Amy/Ephram fic: "Now in Flesh"
Amy doesn't see Colin's face in her dreams any more. He's still there - a shadowy spectre, beckoning her ever closer - yet she can no longer make out his features. His sparkling eyes, his perfect nose, the flop of hair on his forehead, his mischievous grin; all have slowly worn away.
When she awakens, she reaches blindly for the picture on her nightstand. In the moments before her eyes focus, her heart pounds with the fear that Colin will be gone from this, too. But he remains; his smile wide and eyes crinkling with long-ago laughter.
Amy rests the picture back on the nightstand, smoothes out its creased edges. She settles back down, and waits for dawn.
------------------
"Amy! Are you ready to go?" Her mother's voice wafts up from downstairs.
"Coming!" Amy answers. She stands before her closet, trying to decide what to wear. She doesn't want to attend the party, but her parents had insisted, going on about the holiday spirit and how some Christmas cheer would make her feel better. Amy doesn't argue any more. After Thanksgiving, she realized the pointlessness. She had only run as far as her Aunt Linda's house, curling up on her couch in the night. She had just been desperate to escape her room, her house. Her home which had always been comforting now suffocated.
It still does, but she goes to school and takes her anti-depressants and visits her therapist twice a week. She had tried to apologize to her family, but gave up when she realized that no one believed that she was truly sorry. It hurts, that her sincerity can no longer be recognized by those closest to her. She knows that she is to blame, but it doesn't lessen the pain. She tries to make them understand, but it's as if she's speaking a language they never had to learn.
She only saw Tommy once again after Thanksgiving. He had been friendly, yet Amy could feel his retreat beginning. He had been working behind the counter, so they weren't able to talk for very long. Tommy said he didn't want to cause any more problems between Amy and her father. Maybe it was better to just be friends. Amy could read the unspoken words: She wasn't worth the hassle. She couldn't argue.
The rift between Amy and her father has become a chasm neither of them is willing to travel. Her mother and Bright try to make things normal. They never speak to Amy of things that matter, only trivialities of daily life. Her father barely speaks to her of anything. Where once he had been too indulgent, now he is merciless.
She had truly hated him in that moment when he'd called her a liar. When he'd dismissed her pain as being imaginary or, worse, cold and calculated. When he'd belittled her again for needing help, for not being strong enough.
Amy wishes desperately to be stronger, but her failure as a daughter is complete. He had said it himself, that she should be good enough and capable enough to get better on her own. Yet she isn't. She's not sure if the daughter her father always saw was simply his own image projected onto her willing form. But there can be no doubt now that she has changed, and that he has no desire to follow her down this new path.
Amy understands. She spent the last year trying to prevent change; desperately attempting to halt the fate that she now knows was inevitable. Most of the time she can accept it. She doesn't think of Colin all the time now, and even in her dreams he's slipping away. Yet the darkness that has settled over her like a second skin doesn't shed easily.
"Amy! It's time to go!" Her mother's voice is sharper this time. Amy knows that her father is standing beside her mother, grimacing and looking at his watch. Bright stands off to the side, his arms crossed, his eyes downcast.
She picks up a sweater from the top shelf and pulls it over her head. For a moment, she is lost in the dark, musty quiet.
-------------------
The Christmas lights twinkle and suffuse the room with a warm glow. The Browns' living room is alive with chatter and laughter. Amy recognizes many of the people present. Her grandmother's arms go around her and hold her close. Irv puts a warm hand on her shoulder and welcomes her. Amy smiles and says the right things.
The room is crowded and after a while, she gets a glass of eggnog and sits on the stairs. As the thick sweetness washes down her throat, a memory sparks and flares to life. She and Colin in his kitchen, pouring more eggnog into a bowl, his parents' party in full swing beyond them. Winking, Colin had raised the ladle to his mouth and slurped. Amy had giggled and slapped his arm and told him he was disgusting. He had leaned towards her and captured her mouth with his.
She blinks and comes back to the present, and Colin is gone once more. She finds it's in the smell and taste of things that she remembers him the most. The moments sneak up unbidden, and for an instant he is there again. In the most mundane things, her memories are luminous.
The sound of familiar laughter rings out across the room. Amy looks towards Ephram and is surprised to find a dagger twisting in her heart. He stands with his hands in his pockets, talking to Madison, Delia's babysitter. She's his girlfriend now, Amy knows. But she prefers to still think of her as the babysitter; the pretty girl with cool earrings who seemed nice enough when Amy met her.
