sOhh the horror! I went back, looked at what I had originally posted, and...it...was...the...beta...version! ::cries:: Full of typos and messed up metaphors and misplaced figurative language! No wonder I hadn't gotten any reviews! Here is the edited version, my friends, I do hope you'll take the time to read, reread, and/or review ^_^ This isn't exactly my best work...but...well, I guess that's why I'm posting it. It's crap enough that I don't care if it's plagiarized.
"So...yeah. Short. All twelve inches gone. I want it short, right above my ears, snug around my face. Girls dig long hair, but not long hair like the kind I have, y'know? It practically reaches the Goddamn floor. Honestly, Zel, I have no idea how you could possibly stand having a head of hair as ginormous as yours...but yeah, anyway, right 'round here, y'see what I'm sayin? Keep it low but not too much frazzle, and stay...." He made a motion around the nape of his neck as he leaned further into the mirror from his seat, murmuring more instructions.
I eyed him as he did so, allowing his words to evaporate into white noise. They drifted about my head in vaporous form ("Closer...not quite...absolutely no body, not up here...") as I watched him look in the mirror, pointing here and there on his head. I didn't pay any attention to his instructions; he'd been reciting them all week, for hours (and I mean hours) on end, and I didn't think I'd have any trouble cutting his hair just so.
It was his eyes I followed, where they looked, how they moved...or how they did not move. Was he talking to me, or to himself? He wasn't looking at his own hand gestures, wasn't looking at what part of his hair he wanted changed. He'd always done this, actually...look at himself in the mirror, right in the eyes. This is wrong right here, Sheik, he was saying. You need to fix this here, and that there. I hate how this looks. I hate how you look! But it's okay. We can change you. Don't worry, Zelda will fix you.
"....and right below my ears, a little around my ugly face."
"Your face is fine, you dumb Freshman," I said bluntly, twirling the comb from finger to finger like a dime. I tossed the cloak about him and buttoned it, scrutinizing his hairline. "Honestly, I'd kill for a face like yours."
"Funny," he said dryly.
I didn't really know what to say that (that is, I knew what not to say) so I settled for "Ah, fuck you, Sheik."
"I'd look better with facial hair!" he exclaimed. "Not stubble, ew, something smooth around my chin and..." and I sighed and tuned out. He continued to ramble again.
I mused to myself about the lines of his last trim for about five minutes before he raised his voice to say, "or maybe a tiny little goatee right in the middle of my chin! Like evil Spock!"
Eeew, TOS sucks! I thought to myself. Voyager was ten times better. I didn't say it out loud. You NEVER say that out loud in front of Sheik, not if you value your ability to hear. He'd go on forever about how Kirk was the best captain and how SG and the others just didn't compare, well maybe except for Diana Troi, she was hot, and oh, so was Riker, and how Voyager may have been good but stupid Seven of Nine replaced the best character ever.
"Sheik," I sighed, taking out my scissors, "It wouldn't matter if you had facial hair because you cover up your face underneath that stupid bandanna."
"Hey, don't insult Bandanna! She loves me!"
"I know she does, the little hussy," I said slyly, "After all, she's at your mouth 24/7!"
We laughed.
"But really," he said, grinning, "If I had facial hair, I wouldn't need the bandanna."
I reached for his hair, frowned, and paused.
"Hey, sis?" he asked, noticing the silence. He tried turning around, looking at me, but his long, thick hair got in the way. I jumped when he placed his hand into it and drew it back, letting it slide through his fingers. "You there? Get DC'd or something?"
"I-I'm gonna s-start now," I said in a small voice.
"Oh," he said, in a voice even smaller than mine. He turned around, and leaned his head back. "Okay. Uhm...go ahead."
"Okay," I whispered, and tried not to pay attention to our whirring desktop computer on the other side of the room, or the thumping of the washing machine downstairs, or the gnawing dread crawling around inside of me. Just the hair...just the hair.
I lifted his plethora of hair and drew the scissors right across the invisible line I'd imagined a thousand times. It fell and scattered to the floor, scrriip, scrriip, and I was reminded of when Sheik was a baby, how he used to pick up his bowl of angel-hair pasta and dump it onto the ground. I remember how the spaghetti looked, all golden on the dark tile, falling away, beautifully and worthlessly.
