Every story has to have a beginning. Everything, and everyone has a beginning. This is certain.
Every single moment in history has to start somewhere. The dark ages, the industrial period, Da Vinci, Queen Catherine, the cold war.
And simple things too. A rain storm, the sunrise, the earth that turns under our feet.
Everything, has to start somewhere.
Sometimes the starting point is hard to find. The singular moment in time that, on it's own, is completely mundane, but when connected to everything that follows in its wake, is monumental.
Life, is full of beginnings. So many that sometimes, we just can't keep track of them all.
If I were to take a wild guess though, I'd have to say this particular story starts on a Friday night sometime in late September, on a subway in Queens, New York.
There wasn't anything in particular that stood out in regards to this subway. The lights flickered, the seats were packed with tired folks who couldn't wait to get home and me, well, I was stuck somewhere in the middle of the place, clinging to a pole for balance as the whole car swayed and rattled.
I wasn't anything special myself either. Just your average brown haired, 5'2, skinny-as-a-twig sixteen year old girl in a plain black tee, flared jeans, hiking boots and a red plaid jacket.
There were a thousand others like me, dressed like a backalley punk and staring out at the world with half lidded eyes while Panic! At the disco blared through my headphones.
Nothing significant about me at all. After all, we are only our appearance, aren't we?
I remember clearly now, the moment when death of a bachelor reached its final cords and I happened to look to the left, just a little.
There, staring right back at me were a pair of the most startling jade green eyes I've ever seen. The stunning kind of eyes you only ever hear about. The moment I looked into them I felt a sort of shock going through my system, like the sting of static electricity.
The girl who owned those eyes was every bit as intriguing as I was ordinary, with an intense gaze and a pale blue dress and purple leggings. An odd choice for September if not for the sunflower yellow cardigan keeping her warm.
She was a Marry Jane with troublemaker eyes to my Heathen face and grey goody-two-shoes eyes.
And wonder of wonders, when the bus doors pulled open at Manhattan central, the good girl devil sprung from her seat and raced out the door, but not before she grabbed my arm and pulled me along with her.
"Woah! Hey! What do you think you're doing!"
Green Eyes turned towards me and spoke in a mirthful voice. "Don't you know, silly? We're on an adventure, you and I."
"I don't even know who you are!" I pulled away from this seemingly insane lady.
"My name is Carol. There, now you know me."
Was she for real?
"That doesn't count." I argued. "Just because I know you're name, doesn't mean I know you!"
Green Eyes tilted her head. "What does it mean to know someone then?"
I tucked a lock of hair behind my ears and pulled it free again, an odd habbit of mine.
"I-well, you have to know about the person I guess. You have to know what they like, what they don't, their personality and what they do, their habbits, stuff like that."
"Oh."
With that, Carol turned on her heel and headed up the stairs leading out of the subway.
Unsure of how to react to this strange occurrence, I readjusted my battered leather backpack on my shoulders and headed back into the subway car, intent on getting home, certain as the rain long past that I would never see the green eyed Mary Jane terror again.
sssssssssssssssssssss
I was wrong.
The very next week on a cold Monday morning I was pulled into a seat next to Carol by said heathen-in-disguise.
The moment I sat down a paper bag was thrust into my lap. I eyed the offending package with increasing suspicion.
"What the heck is this thing?"
"You said that in order to know someone you have to know a lot of things about them, so today I thought I'd tell you that my favorite food is mozzarella sticks."
I opened the bag and sure enough, it had a dozen mozzarella sticks in it, the grease was starting to stain the bag, I noted with a slight degree of disgust.
"Okay for starters, mozzarella sticks aren't real food, second of all, just because you tell me about yourself, does not mean I'm going let you kidnap me!"
Carol completely ignored the second half of my argument and gasped in outrage. "Mozzarella sticks are too a food! You can eat them can't you?"
"Food, is like, spaghetti, or Thai. It's a classification designated to edibles that can count as meals. Mozzarella sticks are a snack at best!" I insisted.
