15 October 2011
candy stars and jawbreakers
: her voice of adieux
r e d s
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The Pokey Oaks District let out every Friday afternoon at half-past four, just as the sun brought out the shadowing of Townsville. Children scattered out the doors, into and past the play area, some holding out a pudgy hand for their parents to clasp on to. The sidewalks dotted with individualistic knapsacks and bags lead straight into the city if not the homes of tuckered students with a packet of unfinished classwork for the weekend.
While many paced down the paths of their houses, two opposing figures always walked down a familiar corner in the beginning streets, away from households and toward crannies and shops.
Pink ruffles of a neatly worn dress waded before streams of sherbet hair. Beside her two arms covered in wine sleeves dug roughly into black denim pockets.
Together, they followed their own pathway down a lonely street; an intersection rarely bustled with vehicles. Of course, nobody in their classes knew about this, not even their siblings. They were enemies; they were rivals. They were not allowed to walk alongside one another. Between each other, however, Fridays upturned the self-proclaimed laws of the first grade.
At a quarter before five there always came the tinkle of a bell and the slam of a door. Sneakers and polished shoes stepped onto tiled flooring, and the scent of freshly sugared tarts and evenly stretched licorice would warm their senses. Coins spun and twirled onto the counter and paper bags crinkled as they stepped between windows streaming rays of dust, and the bell would chime once more, the door slowly clicking back into place.
Rosette eyes would blink up at those an inch of crimson above her, smiling contently as a pinch of kaleidoscope stars, gummy with the taste of fruit, was held out before them as they walked. A boyish grin brightened the calloused palm with a single, sugary spear, and the two would exchange treats as houses paneled past them while they walked.
Pictured from behind, suspected enemies walked, one with a pretty ribbon adorning her gathered locks, another with a cap facing the world behind him as it shielded the short and choppy locks of rust peaking from under its rim. By the shading of the sun readied to set, their shadows skimmed their town as they would finally walk to their homes.
Friday after Friday, this was the mark of their alliance—and no one else dared to discover it.
These were the glory days of Blossom and Brick, the days they were allowed to be themselves.
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Disclaimer: Credit for The Powerpuff Girls belongs to Craig McCracken.