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Flowers And Candy

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"It's edible, don't worry about it." Lesley said, shoving her brown, chocolate stained fingers in the cat's eye.

She apologized and tenderly patted the soft white head. Faith was a present from her father for her birthday. Since Mrs. Lisbon had decided to cancel everything about the birthday, her father slipped her this one present. It was a fluffy white Persian like the ones she'd seen in the Fancy cat food commercials. She'd tried numerous times to put her soft food in one of her mother's china wine glasses and tap the fork on the side, but Faith never came so the food was wasted and Lesley was punished.

Now Lesley was trying a new technique. Force feed.

It was Valentine's Day and she had snuck into her mother's room to grab one of the luxury chocolates from the golden box her father had given to her. It had come with flowers and Lesley could have sworn for a minute her mother had smiled and guessed she would have probably been in a good mood. But after Lesley opened the box that contained the silver vintage locket with pearl entrustments from her father, the sheer joy was drained from Mrs. Lisbon's face. That had been Cecilia's locket. Mr. Lisbon had been in charge of giving Lesley something that "meant something" but Mrs. Lisbon had no idea it would contain such sentimental value.

Lesley wore it either way, it's shiny luster dripping with pride from her thin milky neck. And there it would stay, she swore, until the day she fell in love with someone. The day that this special person in return would give her flowers and candy so that she could jump up and down and plant kisses all over his face. This was her dream. One of the many she wrote down in her book.

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Now I could have said this a million times and never have been heard. It was like I was some sort of brick wall standing in her way of a disillusioned fantasy. I'd told her I loved her. That it was beyond a crush I was having over such a mindful spirit. Because I watched her from my own window next door. Watched her breath. Watched her play. And even made sure I never missed a moment in her life.

But I was just another boy waiting for a dream to come true. Someone who always wanted the things he couldn't have. And maybe that was why I always pursued Lesley Lisbon. She was different from the other girls at school. Keeping to herself most of the time and only staying for English and Reading before beginning her walk home. Those were the only classes she had. Other than that she studied at home all her arithmetic, social studies, and science especially. She even played the flute and went to camp in the summer to further her knowledge. She took voice lessons in town and was a genius when it came to anything science related. She was perfect. Her and her dark brown hair and blue eyes. Everything about her.

I'd sent paper airplanes through her window and even once dared myself to knock on her door and ask if she could come out and play, but that was all a bunch of silly dreams. Just like the ones Lesley wrote down in her book. Although to her they were as real as any other thing in her life.

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She wrote in quick scribbles. The marking across the page smudging into one big blob of ink for her eyes to feast upon with dry hunger. There was no more chocolate and Faith had squirmed her way out through the crack in the closet door. A small sliver of gold melted along the brown carpet beneath her from under the door. Mr. and Mrs. Lisbon were at a dinner party for one of their neighbors and were about to hire a baby-sitter until Lesley told them she could take care of herself. They hired a baby-sitter anyways and she was sitting in the living room, probably walking around touching things that weren't supposed to be touched and fingering picture frames and memorabilia.

She'd heard her mother walking back and forth along the hardwood hallway, searching for her, but she'd stayed inside The Closet with her black book held tight to her chest.

"Oh, she's probably up in her room reading. It's Saturday and she has to study arithmetic. It seems to prove difficult for her. All you have to do is knock and ask if she would like anything to eat around seven. The number to the house is on the fridge. Please don't go roaming and just stay within the living room, dining room, kitchen, and near Lesley's room. She'll come down when she's ready. She's a bit shy." Mrs. Lisbon said in her sweetest voice, grabbing her coat from the hanger.

"No problem, Mrs. Lisbon." The baby-sitter snapped her gum.

Lesley pictured her mother's disgusted face. She wasn't allowed to chew gum because of the incessant annoying sound it produced. But her father hurried her along and soon she heard the slamming of the door.

The smell of dust and mothballs was numb to Lesley's nose and the scratchy material of her father's dress jackets made her skin turn red. Still she scribbled away, her hand cramping at the knuckles but still moving.

She rested once only to escape to the kitchen and grab a glass of water. Standing there was the baby-sitter with her bleach blond hair in a high side ponytail and green stretch pants under stonewashed cut-offs. Her cold brown eyes were lined in black and thick with mascara.

"Whatever possessed my mother to hire a hooker?" Lesley said nonchalantly.

The girl stopped, mid-bubble and gazed at the child. Instead, Lesley brushed by her and to the fridge where the ice machine gave way into the shiny glass. She slid it under the faucet in the sink with ease, and waited for it to rush into her cup. The baby-sitter sat, annoyed at Lesley's comment. If she had half the guts her mother had, the girl thought, she would knock the little girl out. But she wouldn't get paid then.

"See you later, Kitty." Lesley called, even though she had plainly heard her mother say the baby-sitters name was Katie.

"I hate kids." Katie said, walking into the living room.

Once back in her dark chamber, Lesley shut the door behind her and sat on the floor. She placed the water next to her and bumped against the attic door. When she regained herself there was no fighting the fact that she had unhitched it's rusty clamp. It slowly opened, screaming through splintered wood and annoying screws and bolts. She sat wide-eyed, grasping her thighs and waiting for the darkness to invite her mind.

It had been five years since she looked inside that door. And as she sit, watching the light from that naked bulb upstairs flick on and off, she held her breath. Maybe she had grown. Maybe she was ready to see what was up there in that forbidden place.

She heard the chime of her water glass and watched the ripples take form from the tiny circles inside that escaped to the rim. She hadn't even touched it. It must have been a message from that statue up there. The one she had seen so long ago that had turned her into that crying little girl who had nightmares. But she wasn't scared of the monsters under the bed. She was scared of the ghosts she saw walking around in her room. The ones that wore white nightgowns and crowns of flowers. All five of them cheered happily, their crooked teeth their only flaw that she could find. They were all beautiful. Blond with perfect bodies and amazing shapes. Almost like angels. But one in particular was smaller than the others with shoulder length brown hair. Although she had the same blue eyes and crowded teeth, she seemed more reserved, jumping in their joyous circle after playing with her rosary beads and tracing the golden crucifix with her finger six times. Three times she did this and then dropped it on the floor which broke through and then they all sunk into some hole in the carpet that Lesley had tried looking for every morning she woke. Still at night they came. Still she had not slept without hearing one of them sob or giggle. And that music. The soft lulling of guitars and sweet voices that rang through her head and bombarded her thinking. Until all she thought about was clouds and elm trees. And virgins and religion.

And now these dreams were haunting her in the day. All because of that one time she tried to touch the statue that held secrets. And she'd be damned if she was going to give up the opportunity to go exploring up there in that dusty attic. She'd be rightly damned if she didn't discover her fate.