Carol pouted. "I don't care! Mozzarella sticks are my favorite food and I'm sticking to it." Green Eyes paused and smiled. "Now you have tell me something about you!"
"No I don't, actually!"
"Yes you do silly, you already know two things about me."
I growled in frustration and laid my head against the wall of my seat. After a long pause I sighed and turned to my frustrating companion.
"What do you want to know."
Carol grinned at her victory. "You're name would be nice."
That wasn't so bad a request, all things considered.
"Iris."
Carol beamed at this. "Iris, I like it."
"Glad to know you aprove." I shot back.
Just then the train came to a stop at Manhattan central and Carol stood.
"Well, Iris, I'll see you tomorrow."
"Can't wait." I grumbled.
"Just you wait. I'll grow on you." Carol wink and practically skipped out the door.
The train started up again after a minute or so and I eyed the bag of cheesy sticks in my lap thoughtfully.
After a moment I gave in and pulled one out. At least I got a snack out of this irritating encounter.
sssssssssssssssssssss
She was right.
Every day I'd get onto the same subway route as always, and like clockwork Carol would be there. She'd hand me a bag of mozzarella sticks and throw random facts about her herself at me, to which I responded with things about myself.
Eventually I pieced together my companions story.
She was Carol Blackwood. She was an emancipated teen, which meant she had the same rights as an adult. She worked at a Cafe that served a ridiculous variety of fried foods and sandwiches.
She owned a small flat in Manhattan and spent her free time running through the streets at nights like a wild child. She painted on the walls of dark alleys and raced on top of buildings, leaping from one to another.
Her parents had been well off before they died and had left everything to her, though she had barely touched any of the money.
Carol wanted more than anything in the world to get out of New York.
"I want nothing more than to just, pack my bags and hitchhike all over the country! I want to race barefoot through some far off forest and bury my feet in the sand of some small town beach!"
"Then why don't you?"
"Because if I left now I'd be lonely. I don't want to go on an adventure by myself! I want someone to go adventuring with me. A companion."
I didn't know what to say to that.
For everything Carol told me about herself I countered in kind.
I was Iris Anlin. I was an academic prodigy who had graduated college at fifteen and and hated breaking the rules. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and spent every day in Queens, wandering through the streets, looking at businesses and such trying to find something that interested me that wasn't art.
"Artists don't make a lot of money. And my parents expect me to do some sort of fancy science thing that will make me rich just because my photographic memory helped me skip a few grades."
For once, Carol didn't seem to know what to say to that either.
Over time, I began to find myself looking forward to these odd evenings in the subway, which no longer seemed odd at all. After a while I found things in Carol I enjoyed. Like the way she tapped the rhythm of whatever song was stuck in her head at the time when she was thinking and the way she could hardly stand to sit still for more than five minutes.
And, of course, her eyes. Carol's eyes would forever be the my favorite thing about her. No one else in the world had eyes that sharp or stunning. Every time I looked into them I felt that same electrical shock as I had that very first day and I loved it.
Carol learned me over time just as I learned her. She could always tell what was behind my indifferent, devil-may-care mask. She knew just by looking at me when my parents had been giving me a hard time about picking a career and could always sense when I was stressed.
There was a lot of fumbling and scraping and moving forward only to trip back, but eventually Carol and I fell into something a little like friendship.
We balanced each other out. Carol was wild and reckless like a lightning storm or a raging ocean where I was calm and cautious like a flighty rabbit or a soft breeze.
Of course, I didn't stay entirely as careful with Carol at my side. Her wild energy was contagious and soon I was forgoing my city wanderings completely to race through backalleys with a can of spray paint.
It was as though I were a pile of wood and Carol had the match to light my spirit on fire.
For nearly a year I went on like this. Running under the shadows like a wild child alongside Carol. Losing myself to the thrill of this insane sort of freedom.
It was like a modern fairytale or a dream come true.
Eventually though, we all need to wake up.
sssssssssssssssssssss
The day my father died started out like any of the others.
