A Note and a moment of Gratitude
This all started with Rophy in April. That month was my introduction to the skins' fan fiction universe. I've had some dark times this year, but part of what made it better was finding you lot who write for writing's sake, read for readin's sake, and gush praise and support in the name of community. There are so many stories I've read that have pushed me to finally drop some ink as well. I'm a bit distanced from technology these days, so if I don't get through all my long overdue reviews, this story is for you. There are a few wordsmiths in particular that I'd like to dedicate this to, because I've spent unknown hours and days poring over your words, and I've been quiet for too long: niceoneBlondie, Hypes, EverythingOnceRight, FitchSwitch, post-war, Heather Hogan, ImagineAlex, hylian, unknownstuntman, lizardwriter, and LuvActually. You didn't know it, but y'all made my jaw drop to the floor in awe many a time. Thanks.
Please excuse the rust and the cobwebs in my cranium, but hopefully we can pick up steam, yes?
I don't own a plan, a cannon, or canonical Skins, but that's where the fun kicks in.
xK!x
...
There is rest for the wicked, just cold in the extremities
Far from home, so far from home you can't remember
You dream other people's dreams, wake up in floods of where and what you are:
Propped up against beer cases that nobody wants but if you quit your only severance will be this scar, so soldier on
Viper at my breast, twitch below my eye, soldier on
It never fails, Emily always feels at ease in a train car. It doesn't particularly matter where it's going. The metal rails meet metal wheels, and all of a sudden, people who have nothing else in common are lulled into synchronized swaying and occasional lurching as the train screeches up to its numerous stops.
The Bristol-London line-a slow waltz. All shoulders, no hips.
New York to Chicago-a bit of a two-step shuffle, as passengers conversed over playing cards, overpriced alcohol, and glossy paperbacks, the scenery danced its own slow, grand solo, choreographed by post-industrial despair and small town scenic wonders alike.
And now this small one. The BART. Bay Area Rapid Transit from the Oakland International Airport to...something new... Emily pulls up her legs, her heels digging into the faded blue fabric of the seat and her chin resting on her bare knees. She feels brown eyes looking at her from the seat across from her. Emily looks up, tucking a strand of her brown hair behind her ear as she does so, to find the bemused expression of her friend.
"So, what do you think of this one, Ems?," Jal asks with a hint of a sleepy smile. "'Cause, I'm thinking 'salsa in the streets'".
She does a little jiggle in her seat, her feet tapping on the dusty nylon of their backpacks shoved haphazardly beneath her. She is abruptly thrown forward slightly as the train makes another harsh stop. Emily lets out a little giggle, shaking her head a bit before leaning it against the window. She lets her fingers tug random frayed threads off her cutoff jeans before answering her friend, "no, this one feels like a backflip, 6,000 miles from home," she hums, while sharing a conspiratorial grin from her spot on the window.
"Hmm, yeah...'Arabesque'," Jal adds quietly, her fingers tapping absentmindedly on her thigh. Emily smiles at the movement. She knows that if Jal's clarinet were in her hands instead of safely tucked away in its own corner of her pack, she'd give this train music of its own.
Song and Dance. They've honed their routine over the past three months of traveling.
...
Like most outliers in a mid-sized city, they kept meeting at random. Their circles of friends swirled sporadic dances around each other like atoms in a frenzy. Emily Fitch remembers the first time they properly met. The summer before she started at Roundview, Katie dragged her out to a party, flashing two fake ID's at a club bouncer for the both of them, then practically abandoning her at the door to find her wanker-masquerading-as-a-human-being boyfriend, Danny. Emily sat timidly on a couch, feeling out of the particular demographic of either being a footballer or wanting to screw a footballer. She was brought out of her state of melancholy by a heightening row between a young woman, whom she'd later learn was Jal, and a young black man behind a set of turntables who kept alternating between a really posh accent and grimy slang.
"Kenneth, I don't care what you call it, it's pure shit compared to the classics. You can dance to the Maytals, mate. I just feel like seizing to your dubbing," Jal hollered over the noise, her face attempting and failing at an earnest scowl of contempt.
"Firstly, it's dubstep, young grasshopper. And really Jal? Do try to catch up to us in the 21st century. Oh! I don't know if you've heard, but Beethoven died, quite a while back actually," the boy called Kenneth snottily commented before tugging his giant headphones back over his ears, his face breaking into a smug grin at his wit as he turned his attention back to the turntables. Jal groaned in exaggerated frustration and caught Emily staring wide-eyed a few feet away.
"Tell me, I'm not losing my mind!" Jal huffed before plopping down next to Emily. Emily produced a goofy, lopsided grin before they settled into a amiable discussion on the virtues and vices of the Bristolian music scene.
