. In fact this is my fourth go, and it’s just the intro. (Also, sorry for Hello Kitty notepaper. I don’t have anything else unless you think writing on kitchen towels is especially cool).

  So I’ve had a weird week. I missed that meet up with Esmé because of being on the phone with you, and she went mad at me. Sulked for three straight days. Is it awful I was kind of relieved? But then she randomly decided to forgive me if I came up with a good excuse, so I did because…well. How could I not? (I said my cousin Taylor had an emergency and I had to counsel him on girl stuff). Yeah. I feel weird about it. It’s not the same as being with you. I need to figure out how to tell her it’s over, that I don’t feel the way I should, but she’ll get so pissed and she’s kinda scary.

  I know you can’t tell me what to do about that. Just…I don’t really have anyone else to tell. I never really thought about it and now I realize how much she’s encouraged me to freeze our friends out. Which sucks. You and me are friends, right? Before everything else.

  Not that I don’t want everything else. I want it more than those two last inches of 7Up (just writing that makes me thirsty).

  I filled in some uni paperwork for my accommodation. That’s pretty cool. I’ll find out where I’ll be living soon. Might join that hockey team.

  I miss you too. More than epically. I don’t know what that is, but it would be huge. Huger than your ham rod. I know you’re doing that smug smirk thing now you read that, you tard. (I am totally on the pill, by the way. As opposed to just slightly on it, before you say).

  We’re going out for cocktails now with some girls from my year. Mostly I’ll just wish I had pear cider instead.

  Your Danni xxxx

  P.S. Bullet points are kind of lame, but since you’re a bajillion miles away, I can’t really stop you. Just remember that when you write your next poxy ten-line letter :P

  18thJuly August 2012

  My Danni,

  Apologies for sending you another poxy letter, and without even waiting a week. Since I don’t quite measure up to your (HELLO, Kitty) letter-writing standards, I’ve decided to pretend to be some sort of perfect robot boyfriend for the rest of this one. Okay, darling? HAPPY? :P (What does that little P thing even mean?)

  I strolled along the cliffs this morrow in the balmy midday sun, and I thought of our encounters out on the grass, on the rocks. The sweet and delicate music of your pleasure returned to my ears and I began to hum a symphony inspired by your cries of passion. I scared five seagulls when I got to the good bit. Fucking hell, I’m crap at this. Can I stop already?

  Ham rod? I’m borrowing that for our pub quiz team. We’ll be the Amazing Adventures of Gabe’s Ham Rod for the rest of the summer.

  Speaking of which…I’ve been thinking. About our weekend. I didn’t really think enough when you were here but I have to say this because it’s been playing on my mind. Even though you denied it at the time--I didn’t take advantage of you, did I? I know you’re a lot younger. I should have considered that. I should have used my fucking brain. If you feel like I did something wrong there, I’m sorry. I never meant it to be like that and now it’s bothering me. Jared left this morning and maybe it’s just strange being alone again…I dunno.

  No bullet points this time, see? I’m one of those rare men who actually listens. (Or reads, as the case may be).

  I’ve spent the past few nights in nasty hell without you, mostly wishing I was in nasty hell WITH you. I still have that 7Up. I’ll call your Mum soon and sort something out for in a few weeks, okay? I want you back here so badly, but we can’t look too eager. I miss owning moments with you. I don’t own them on my own; they’re just there.

  Your Gabe xxx

  P.S. No seagulls were injured in the making of this letter.

  22ndJuly 2012

  Dear perfect robot boyfriend,

  I have to hand it to you—that wasn’t bad. I was even a teeny bit impressed. In return, I sprayed the big Kitty on the back of this paper with my perfume so you can sniff it and moon over me. That’s what perfect robot boyfriends do.

  Summer kind of sucks without you. All the sunshine—which, yep, has finally reached Bristol!—just reminds me of your cabin and surfing and… Well. Stuff. Stuff we did (you totally want me for my sexy talk).

  Cocktails were good. I didn’t have pear cider, but I do get the bottle you gave me out a lot and just kind of look at what you wrote on it. “What cider webs we weave.” I love you like a drunk spider loves its half-assed web, Gabe. That’s what you meant, right? :P

  Esmé’s still…around. I promise I’ll get up the guts to dump her this weekend. Really. I have it all planned because going to uni’s a great excuse. No, it’s not even an excuse. It’s a reason. I know you like those ;) But I’ve been avoiding being with her like, you know, that, so you don’t have to worry. I’m yours, always yours.

  And don’t even start talking about crap like taking advantage of me. I wanted you. I still want you. Our situation blows but we’ll figure it out. I hate the idea of you feeling bad about it.

  Mum keeps asking about what we got up to. I told her what you said about cutting her some slack (which I’m doing) and she got all quiet and a bit tearful. I think she was actually impressed. Score. Also, we’re going to the family holiday thing in Wales in September before I leave for uni. I know you don’t normally go but maybe this time it could be different?

  I have to get to work now (need to earn cider money) but I can’t wait for your next letter. Maybe we could do a phone call soon too. I miss your voice so badly.

  Kisses,

  Your Danni xxxxxx

  P.S. :P means you’re sticking your tongue out. Sometimes it’s cheeky and sometimes it’s just plain dirty.

  P.P.S. Hand-writing emoticons makes me cringe.

  P.P.P.S. So am I actually your girlfriend?

  27thJuly 2012

  Dear Gabe,

  So I know it hasn’t been a whole week, but I suppose I just really miss you and I wanted to write again. Are you doing much this weekend? I’m working loads (which means avoiding Esmé. Which is good) and I’ve offered to cook for Mum and Malcolm the Moron, just to show how nice I am. See how much slack I’ve cut? (Why does that sound so wrong the other way around?)

  Anyway. I hope you’re not scaring too many seagulls (or other forms of wildlife). Not much else to tell you, but pretty sure I’ve used up my brackets allowance for at least four and a half days.

  Actually, I got my welcome pack for uni. AWESOME. All I have to do is wait for my exam results. I have lots of questions to ask someone who knows lots about uni. Maybe if you came to Wales, I could ask you there. It’s not the same doing it by letter. A lot of things aren’t the same.

  I miss you, like always. I miss owning moments and breaths and heartbeats with you.

  Your Danni xxxxxxxx

  August 1th2012

  Danni,

  I’m sorry. I just can’t.

  We can’t.

  Gabe

  August 3rd 2012

  Dear Gabe,

  Can’t what? What do you mean?

  Please tell me you’re not giving up on this. I know I haven’t sorted things with Esmé yet but I will, I’ll have time soon.

  Just reply and tell me you’re okay?

  If I did something wrong, I’m really sorry, I just…well I can’t stop crying now. And this just reads like a massive guilt trip doesn’t it so what’s the fucking point

  Please don’t leave me

  16thAugust 2012

  Gabe???

  You okay? Please answer your phone

  x

  PART THREE

  September 15th 2012

  “No, I won’t die, I won’t go peaceably

  You can’t tear off my wings because you want a piece of me

  I won’t end, I won’t break, I won’t fall

  I won’t melt out of life just because you don’t call

  My aching for you was a thing carved in
dreams

  But I died on the night I heard that butterfly scream…”

  Butterfly Scream

  Dexter’s Noose

  Chapter Six

  Rain is so much prettier in the summer.

  As we drove, fat drops splattered against the car windows. The sun shot through their glossy skins and threw coloured lights inside—like riding in a kaleidoscope. Good job it was this pretty, too; in order to tolerate another hour in the car with Mum, I needed the distraction.