April rested her arms on either side of her coffee cup on the kitchen counter. Waking up and having breakfast each day with Ann was a small joy for her. Breakfast was quiet, the deep breath before Ann had to plunge into work. Ann would read the paper and eat some buttered toast, and this gave April the opportunity to watch her. When they talked, it was nothing very heavy, and that felt intimate in a whole new way, different from their serious conversations.
Ann's phone beeped, and she looked at it. "Just got a group text from Tom. He says, 'Hey Pawnee ballerz' – there's a 'z' on the end of that one—"
"Ann, I really think you guys should get back together. I think you're soul mates."
"Shut up," Ann said, rolling her eyes, and trying not to smile. She continued: "'Hit up the Snakehole tonight for drinkies, dancing and DJ Bluntz.' Hmm. What do you think?"
"About 'drinkies'?" April asked incredulously.
"Well, I was thinking more about the dancing." Ann shrugged. "I don't know, it could be fun. We could dress up, get out of here for a while…"
April bit her lip. Leaving Ann's house rarely worked out well. But she could tell that Ann wanted to do this, and she wanted to give that to her.
"Come on," Ann smiled, got up and walked over to April. "Girls' night out. We'll each put on something sexy, dance, we'll have a great time. What do you say?" Ann reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind April's ear.
April tried not to blush; she reached out to rest her hand on the side of Ann's waist, and for a second could imagine how she would feel, but had to stop herself.
It was getting harder and harder for April not to tell Ann how she felt. She used to get by on their friendship, but some nights it was difficult to focus on anything but the fact that Ann couldn't feel the same way. The asymmetry was like a splinter, lodging deeper and deeper into her, constantly drawing attention to the pain.
Sometimes it felt like all she wanted to do was kiss Ann, and nothing after that would matter. Sometimes it felt like the only thing that mattered would happen after the kiss – would Ann let her know that she was worthy enough, and kiss her back? Or was she too damaged, too pitiful?
Ann was still waiting for her answer.
"If a guy hits on me do I get to throw a drink in his face?" April asked sulkily, trying to get in the spirit.
"You should definitely do that," Ann smiled and nodded.
April smiled too, but inwardly she wondered how long she could keep this up.
That afternoon, April went to the grocery store to pick up some eyeliner – she was nearly out, and Ann's wasn't as dark as she liked. She shuffled down the alley, trying to avoid as many people as possible. She had forgotten her iPod, and without the barrier her earbuds provided, she felt exposed. She resented hearing the inane conversations on the street corners nearby and the obnoxious engines of motorcycles. The sky was a cloudy, colorless mass; for the first time in a long while, she felt an oncoming chill.
She watched the ground as she walked, unsure of how she felt about going out that night. It would be nice to see Ann dance, and have a good time. But it would also mean seeing Tom, and probably a bunch of people from work. Had word gotten around about she and Andy? And if Andy was there she would just leave – that was obvious. But then there would be a long, quiet car ride home, with each of them dressed up, until they reached Ann's place, dark and empty. Or, what would be even worse, Ann would remain and dance and drink, and April would walk there alone. The thought scared her, but she reassured herself. Ann wouldn't do that, though. Not if she saw Andy there, not if she knew why April had to leave. Ann would stay with her.
And if Ann stayed, it would be a night like any other. One more night of connecting with Ann and all the pleasure and catharsis that held, but still being unable to let her know everything, the pain of holding that back. One more night of April trying to find moments to watch Ann while she was unaware, so that she could just look at her, see her think and move and be. One more night where April would linger at any physical contact, compelled by the feeling of connection she craved.
But the feeling was always crowded out by the pain of knowing that Ann would never reciprocate. It was wearing on her.
She had to cross the street to get to the store, and while she was in the crosswalk people from a passing car screamed something unintelligible at her. She kept her head down, and kept walking. The thought of saying something, screaming anything, died as quickly as it arose.
In the store she found the eyeliner she used, and went looking for a snack. She browsed a couple of aisles. On top of a box of granola bars there was an old hot dog – it had been there a week ago – the skin dark and shrunken and wrinkled and the bun stained red and yellow. She turned around; she wasn't hungry any more.
By evening, April was nearly at the Snakehole Lounge and adjusted the straps on her black dress for the thousandth time. She knew that no matter how pretty she looked tonight it wouldn't change how Ann felt about her, but it was impossible not to entertain that dim hope anyway. Maybe Ann would look at her in that black dress and think she was pretty, and notice something she hadn't noticed before. All April wanted was for Ann to think she was half as beautiful as she thought Ann was. Even out here, in the damp night, she could feel the bass from inside the club, and it matched the nervous pounding of her heart.
