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insomniac-arrest · 17 hours ago

Text

Downpour

It was a cold rain. The type of rain that pelted and walloped and an agenda that may or may not be biblical in nature. It left no one saying “oh, but the plants need it.” If this was what the plants needed then surely it was their first act of warfare.

Andrea was wearing her favorite pair of brown kitten heels. They had soft insoles and lifted her high enough to reach the top of cabinets. She wore a featherlight white dress in the hopes spring was just around the corner and a heavy green overcoat in the cynicism that it wasn’t.

It started with splattering across her cheek—like a teardrop, balloon-heavy. Andrea glanced up. The sky was quilted and menacingly dark, if it had eyes they would have been cartoonishly glaring. She had no room inside for shock or outrage, but permitted herself a deep groan before picking up her pace.

She guarded the flimsy cardboard box in her arms with her whole body, ducking her head down and running. The rain pelted her shins and shoulders tops and the sky rumbled dangerously from above. She almost considered permitting herself another groan.

“Goddammit!” she cursed instead and she blinked away the water; her hands were too full to wipe it away themselves. She quickly surveyed the area as the land became harp strings of rain connected the sky to earth.

Andrea hunched over more to protect her box and quickly pivoted. She was on a narrow strip of sidewalk next to a park she didn’t recognize. A neighborhood sat on her other side with two story houses that might have looked elegantly old-fashioned if the paint wasn’t peeling off and front steps sagging. She squinted at the park again and her eyes snagged on a single white structure.

A plain white gazebo stood with open windows and a dry platform. Andrea blinked back water from her eyes and the wind buffeted into her at an angle. The shushing of the rain grew louder. She checked her options one last time before making a run for it.

She was practically bent in two protecting her box by the time she reached it, hands turned to claws and clumsy steps banging and sliding as she climbed. Stepping inside, she exhaled from deep within her chest and the world darkened and quieted. It was like stepping out of a Greek wedding into a monastery.

The rain still beat furiously outside, no doubt in response to worm-sins and the need for a worm Noah’s arc. She took a step inside and her heels were soaked and squeaking, but at least her overcoat had protected the rest of her for the most part.

She adjusted the box in her arms and was pleased to see only two of the cardboard corners were damp. She went to shake out her curls when she heard it: A muffled cry. Andrea froze.

It was a choked, ugly sound that indicated animals caught in hunters traps or toddlers discovering bedtime. Andrea inhaled tightly and spotted a lumpy shadow in the corner of the gazebo. She wasn’t alone.

Andrea turned to face the other way. A second strangled wail followed. Andrea noisily shifted the box in her arm to announce her presence and cleared her throat. There was no end. Another sob. Andrea coughed into her fist—it was what she would have wanted if their places were switched.

Steady weeping responded and Andrea was unclear if she was doing a bad job of making noise or if the person behind her simply didn’t care. The latter seemed unreasonable, but Andrea had once seen a man piss on the sidewalk, right on the street. Anything was possible.

“Oh God.” A deep sniffle. It sounded like a woman. Andrea scowled. A shamelessly weepy woman—her mother had strong opinions on those.

Andrea covertly glanced behind her and got a quick profile. The woman was hunched over in one of the plain benches arranged in a semi-circle along the walls of the gazebo.

She was curled up into herself, hair short and limp around a gentle jawline and muted pale skin that gave her a ghostly look, almost luminescent against the dark backdrop. Her clothes were baggy, but didn’t look particularly rumpled, a pair of jeans and a loose flannel button-up.

The woman shook and cradled the empty air in front of her like it was a baby bird. Tears were mapping down her face almost faster than the rain outside.

Andrea whipped back around and inched toward the edge of the gazebo in an imitation of commuters on the trains ignoring a couple's noisy openings to a divorce. She took it upon herself to study the contents of her box.

“Fuck, oh God.”

There was a vividly green fern in the center of the junk. It was small and finicky, but she had kept alive through sheer force of will alone. Its pot was thin plastic and would need replacing.

“I can’t believe . . .”

Resting against the plant, she had two frames: one a picture of her and her dog at the top of Pikes Peak. The other was of her family, mom, dad, sister, one niece and one nephew. Her mom always said it was nice her sister had a boy and girl like that, it felt right.

“Nooo.” A long keening sound followed. Andrea checked her phone. The rain was still coming down and she desperately needed to charge her battery. It might be an hour at least the weather app said and she was still three blocks from home.

Andrea wasn’t sure she actually wanted to be home, but she didn’t have room in herself to dwell on that either.

“She’s never, fuck, fuck.”