"Why isn't this working?!"
I looked up from my phone to examine the burnt lump that was supposed to be a plate of fried oreos.
"Did you clean the frier like you're supposed to?"
"Of course I did!"
"Come on! I don't get why I have to clean it if Samson will just do it again tomorrow!"
Carol sighed and banged her head against the wall. After a moment she tore off her apron and grabbed her bag, heading for the door.
"That's it! Come on sista!"
I stood up and payed for my coffee. "And just where would we be going?"
Carol turned to face me and gave a Cheshire cat smile, green eyes sparkling. "An adventure of course."
I grinned.
sssssssssssssssssssss
The rythmatic rattle and spray of the paint can soothed my whirling mind just as much as sent a thrill up my spine.
A figure was taking shape on the cold brick wall. Slender legs and flowing hair all painted in black. The figure was running, the white outline of a backpack suggested she was running away.
I blinked and lowered my paint can upon realizing what I was making. Beside me, Carol was putting the finishing touches on her mountain scape.
If you put the two images together it looked as though my figure was running away to Carol's mountains.
My first conversation with Carol came to mind.
where are you taking me?
on an adventure silly
Carol's father had been an avid motorcycle collector. Carol had shown me his collection, which she kept and cared for proudly.
We both had the proper licenses to drive them as we like to race through Manhattan at on them.
We both had plenty of money. Carol from her job and her inheritance and me because my neighbor pays me quite a bit to look after her house while she's away on business trips, which is often.
It wouldn't be hard to get away. Ten minutes to pack a duffel bag and a backpack. my duffel could be strapped to the sleek black bike I had begun to fondly call my own and Carol could ride her red one.
We could just...
I shook my head of the thought. I could not seriously be considering running away with Carol! It was completely out of the question! She had parents that wouldn't rest until she was tracked down and a life she was trying to build.
So what if these city streets the exact same ones I grew up seeing. It hardly mattered that I knew most of this city by heart by now. These dull grey buildings and old brick walls and light pollution that ensured the fact that I've never seen the real stars before...
"Hey 'Car?"
"Yeah Iris?"
The words were there. Quivering at the tip of my tongue. They had flashed across my mind more than once.
Do you want to get out of here with me?
She would say yes. She'd smile that knowing smile and we'd be gone within the hour.
That's what makes it all the more terrifying.
My phone went off, helpfully cutting off my thoughts before I could go any further.
"Hello? Oh hey mom what's up?...What? I-yeah I'm on my way."
A cold feeling crept into my stomach. fear, worry and grief settling in the pit of my chest.
A warm hand grasped my shoulder. Carol met my eyes with her own concern filled ones.
For a moment I let myself get lost in the electricity of her eyes while I struggled to find the words to tell her what my mother just told me.
"My...my dad just had a heart attack.
sssssssssssssssssssss
The funeral for Harold Anlin was short. He didn't have a whole lot of friends or relatives and mom thought he'd have wanted to keep it simple.
The week after dad's death was a blur of paperwork, tears, and wrinkled black dresses that I was too numb to object to.
I couldn't have been more relieved when Carol showed up for the funeral. She never even knew the man but she shed just as many tears as I did during the entire ordeal.
Later that evening we sat on my pateo while the adults drank wine and talked about whatever it is people talk about at funerals.
I was resting my head on Carol's lap, tired from crying and dealing with people patting me on the head and cooing over how tragic this must be for me.
"Hey 'Car?"
"Yes Iris?"
"My mom wants me to move to Rhode Island with her."
"Oh."
I winced at the memory of that particular conversation. There had been a lot of yelling involved.
"Hey 'Car?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you want to run away with me?"
I was sick and tired of cities and routine and Rhode Island was the straw that broke the camels back.
"Sure, let's go on an adventure."
sssssssssssssssssssss
Hey guys I know you all are probably waiting for an update on the War in Her Eyes but I had this idea while listening to Anna Sun by walk the moon and I had to write it.