The next time Emily saw Jal, they were both at a punk show in the basement of a pizza parlor. While she and James Cook celebrated surviving a year at Roundview with four pints and seven pints respectively, Jal was maniacally dancing from the drum stand to a monitor amp. A fizzy bundle of riotous energy. Cook wrapped his arm around Emily so she could hear him better as he told her how this kid he used to get gear from died, pointing his pint glass to the stage, where Jal had stolen the mic, in a sloppy salute.
Emily almost choked on her bagel the next morning as she walked, slightly bleary-eyed, from Cook's house past the riverbank towards her house, discovering Jal perched on a worn bench letting notes flow from her clarinet into the trees shading her above, completely oblivious to the fact that a mere few hours ago, her alter ego had jumped on the back of the bassist and spun around the stage before flailing out to the drunken crowd . Despite protests from her well-abused head, Emily threw her face to the sky with unconstrained laughter.
Aside from Cook, Jal was the only other person Emily had told she was gay. Jal responded by getting up off their spot on the floor of her carpet in her room to flip through her milk carton of records with a simple, "I believe a bit of Nina Simone is in order," before returning back to her spot next to Emily, giving an affectionate poke to her shoulder when she felt the younger girl silently sobbing with relief while Nina crooned about sinners.
Jal told Emily about Chris. She told her she couldn't stand ever letting the good things go unnoticed and unappreciated.
Katie left for California the day after her and Emily finished college, Jal helped Emily decorate the other half of the room and find a mirror to hang on the door.
They talked about the alien, sickening feelings of grave disappointment in their mothers.
When her twin's letter came in the mail one unassuming Spring day, written in that familiar hurried scrawl, Emily showed Jal first, then Cook.
The plane tickets started out as a dare, Emily thinks. Yet, she knew the outcome of a dare with Jal Fazer.
...
Emily returns her attention to the window. She catches intermittent moments of a hot August sunset as the train submerges and re-emerges to meet passengers at its various stops. She glances periodically to the map on the left wall of the train car to make sure they don't miss their stop. Three more to go. Two more. She feels anxiety bubbling to the surface as they near their destination. The next instant, she feels the older woman poke her in the shoulder as she switches to the seat next to her. Parallel bodies moving with the train.
"Have you... called him?" Jal gently asks as they gather their possessions while waiting for the train doors to open. Emily shakes her head leading the way out of the simplicity of the train, her feet unsteady to this new routine.
"...He does know we're coming tonight though, right?" Jal prods again, while absentmindedly adjusting shoulder straps and waist buckles and sweeping her hand to the left pouch, reassured by knocking on the small metal case holding her way of connecting to the world.
Emily simply nods, before ascending the escalator to ground level, suddenly feeling the rush of people around her. Silently praying it's easier to breath at the surface.
Emily navigates them through the few blocks they need to reach away from the train station. She repeatedly references the scrawled directions on her palm-twenty year life-lines of fortune, love, and mortality, deduced to a temporary home for a bullet point list of simple directions.
They walk side-by-side. Two weary, wary travelers reaching the end of their journey accustomed to the weight on their backs but still exhausted by it.
"It's that blue Victorian on the corner," Emily states, her voice drained of any giddiness from earlier. Jal whips around and grabs Emily's shoulders.
"Emily. Look, it's okay to be upset you know. It doesn't mean you don't lov-"
"Jal, I'm fine. Okay. yeah? " "Just drop it for now...please...I can't-"
"Okay," Jal murmurs quietly, brown eyes locking with brown eyes.
They ascend the creaking wooden steps of the house. Their echoes reverberating in the warm isolated night. Emily takes one long breath before reaching for the door knocker, receiving a small poke from Jal between her ribs for good measure.
The two women hear someone shuffle around inside before unlocking a dead bolt and throwing the door open. A young man at Emily's height leans in a casual manner against the door frame, arms akimbo. His face is illuminated by the automatic porch light with dramatic timing.
It's been six months since Emily has spoken to him. Her eyes bulge wide as she's hit with so many emotions at once.
Standing there in his faded Bristol Rovers tee and jeans, Emily finally absorbs all of him all at once. The young man's face is eerily similar to Emily's, although he now has a narrower jaw line, and his hair is cut into a neat crew cut. There's the faint outline of a muscular build beneath the shirt.
But those eyes.
His deep brown eyes lock with his twin's as he nervously smiles.
"Took you bitches long enough!" He smirks, nerves still rippling beneath the surface.
Emily would know that smug smirk from anywhere.
...
I hope you're enjoying it so far!
Feel free to drop me some feedback.
xo
xK!x