After a brief wait in the line outside, she got in. The club was familiar, though it seemed louder and darker than the last time she had been there. From behind the railing dividing the bar from the dance floor, she scanned the bar, on the lookout for Tom and anyone else from work, but all the faces were of strangers. It was hard to see through the smoke, a mix of cigarettes and fog machines for the dance floor. The main floor was a bouncing mass of people dancing to a clear, strong beat.
Near the other side of the room she finally saw Ann in a simple blue dress, dancing by herself, completely absorbed by the music.
April moved to go over, but stopped herself. She would be there soon enough. Now she would just stay at a distance, and watch Ann be herself.
In the low lights of the club Ann swayed, her hair lightly curled, bouncing. She was unselfconscious and free, and even at this distance, a small smile playing on her lips. April leaned over onto the railing, never taking her eyes off of her. April couldn't understand how someone could be so beautiful, so perfect.
She watched Ann, and for the first time in a long time, the angst of not being able to tell her how she felt faded away, and she was able to just see her and love her from afar. It didn't matter that Ann didn't feel the same way; the only thing that existed was Ann's beauty.
The crowd parted as a guy in a red polo shirt pushed through, making his way towards Ann. A knot in her stomach began to form when she saw that he was carrying two drinks. April couldn't hear anything over the bass, but she could see him offer one to Ann. She took it with an easy smile; it was clear that this was not the first time they had spoken. April began to feel sick. They continued dancing with their drinks, leaning over to talk in each other's ears, intimately, over the music. He said something and Ann laughed; he reached out a hand and touched the side of her waist, the same spot April had wanted to touch earlier, and couldn't. April waited to see what Ann would do. Ann just smiled.
April turned around, unable to look at what was happening, unable to breathe. She had to get out of the club. She bolted, barely hearing someone calling her name. It was Tom. "Hey girl, I haven't seen you in—" She brushed past him, out the doors, reaching the cool night air. Head down, she pushed through the crowd of smokers and went into the alley, shaky with nerves.
She watched the dark asphalt, still damp from an earlier storm, as she walked, but in her mind's eye all she could see was that asshole with his hand on Ann's waist, and Ann's smile. Ann's fucking smile.
She felt completely helpless as she wandered in the dark, unsure of where she was going. She hated the empty night, and hated herself for being so stupid – like some idiotic, swooning teenager with a crush, getting her heart broken for no good reason. She hated this town more intensely than ever. The alley stunk from garbage strewn by raccoons, wet from the storm, and all she could think of was how she was stuck here, the warmth in the night snuffed out by a bitter breeze.
She came up against a dead end in the alley, and had to track back to the road. It was past midnight, and there were no lights on; even the moon was gone. She walked in the general direction of home, unable to care enough to check if she was really going the right way. At regular intervals the road would be flooded with yellow light, and a single car would speed past on her left, a noisy whoosh lingering in her ears. April thought she was on the sidewalk, but couldn't muster the interest to look. The cars might have been close to her – with each passing one, her hair was buffeted by the car's wake.
A harsh breeze came from her left and a car rushed past, feeling closer to her than the others – if she reached out, could she have touched it? When it was ahead of her, the quiet night was shot through, quick, with a screech of breaks and a sick wet cracking thud. April looked up, shocked out of her daze, but couldn't see anything other than the red taillights of the car as it slid to a stop up in front of her. She could see the shadow of the driver's head, craning and trying to see behind the car. After a beat, the car sped off, tires squealing, and soon it was gone.
April looked all around, but she was alone now. She walked ahead to where the car was, arms outstretched in the dark, scanning the ground for what it had hit, but everything was a shadow under the starless night.
Her foot hit something soft and she heard a faint snort. Rapidly fishing her phone out of her pocket, she turned it on, and pointed it to the ground. In the faint light she could see. "Oh God," she said. Right before her feet was a deer – its body against the curb, its head resting on its cheek on the sidewalk. It was still but for a soft breath. April reached out a trembling hand to the creature's neck, its brown speckled fur soft between her fingers. The animal snorted more weakly, more like a throaty gurgle. She couldn't stop staring at the rectangle of pale light reflected in the deer's round, brown eye; the eye was looking right at her. She tried to say something, but nothing came out. It exhaled deeply and she felt the air pass through its neck, but there was no inhale. It laid there, unmoving, its eye still open, the ghost of panic in it.
"Oh God," April said, "Oh God," and with shaking fingers she stood up and tried to call someone on the phone. She called animal control, the first thing in her contacts. She brought the phone to her ear and heard it ring, and she watched the deer, unmoving; should she try some kind of CPR? How the fuck does that work with a deer? It rang again, and the creature still just laid there.
