She was just waking up, really waking up – one plastic blind turned the wrong way and so the dawn cuts through the room as a blade of light and knocks on her eyelid like a fist. And she is awake, shuffling feet to the kitchen and she pushes a button on the coffee maker (no need to see it with blurry morning vision, it's all habit anyway).
Drip. Drip. Drip.
And into the mug. And sip. And lean against the counter. And blink away the slumber. And stare off into space. And stare off into another world entirely, another world so far from this one – so far from this kitchen and this coffee and this new day.
Everything is the same, really just the same. The couch still faces the large windows and those windows still face the shoreline. The clock still chimes at noon. The television still gathers a thin layer of dust, because she doesn't watch much reality trash anymore.
Everything is the same.
Really.
Except it is all different.
/ /
People change, right?
You can't hold on to friendships, because people change. You grow up. You are close one minute, sharing secrets and making pacts and signing verbal contracts in youthful blood…
…and then you are graduating from high school. Or maybe you are not, but they are and colleges are sending out bribes and dreams seem so damn close to reality.
Or you tell yourself that your dreams are closer than they really are.
A rear-view glimpse of the future.
Isn't that a contradiction?
And she is crying in front of you and you don't know why – but you do – and she is begging you for the words you just don't know how to say. And you know you'll regret it all, someday… someday in another world… and it'll be her name etched onto your tombstone as the cause of death.
"Ask me to stay. Just fucking say it."
"I… I don't know…"
"God, I can't do this anymore… four years and I can't do this anymore…"
People change, right?
You can't hold on forever.
Things end.
/ /
She is just waking up, really waking up – searching the carpet for imprints, the place where shoes dug in deep and then turned to bare feet… the place where a hand slipped quietly down and caught the hem of a shirt, tugged until there was release, and so pulled down a breathy sigh.
She is looking for what is now a memory, stored in her head and put on repeat, a momentous occasion that she forces to become a footnote.
And there, by the edge of the counter, is the whole story.
One almost empty wine glass, puddle of red in the bottom and branded with a fading kiss at the rim.
Oh so close to falling down and crashing, that glass holds all her focus – mug half full and coffee growing cold and eyes painfully open.
It is all different now.
And yet, everything is still the same.
Wearily and wonderfully the same.
/ /
You see pink and orange and red and gold in her hair.
And if they were wings, you'd crane your gaze for hours just to stare at this bird of paradise.
She is your paradise.
It is that revelation that makes you finally look away.
For your heart is for no one, no one can have you, you are a prize that no one can win. And cruising down the freeway, music too loud, is just another day. And her beside you, breeze playing across her face, is just another day.
She's been beside you for so long and to lose her would be like losing your arm.
So you don't speak. You don't say a thing.
"You ever just want to keep driving? Just not stop?"
And you'd love to tell her to get out of your mind, for once, get out of your damn mind and stop reading you so well and stop being… stop being… god, just stop being…
…your other half.
"Yea. All the time."
And she smiles over at you. And she lightly takes your hand. And she brushes her thumb over each knuckle. And she dismantles you, cuts you back like dead wood, trims you and makes you perfect.
It is that revelation that makes you run away again and again.
/ /
She is leaning against the counter, mug listless in her grasp, following those invisible footsteps – past the living room and down the hall, floating around the corner of the bedroom and then disappearing as they always do.
So many girls and so many steps, but none of them traced like this.
So many nights and so many touches, but none of them lingered over like this.
So many… so many… so many…
And she is different now.
But so much the same.
And she doesn't wash the glass.
And she doesn't finish the coffee.
And she can't get the sound out of her ears – a song lodged in her head, a melody recalled and sung… a soul fretfully bared…
…and it is Spencer Carlin, gorgeously stretched out, living and breathing white flesh.
Long and lithe, muscles in repose, the flutter of a heartbeat and the steady call of the breath…
…it is Spencer Carlin imprinted in Ashley's morning mind.
And she cannot flee what she never truly left behind.
/ /
You never wanted to be that kid – no friends, shitty parents, bad attitude – but life dealt a hand and you have to play it. Aces and eights and your back to the door… you had to play it.
She didn't have to talk to you, but she did.
And you didn't have to like her, but you did.
Is that fate? You are too afraid to ever truly know.
But there she is, chatting away, and you tilt your head to the side and try to figure her out.
And she lets you, she lets you find her and sort her and put her into a box.
And you laugh at her dorky jokes and you find yourself paying attention to her rambling and you realize that you've wanted a friend for a long time.
And she is it.
She learns your special language and says it back to you.
She catches your moods – when you are bratty, she scolds you… when you are sad, she consoles you… when you are goofy, which is rare, she embraces you…
She gets you and no one has ever done that.
You spit on your palm and she grimaces.
"C'mon, let's seal this deal, Spence…"
"It's gross."
"Nah. All the cool kids do it."
"No they don't."
"How would you know, hmm? You aren't a cool kid, part of the in crowd…"
"And neither are you."
"Spence…"
"Fine. Fine."
You think of that silly film, with the kids running around caves and trying to save their house from greedy business men, 80's charm in your modern world…
…and that's the two of you, best friends for life.
You two are Goonies.
/ /
Everything is the same.
But it is all different, too.
And she stares and stares as the sun coats the sky and cascades in through every pane of glass and illuminates the world.
Illuminates the world and the night before, where old friends meet and reminisce and make amends over alcohol and wounds open up and wounds try to heal and girls bloom into women and sit too close…
And Ashley closes her eyes, tears and longing slipping out.
And on her skin are the marks – lips that kissed and hands that gripped and love so made.
Love so very much made.
/ /
END