Memory's Ashes
Jennifer carefully strummed her low E and twisted the machine just the barest millimeter, then strummed again.
Perfect.
She went through all of her strings one more time, a Black and Mild cigar clenched in the corner of her mouth. It was unlit. She had quit smoking six years ago, but the oral fixation hung on.
Jennifer was twenty three, but had yet to outrun the nickname of her youth. Even now, she was The Burnout Girl, the lead guitar in an otherwise all-male band. She supposed the burnout look persisted, with her ripped jeans and patched military jacket. The small round beatnik specs were new, but she had developed an astigmatism in college and they were necessary.
She stood on the stage, making final checks on her equipment, when she noticed a pair of familiar glasses out of the corner of one eye.
Jennifer looked around, and there was Daria.
Their eyes met, and for just a moment, the world froze. But Jennifer had no time to ponder this happening, for it was now time to start the set. But through every song, her eyes were glued to this relic of her past. And if she was not mistaken, Daria stared back.
Soon it was eleven o'clock, and their set was over. Jennifer un-slung her guitar, a low-rent Melody Maker an ex had bought her for what he had thought was her birthday, and left it leaning against an amp at the edge of the stage. She bent her knees, launched her long legs, and jumped to the floor.
Daria was waiting for her at a table near the back.
She looked different than Jennifer remembered. Her auburn hair had been cut short, an unusual pixie cut with her bangs overgrown and brushing her chin. There were black streaks running through it, and double piercings in the lobes of both ears. A pair of black bell bottoms hugged her legs, and a faded Mystik Spyral tee, a size too small, was almost swallowed by a worn blue cardigan sweater. Her old boots and glasses were the only things that remained of the Daria Jennifer remembered.
Daria sat. Jennifer stood. They each eyed the other, neither knowing what to think.
Memories seemed to project themselves over the women standing in the dark club, and they were each sixteen again, standing around at Brittany Taylor's party sizing one another up. Small smirks pulled at their lips, and the years fell away.
o.o.o
"Do you always smoke cloves in Cheerleaders' kitchens?"
Jennifer blew fragrant smoke through her nostrils and almost smiled. Her gray-green eyes sparkled.
"Not always," she rasped in her soft voice, tossing her hair. It fell back over her face a moment later. "Sometimes I smoke in the bathroom."
Daria smirked, studying the other girl for a long moment. She surprised them both by holding her hand out, finger and thumb extended.
"Mind if I try?"
Jennifer shrugged and handed the cigarette over. She watched curiously as Daria raised it to her lips.
"Since you're not used to it, remember not to inh-"
Daria started hacking and Jennifer smiled. She took back the clove calmly and clamped it in the corner of her mouth as she patted Daria gently on the back. After a few minutes, the loner subsided and gave the burnout the hairy eyeball.
"Let me guess," she wheezed, hand to her chest. The small, pale hand contrasted against her drab green jacket. Jennifer found herself wondering what that hand would feel like in her own. "Don't inhale."
Jennifer laughed, then coughed as she swallowed smoke, and it was Daria's turn to laugh. Jennifer looked up after a moment and noticed a smudge of ash at the edge of Daria's mouth. Without thinking, she flicked out a calloused finger and brushed it away.
Soft brown eyes widened. A pink flush darkened pale skin. Daria turned and marched away.
And that was how it started.
They did not speak when they passed in the halls, but there was the brush of hands and stolen moments when not even the other outcasts were looking. They met at the Zon and shared the darkness, sneaked off at parties and school functions. Every moment was gossamer, fleeting as a summer shower, but deeply cherished. Jennifer stopped smoking at Daria's behest, but even when she slipped, Daria was there.
And then it was over.
o.o.o
"I kissed your boyfriend." Daria would not even look at Jane, but Jennifer saw the pain in her face. Still, it was nothing to what she felt. She stared as Jane's eyes widened, then clenched shut and the artist took flight. Daria did not follow her. She did turn to the burnout, but Jennifer had nothing to say.
She tucked a clove into her mouth and kept walking.
o.o.o
These memories lay at their feet, the ashes of their past spread across the years that separated them. They had burned their bridges, and their memories scuffed their boots and smudged their brows like the relic of a holy day.
Yet, they faced one another and smiled.
"Let me buy you a drink," Jen offered, smiling around her cigar. Daria's smirk blossomed and her brown eyes softened with remembered affection.
"Sure."
Daria stood from her chair, taking with her a pen and pad with notes for an article scribbled over the page. The language was familiar, and Jennifer realized she was the one who had been reviewing her band for the past year.
A calloused hand stole out and caught a soft, petite one. They folded together, and at once they were in Lawndale again.
They left fresh footprints in the ash as they walked toward a promising future, and left the past behind.
END