Another ring. No movement.
"Fuck!" April shouted into the empty night. She bent down and reached out to the deer once more, but couldn't bring herself to touch it again, because now she knew it was dead. There was no more exhale, no more inhale. The eye was still shot open, the light of her cell phone reflected in the corner of it.
She stood up and let her hand drop by her side. She couldn't listen to one more ring, but she also couldn't hang up. She stood there for a long time and waited. No cars came. No people came. She was alone, next to the body she knew was growing cold.
Without realizing what she was doing, she started walking, a wobbly, stuttering walk, passing by the deer unable to look at it once more. Nothing made sense, and only after a while did she realize that the noise in her ears was the sound of her sobs. She reached up and cleaned off her cheeks with the back of her hand. It was wet; she must have been crying.
She found herself at Ann's house, and the key turned in the lock. She felt the need to pee, but it faded in and out of her mind and she couldn't focus, and then felt the soft give of the couch. She was curled into the fetal position. Her eyes closed, and everything spun to the left.
There was a faint buzzing , and she looked into her hand. Her phone was on, ringing on the other end – she had never hung up. She hit "end call" and the phone fell to the ground next to her. She heard a dull, thick thud as it hit; and like an echo that never ended, she heard the thud again and again, as consciousness left her.
April opened her eyes, trying to locate the noise, disoriented. "April," the voice said again. April's eyes adjusted, and she looked up at Ann, and slowly gathered herself to sit up.
"I missed you at the Snakehole. Did you fall asleep before you were going to leave?" Ann asked, frowning, as she sat down beside April, looking at her dress.
"What?" April asked, not looking at Ann, absorbed by the rawness of consciousness.
"Did you fall asleep?" Ann asked again.
"I couldn't save her," April mumbled, still staring off into the distance. She felt empty inside.
"Are you OK?" Ann was getting concerned.
April looked up at Ann. "What are you doing here?" April asked.
"Uh, I live here, April…"
"No, I mean, I thought you'd go home with – someone. That's what you do, Ann." April hated how beautiful Ann looked in her dress, and it only reminded her of how available she was to whatever guy wanted her.
The harshness of April's tone took Ann aback, and she looked hurt. "I don't do that anymore," she said weakly.
"Out of practice?" April asked.
"I guess I could have gone home with someone. But I didn't want to."
"Why not?" April asked sullenly.
"Because." Ann shrugged. "All I wanted was to come home and see you." Ann's features were soft in the dim light. She moved closer and she put her hand on April's. She was concerned, her eyes trying to understand.
April turned her hand around and held Ann's, warm and soft against her palm. With her other hand, April reached over and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Ann's ear. Ann didn't move, but kept her eyes on April's, the faintest smile emerging at her touch.
Every day April had stopped herself from doing things like this, afraid of alienating Ann and revealing her feelings. It took a lot out of her to do that, to deny the very center of herself what it most wanted. But today she didn't have the resources to restrain herself. She didn't even need to search herself for inner strength; she knew there was nothing left. Everything hurt, everything was a caustic pounding ache – except the softness of Ann's hand in hers. Ann's eyes were soft and beautiful and deep in the warm light. She thought maybe there was love in those eyes. Ann's words echoed in her ears: "All I wanted was to come home and see you." If April had said that to Ann, she knew what it would mean. And now she needed, really needed, Ann to mean the same thing. That was the only thing that would make any of this bearable. She gently pressed her thumb against Ann's cheek and brought Ann toward her as she leaned in; Ann's eyes were half-closed. After their faces were close, slowly, she leaned forward, and pressed her lips against Ann's, feeling their full softness. April kissed her once, the warmth inside her focusing everything on the sensation of Ann's lips – softer than she had thought they could be in every imagination. For once, everything, even the shame, was gone, dissolving away with the press of her lips on Ann's. Ann started to recede slowly, brushing her lips against April's, once, and then again, before pulling away.
Ann slowly opened her eyes. "April…" she said, her voice low. "I think…" Ann's expression was unreadable. "I think you're confused."
April felt like the floor was sinking from below her. She didn't understand. The moment had been perfect – Ann must have felt that. She swallowed. "Well…," she tried to gather herself, "then you're confused, too."
Ann looked away, and after a moment, stood up. "Let's just… forget about it." She walked to the doorway of her bedroom, and turned around, still not quite looking at April. "Go to bed, April," she said, and closed the bedroom door behind her.
April sat there, her lips still tingling from Ann's, her pulse high, but she was alone in silence, the vacuum of sound pounding in her ears, and there was nothing left inside her.