Well, I thought, to Sheik, it was worthless long before it hit the floor.
The styling took less than ten minutes. I'd been practicing for days, after all, on every wig I could possibly afford. I trimmed along the nape of his neck with my razor comb. I created some layers to make some body, even though I knew he'd asked me not to. And I created a lovely tuft of bangs that hung over his left eye.
I brushed him off, removed the cape, dried his hair, and that was that.
"Well, there you go," I said weakly, shaking out the cape. When I received no answer, I shook him on the shoulder. "Sheik. Wake up. We're done."
He bolted awake, and jumped at his own image in the mirror.
"Holy shit!" he cried and bolted to his feet, sticking his face so close to the mirror that I thought he'd kiss it. His wide red eyes roamed over his new cut, studying every change I had made. His fingers touched the glass, traced the outline of his new bangs, then moved to his face to feel it for real.
"It's...me," he stammered.
I nodded.
"Zelda..." he whispered, "Oh, Zelda, I...I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything," I said teasingly. "Just..." I paused, and I swallowed past a lump in my throat, "Just find me a date for the Prom, hey?"
He faltered for a moment at that and laughed weakly, but continued to stare at himself. I decided to let him have his moment and tossed myself onto my bed, snatched our Nindendo DS, and began to repeatedly toss Yoshi into the mouth of a giant spotted flower.
After a while, I cleared my throat. "So, uh....you excited about tomorrow? New school and all..."
"Hell yes," Sheik replied. "Boy, am I ever, Sis. You have no idea. No. Idea."
"Nope," I said honestly. "I have no idea."
"I can't wait," he said, grinning. "A whole new start."
"Without the blue contacts, too," I murmured, looking up at him pointedly.
"Ah, that's just extra," he chuckled.
I blinked at him, slowly. He blinked back rapidly, and then jerked when he realized what I was hinting at.
"Hey," he said, grinning, "C'mon, Zelda, be happy for me! This is the first time people are gonna know me for me! I'm gonna be Sheik, the real Sheik, not the one who used to pretend." He lifted his finger to the edge of his newly cut hair and skimmed the edge of it like a knife. "The mask is finally coming off this time, and nobody's gonna know it was ever there. Ever. And I'll have friends that'll like this new Sheik, and not," he looked at me, faltering, "...uh." He picked up the bandana and tied it around his neck, pulling part of it up over his mouth. "Sorry, I didn't mean...just, I'm gonna be me this time."
I rolled over on my bed, my Nintendo DS held limply from my hand. Sheik used to tease me because it was pink. I'd tell Sheik that I liked pink, that just because it was feminine didn't mean it should be hated...that's when Sheik had told me...when I had told him...
"I am happy for you," I said mechanically.
"You don't sound it," he grumbled sulkily.
"No, I just don't sound happy," I snarled back. "I'm unhappy for myself, Sheik."
He took a step back, looking at me as though he were reassessing who I was. Oh, gee, I thought, now you know how it feels!
"Sis..." he began.
"JUST FORGET IT, YOU FAGGOT!!" I screamed, leaping to my feet. "I'm dying, don't you care? And I'm doing it for you!"
"Zelda..."
"SHUT UP!"
There was a crash. Window glass, shattering as it fell, scattered about the floor. Sheik flinched as the Nintendo DS audibly cracked against the pavement outside. I stared at the hole in the window, shocked at my own actions for am moment before I collapsed on the bed.
Sheik approached carefully, reaching out a comforting hand. I leaped and embraced him, and he held me until I cried. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so, so sorry, Zelda. I love you. You know I do. You're my sister."
"I know," I sobbed.
"And I'll miss you. You know I will," he said, and I cried harder. He clutched me, trying to offer me whatever comfort he had left to give me. "But I can't live with you holding me back. Its...its me or you, Sis."
"I want to die," I said, shivering, and I clung to him, hard. "I'm just so afraid."
His arms loosened. I held on tighter.
"Zelda. Please."
"Mmm?"
"Let me go."
I gasped, finding the air harder to breathe. I let go of him. He grabbed me by the wrists, and looked at me in the eyes.
"Now," he ordered gently, "go to sleep."
