That smile of his
A woman sighs deeply as she wades through a veritable mountain of discarded and deceitful clothing to make her way to her bed, and then her closet.
She briefly wonders how pieces of apparel can be considered deceitful, then decides that it can only be because they are betraying her by not looking just right for tonight's festivities and continues on with her self-proclaimed grand and quest to The Closet.
She opens the door and sighs another deep sigh.
All that's left in the disaster of a space is an old skirt that is much too fancy for church, much less a semi-casual-ish date type thing, and she highly doubts that she can fit into it even if she wanted too. Which she doesn't, for she has decided that anything so fancy shmancy as this should be burned at the stake whilst celebrating loudly.
She brushes auburn hair out of her eyes and tosses the unsatisfactory skirt onto the bed as she digs around more assorted paraphernalia that she can't seem to remember ever buying for something, she doesn't know quite what, to wear. Maybe some sort of Miracle T-shirt that would come out from some dark corner of the continuum to save her from the crises she was as of now experiencing.
All she finds is a slightly decrepit pair of Converse that Kit had gotten her on some birthday long ago.
They truly are awful, she muses, eyeing them critically. A green that should have been illegal in multiple states with decorative plaid that looked as if it belonged in her grandma's kitchen rather than on a shoe.
For reasons unknown to her, she finds herself quite fond of them, though she wasn't at the time of receiving them.
She remembers opening up the box, only to try to keep her face from falling as she held the shoes up wondering what on earth possessed her friend to pay money for the strange monstrosities.
She remembers Kit smiling that smile of his hopefully as he looked at her anxiously through elegantly too long bangs as he asked quietly if 'she liked them?'
She remembers responding yes, for what else was there to do? She remembers wearing them every time she visited his house and his poorly hidden smile that he smiled as Carmela shook her head in pure agony and remarked how those 'were almost as bad as those pumps you wore last Halloween.'
She remembers not knowing why that smile of his kept her wearing the fabric store rejects all those years later until they were lost in the tidal wave of junk.
She tosses the skirt on to the bed, next to a delightfully orange t-shirt, and allows herself to collapse next to them
He wont mind of I go in my PJ's, she thinks to herself. And he probably wouldn't, he'd say she looked lovely in anything while smiling that smile of his that made her believe anything he said to be true.
She rolls over on the bed, knowing full well that she's wearing a love-sick grin, and not particularly caring either.
She turns her gaze to the shoes once more.
She wonders what she did to deserve him, the loveable idiot of a best friend turned something more in a rather unromantic accidental manner. She can't help but think that he deserves someone better, someone who won't roll her eyes at his jokes and laugh along anyway, someone who won't join his sister in her mocking of him, someone who won't critically examine the gift he gave her and just accept it all the same.
The One has It's own plans, she reminds herself, though she really rather wishes she'd be sent a memo once in a while as to what's going to happen next. That whole Song of Twelve thing, yeah, she thinks a heads up then couldn't have hurt.
But that fateful meeting in the middle of the woods after a tree ranted about him, that she doesn't mind. Not one bit.
It's funny how things like that work out.
She eyes the shoes again and chucks them on the bed with a sigh collapsing down next to a pile of hair accessories.
She watches as they seem to fall in slow motion, curving and floating and as gravity began to once again return, plummeting to the bed. They drape almost gracefully, she would have said lovingly if clothing were capable of such a thing, across the old lady curtains masquerading as a skirt.
Nita cocks her head slightly and stares.
In some sick, twisted way…
It worked.
They completed each other. Two closet rejects seeking refuge from the socks, curled up nicely on her bed.
They always say that your clothing is a reflection of who you are, Nita remembers her mother telling her as she good-naturedly mocked her apron.
She wonders if it goes the same way for gifts. She tears her eyes away from a stain on the ceiling of her bedroom and sits up, taking one of the shoes in desperate need of some Frabreeze in her hand.
They were a little rough around the corners, fraying slightly where her foot bent to take a step. They were unusual, alright, just plain odd. The laces were knotted on one side and dirtied on the other from running in the rain with the boy who gave them to her.
She turns the shoe over.
But if you really thought about it, the quirks and oddities of the sewing machine sick were what made the shoes the way they were. They wouldn't be the same if they lacked the distinctive plaid, or baby poo green. They were rather charming in their own, I clash with everything sort of way.
She sighs, remembering another lesson of her mother's "It's the thought that counts", and immediately feels guilty for being judgmental of the gift that really did remind her of him, in its own peculiar way.
Her eyes turn to the skirt. It was plain, floor length, and looked like something a school teacher would wear in the 1800's. The only thing that broke the black monotony was a slit up the side, and even that didn't go up very high at all, it was probably only there to make walking less of an Olympic sport. There was a green embellishment on the side, adding to the formal look of the apparel.
…But put together, the vibrant, (hopefully) one of a kind eccentric shoes, and the average uptight skirt looked slightly as if they were made for each other. The greens nearly matched and the shoes made the embellishment on the skirt look more fun and less formidable. In turn, the skirt toned down the obnoxiousness of the shoes and complimented them rather nicely with out hiding the charming oddities of the shoes, if it was indeed possibly to be charmingly odd.
It's strange how things work out like that, Nita thinks again, smiling as she eyes her clothing world parallel resting comfortably around the shoes.
She grins and grabs them, hoping she has enough time to fix her hair too.
Ten minutes later there is a knock at her door. Nita grins, both happy to see the man at the door and for the fact that her poor feet were spared the agony that heels would have inevitably inflicted upon them.
Just as she expected, Kit is standing in her doorway, hands in his pockets as he leans against the framing, smiling that smile of his.
"Nita!" Kit steps in and hugs her tight.
Kit stares curiously at her after he's finished giving her the Hello Hug that she'd received every time he saw her sense she was fifteen, and cocks his head. "Did you get a new skirt?"
Nita grins once more, "No, I just dug it up out of the confines of my closet."
He smiles, elegantly too long bangs hanging in his eyes "Well, I like it." He says, the tone suggesting that this was all that mattered. But the mischievous look in his eyes as he grinned that grin that only he could, told her that his arrogance was only in jest. She wonders idly if he'll ever grow up, then decides that she'd really rather he didn't.
"Really?" asks Nita, momentarily ignoring his antics once she realized that he'd noticed the skirt before the shoes that he bought her.
"Yeah," he cocks his head, still smiling that smile of his, though it has a confused edge about it. "It reminds me of something." He can't seem to get his one-track male mind around the elaborate symbolism of such an item though.
"Well, thank you," Nita laughs, with him of course, as she steps out the door.
He casually wraps an arm around her as he always does, holding her close, and it's then that he notices.
"You're shoes…" he says, turning his dark eyes to her, "Are those…?"
Nita nodds.
"They match the skirt." He sounds shocked that they'd match anything on this planet or another.
And Nita smiles, for if even clothing challenged member of the male gender could see it, then it must be true.
They, for some strange reason nobody knew, matched.
They worked.
"I've realized this." Nita replies, "And that had better be the only thing they match, too," she glares up at him threateningly.
She feels a slight pride at the clearly befuddled look on his face.
This is where I shamelessly promote our new story Dubious Relations, it rocks the universe. Go read it. And review chapter two :). I just have to say though, I won't be able to post for a while though, due to the wonders of high school swimming, which kicks this poor junior high freshman's butt every day, six days a week...
And now that I'm done complaining, I must ask, Review? It's my first non-humor romance story, I'd like to know how it was. And I wouldn't say no to song suggestions, I'm trying to fill my iPod.