Amy had held onto Colin with everything she possessed. She had clawed and grasped and clutched him tightly, every muscle, every fibre straining to keep him close. Even when there was no cause for it, she had kept her hope. When he was in the coma, his hand was solid in hers, and she had held on. Hope had been her strongest weapon, and it wasn't until Dr. Brown walked back into the waiting room the second time that it had finally failed her.
With Ephram, she hadn't pushed him away so much as she had loosened her grip. Now she could see that it had only taken a second. The wind had already been tugging on him, and when she relaxed her fingers in that moment, he had floated out of her reach almost immediately.
She knows it was the right thing to do. Ephram, with his pure heart and earnest honesty, deserves someone who can love him completely. Amy knows that she will someday, that Ephram Brown will consume her heart and mind utterly. But she isn't ready yet.
Ephram says something to Madison and walks away. He comes towards Amy, although he does not see her now. He is almost to the stairs when he halts suddenly.
"Amy. Hey, how's it going?" He's awkward and stilted. Amy realizes belatedly that she has lost his friendship as well. There will be no more thoughtful gifts or worried glances, nor his simple presence, which had always reassured her for reasons she never understood. She'd told Bright that there would be no middle ground with Ephram, but now she knows that there will simply be nothing.
"I'm good, Ephram. How are you?" She paints a smile on her face.
"Um, good!" He looks behind him, nervously. After what seems like some contemplation, he sits beside her on the stairs.
They'd always been able to talk; the words had always tumbled from their lips easily. Sometimes too easily, Amy thinks they'd often said things they shouldn't. But now, there are only clumsy stops and starts.
"So, did you have a good Hanukkah?"
"Yeah, it was cool," Ephram says, and his attention is drawn back towards Madison when her laughter peals out. He watches her intently, a half-smile playing at his lips.
Amy looks around the room, unwilling to share his interest in this girl, this woman. She peers up and sees the green, berried sprig hanging far above them. "Hey, mistletoe," she says, before she can even appreciate its significance.
"What?" Ephram doesn't look away from Madison.
"Nothing," Amy says. Her eyes prickle with tears as she remembers how Ephram's lips had tasted. For some reason she always thinks of cranberries. Madison looks over and motions Ephram back to her, as she and Delia whisper and giggle.
"Hey, I'll talk to you later, okay?" He only glances at her as he speaks and he's gone before she can answer.
Amy thinks that it hurts more to miss someone she can still see so clearly.
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Amy doesn't see Colin's face in her dreams any more. He's still there - a shadowy spectre, beckoning her ever closer - yet she can no longer make out his features. His sparkling eyes, his perfect nose, the flop of hair on his forehead, his mischievous grin; all have slowly worn away.
When she awakens, she reaches blindly for the picture on her nightstand. In the moments before her eyes focus, her heart pounds with the fear that Colin will be gone from this, too. But he remains; his smile wide and eyes crinkling with long-ago laughter.
Amy rests the picture back on the nightstand, smoothes out its creased edges. She settles back down, and waits for dawn.
------------------
"Amy! Are you ready to go?" Her mother's voice wafts up from downstairs.
"Coming!" Amy answers. She stands before her closet, trying to decide what to wear. She doesn't want to attend the party, but her parents had insisted, going on about the holiday spirit and how some Christmas cheer would make her feel better. Amy doesn't argue any more. After Thanksgiving, she realized the pointlessness. She had only run as far as her Aunt Linda's house, curling up on her couch in the night. She had just been desperate to escape her room, her house. Her home which had always been comforting now suffocated.
It still does, but she goes to school and takes her anti-depressants and visits her therapist twice a week. She had tried to apologize to her family, but gave up when she realized that no one believed that she was truly sorry. It hurts, that her sincerity can no longer be recognized by those closest to her. She knows that she is to blame, but it doesn't lessen the pain. She tries to make them understand, but it's as if she's speaking a language they never had to learn.
She only saw Tommy once again after Thanksgiving. He had been friendly, yet Amy could feel his retreat beginning. He had been working behind the counter, so they weren't able to talk for very long. Tommy said he didn't want to cause any more problems between Amy and her father. Maybe it was better to just be friends. Amy could read the unspoken words: She wasn't worth the hassle. She couldn't argue.
The rift between Amy and her father has become a chasm neither of them is willing to travel. Her mother and Bright try to make things normal. They never speak to Amy of things that matter, only trivialities of daily life. Her father barely speaks to her of anything. Where once he had been too indulgent, now he is merciless.
She had truly hated him in that moment when he'd called her a liar. When he'd dismissed her pain as being imaginary or, worse, cold and calculated. When he'd belittled her again for needing help, for not being strong enough.