I lay down, staring up into his glistening red eyes. He rested my arms in a cross on my chest, and let go of my wrists. He looked at his own hands for a moment, then back at me. "I'll miss you," he whispered.
"Miss you," I murmured weakly.
"Don't wake up. Don't come back," he told me, and his hand reached out to my blue eyes to close them forever.
"Thanks for the haircut." They were last words I heard.
X
X
X
X
"Zelda?"
Impa thrust the front door open, glancing at the clock ("7: 30PM? Wow, long day at the office...") and dumping the groceries bags onto the table. She sighed in relief as she massaged her sore arms. "Zelda, I'm home," she called wearily up the stairwell.
No answer.
She sighed. Perhaps Zelda was sleeping, but that seemed unlikely to her, given that this was the last day of summer vacation. She rubbed her brow and made her way to the stairs to call her daughter again.
She stopped.
She could hear Zelda crying.
Groceries, bags, and long workdays were suddenly forgotten. Impa flung her coat onto the living room couch and bolted up the stairs. "Zelda!" She called, and slid to a halt before her daughter's door, and paused.
She could hear Zelda sobbing quietly inside, her breath hitching between intervals like a dying car engine. Impa drew a long breath, readying herself to deal with her daughter's latest stressor. "Zeeeel-da," she crooned, "Zelda, baby, what's wrong?" and opened the door.
Zelda looked up.
"God," Impa whispered, opened her mouth to say more...nothing came out.
Zelda was standing near the mirror, her face hidden from view. All about her feet were the shredded remains of her long, golden hair. She held the end of an ace bandage in each hand; the rest was wrapped oppressively around her chest, obscuring her breasts below its elasticity. A red bandanna covered her chin.
Two tiny eye-contacts rested motionlessly below the mirror, casting their blue ghosts onto the vanity.
Parent and offspring eyed each other as sun went down outside, obscured by the dirty window with the broken glass.
"What," Impa gasped, staggered in her words, and tried again. "Zelda...?"
The red eyes met Impa's, frightened, quavering, but brave. "No. Sheik."
"I, uh," Impa stumbled weakly. She looked at the ground, and was startled, for she had forgotten momentarily what was scattered there now. She bent over, picked up a tendril of golden hair in her fist, and looked back up at...Sheik.
"She's gone, Mom," Sheik said.
Impa shook her head, not understanding.
"She..." he clenched his jaw. "...died. So I could live. But it's okay!" He added quickly, as though he thought Impa were about to begin crying. "She let go. She was so tired, Mom, and I was so restless, and it got too hard for...us...me. Mom, she wanted to. She wanted to...leave." His face broke then, and his eyes fell, and Impa stayed silent, allowing the child to continue. "She wanted to die, mom, ever since fourth grade, she's wanted to die, and I wanted her to die, but I couldn't let her drag me down with me! I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid. We...no....I, I just couldn't stand it anymore, Mom."
"Zelda..."
"Sheik!" he cried, lifting his hands like claws next to his head and bringing them down in a swift, violent gesture. " I'm Sheik! Damnit, Mom, listen to me! I've always been Sheik. Zelda just helped me for a while, okay? But she's dead now. And I'm alive! I'm FINALLY alive! I'm sorry, Mom, I really am. But she's gone. I miss her too, because I loved her, she was a part of me. Hell, for a while she WAS me."
Impa clenched her teeth nervously as the youth clasped the ace bandage and snatched a baggy T-shirt from the bedpost, pulling it on.
"She was my sister. My mother, really. I miss her so much already, Mom, but I couldn't live with her. I couldn't be her anymore. So I killed her, and so she's gone."
He paused, wiping his swollen eyes. He breathed, slowly and deliberately, and seemed to finally find the words he had been dumpster-diving for.
"Mom. I'm not your daughter anymore."
"W-Who are you?" Impa's voice quavered.
"W-well, I guess I'm..." he started, but shook his head. He frowned, troubled for a moment, and looked at the ground. "I know it," he whispered to himself. "I know."
And the tears were gone. Sheik looked up at his mother and gave her a lopsided smirk, laughed, and smiled for joy.
"I....I'm your son, Mom. I'm your son, and I've finally been born."
Feel the rain on your skin; no one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else can speak the words on your lips
Treat yourself with words unspoken, live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still
Unwritten