Amy wishes desperately to be stronger, but her failure as a daughter is complete. He had said it himself, that she should be good enough and capable enough to get better on her own. Yet she isn't. She's not sure if the daughter her father always saw was simply his own image projected onto her willing form. But there can be no doubt now that she has changed, and that he has no desire to follow her down this new path.
Amy understands. She spent the last year trying to prevent change; desperately attempting to halt the fate that she now knows was inevitable. Most of the time she can accept it. She doesn't think of Colin all the time now, and even in her dreams he's slipping away. Yet the darkness that has settled over her like a second skin doesn't shed easily.
"Amy! It's time to go!" Her mother's voice is sharper this time. Amy knows that her father is standing beside her mother, grimacing and looking at his watch. Bright stands off to the side, his arms crossed, his eyes downcast.
She picks up a sweater from the top shelf and pulls it over her head. For a moment, she is lost in the dark, musty quiet.
-------------------
The Christmas lights twinkle and suffuse the room with a warm glow. The Browns' living room is alive with chatter and laughter. Amy recognizes many of the people present. Her grandmother's arms go around her and hold her close. Irv puts a warm hand on her shoulder and welcomes her. Amy smiles and says the right things.
The room is crowded and after a while, she gets a glass of eggnog and sits on the stairs. As the thick sweetness washes down her throat, a memory sparks and flares to life. She and Colin in his kitchen, pouring more eggnog into a bowl, his parents' party in full swing beyond them. Winking, Colin had raised the ladle to his mouth and slurped. Amy had giggled and slapped his arm and told him he was disgusting. He had leaned towards her and captured her mouth with his.
She blinks and comes back to the present, and Colin is gone once more. She finds it's in the smell and taste of things that she remembers him the most. The moments sneak up unbidden, and for an instant he is there again. In the most mundane things, her memories are luminous.
The sound of familiar laughter rings out across the room. Amy looks towards Ephram and is surprised to find a dagger twisting in her heart. He stands with his hands in his pockets, talking to Madison, Delia's babysitter. She's his girlfriend now, Amy knows. But she prefers to still think of her as the babysitter; the pretty girl with cool earrings who seemed nice enough when Amy met her.
Amy had held onto Colin with everything she possessed. She had clawed and grasped and clutched him tightly, every muscle, every fibre straining to keep him close. Even when there was no cause for it, she had kept her hope. When he was in the coma, his hand was solid in hers, and she had held on. Hope had been her strongest weapon, and it wasn't until Dr. Brown walked back into the waiting room the second time that it had finally failed her.
With Ephram, she hadn't pushed him away so much as she had loosened her grip. Now she could see that it had only taken a second. The wind had already been tugging on him, and when she relaxed her fingers in that moment, he had floated out of her reach almost immediately.
She knows it was the right thing to do. Ephram, with his pure heart and earnest honesty, deserves someone who can love him completely. Amy knows that she will someday, that Ephram Brown will consume her heart and mind utterly. But she isn't ready yet.
Ephram says something to Madison and walks away. He comes towards Amy, although he does not see her now. He is almost to the stairs when he halts suddenly.
"Amy. Hey, how's it going?" He's awkward and stilted. Amy realizes belatedly that she has lost his friendship as well. There will be no more thoughtful gifts or worried glances, nor his simple presence, which had always reassured her for reasons she never understood. She'd told Bright that there would be no middle ground with Ephram, but now she knows that there will simply be nothing.
"I'm good, Ephram. How are you?" She paints a smile on her face.
"Um, good!" He looks behind him, nervously. After what seems like some contemplation, he sits beside her on the stairs.
They'd always been able to talk; the words had always tumbled from their lips easily. Sometimes too easily, Amy thinks they'd often said things they shouldn't. But now, there are only clumsy stops and starts.
"So, did you have a good Hanukkah?"
"Yeah, it was cool," Ephram says, and his attention is drawn back towards Madison when her laughter peals out. He watches her intently, a half-smile playing at his lips.
Amy looks around the room, unwilling to share his interest in this girl, this woman. She peers up and sees the green, berried sprig hanging far above them. "Hey, mistletoe," she says, before she can even appreciate its significance.
"What?" Ephram doesn't look away from Madison.
"Nothing," Amy says. Her eyes prickle with tears as she remembers how Ephram's lips had tasted. For some reason she always thinks of cranberries. Madison looks over and motions Ephram back to her, as she and Delia whisper and giggle.
"Hey, I'll talk to you later, okay?" He only glances at her as he speaks and he's gone before she can answer.
Amy thinks that it hurts more to miss someone she can still see so clearly.
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