“Ahem.” Andrea decided to make a final valiant effort for both their sakes. She held up her almost-dead phone to her ear. “Hello?” she announced loudly. “Yes, hello, mother. I’ll be home shortly. Unfortunately, I’ll be waiting out the rain a little longer. I promise not to be a bother, but I’m sure the time will pass quickly.”

She pretended to hang up. Though, she never had been a very good actress—she delivered every single line in her elementary school play like a traffic director coordinating rush hour.

A pronounced sniffle followed, but there was a kind of finality to the sniffle—like a period or at the very least a comma. Andrea dared to turn.

A young woman was sitting upright and looking directly and pointedly at her, a drill bit into soft wood. Her eyes were red-rimmed and hot as meteorites. Her nose was candy-red, cheeks sticky, hair in all directions, and a clear story to be told: I have been told I have three days left to live, ect and so on.

They regarded each other. Her dead phone sat limply in her hand. A silence stretched until it filled up the whole Gazebo, a helium gas ready to catch fire. Andrea considered going back out into the rain.

“Your mom, huh?” The woman started. Her voice was grief-thick and rough as sandstone, but there was a clarity to it, a density. The stranger’s scowl deepened and it was an accusation if Andrea ever saw one.

Andrea cleared her throat and shifted in place. “I’m waiting out the rain,” she announced lamely and directed the young woman's attention to the outside. “There is a storm. A storm and it’s a public gazebo.” The woman narrowed her eyes. “By all means,” she gestured. “Stay.” A slight smirk played across her elfish features. “More than happy to share the benches, it’s a free for all really.”

Andrea studied her for a moment, up and down and then up again. She had a narrow, hawkish face, like every feature was a corridor built for skinny cats and malnourished children to slip through. Her lips were dark, a deep maroon color like bold lipstick only certain women wore who wanted to be seen.

“Feel free to sit,” the woman over-articulated each word.

“No, thank you.” Andrea remembered to respond this time.

Another sniffle followed. “Well let me know if I can get you anything,” it was a bitter statement, sardonic. “Rain water? Coffee? I can also cry in soprano and baritone.”

She was making jokes. Andrea frowned. Was a third groan permitted at this point? How many things had to happen today?

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she stated firmly. “I understand finding privacy can be sometimes hard these days.” She wasn’t sure what she meant by “these days,” but older men at her work seemed to use the term all the time.

A ragged laugh came from the women. “Yeah, well, looks like I disturbed you too. Sorry ‘bout that. Why don’t you sit?” She seemed to be forcing her shoulders down and Andrea could see her hands still trembling slightly.

Andrea shifted the box in her arms and examined her again. “Why?”

“You’re making me nervous, honestly.” Her smile frayed.

“Hmm.” Andrea narrowed her eyes in turn and nothing more. She let the silence settle.

“Come on!” The woman finally snapped. She was clearly in a very bad mood. And it might have continued like that, silence turning into mutual flagellation, but then Andrea saw it coming. The disaster, a near crash, the train whistle blaring, the car changing lanes without a blinker, the lactaid almost forgotten to be taken before dinner with the in-laws.

The woman’s nose was still wet and streaming despite her commendable sniffling. She bawled her sleeve up in one hand and raised it.

“NO.” Andrea dashed over just in time. She reached into her box for her tissues and grabbed several in one fist. “Here.” She offered the tissues with an iron-backed arm and perhaps not enough consideration for personal space.

“Oh.” The woman blinked at it.

“Tissues.” Andrea explained, hovering.

“Yeah, okay. Thank you?” She dropped her sleeve and took them, thank God.

“I have more.” She nodded resolutely. “Please, use as many as you need.” The woman gave her another look, head tilted. She started to clean up her face.

“I’m Oxa,” the woman croaked. “Ox-uh. I’d say, um, good morning or good day or something but,” she gave a huffy laugh as she mopped up the tear stains. “But you can tell it hasn’t been a very good one one way or another.” Andrea frowned. “My day was not particularly good either. I . . . I understand,” she said primly and gave another curt nod. She reached for the entire box of tissues to give them to her. “But it doesn’t matter.”

Oxa stared at the box. “So,” she arched her brows. “Your name?”

The sound of rain shattering the earth filled the air.

“Andrea,” she said after a long beat. “But not Andy.” Oxa took the tissue box with a grin.

“Thanks again.” She blew her nose with an enormous trumpet, loud enough for fatherhood, no, loud enough for a grandfather. When Oxa finally finished she looked up and gave a smile and it was a lovely smile. It was wide, spreading across her face in the careless way some people handed out valentines.

Andrea took a step back.

“Sooo,” Oxa cleared her throat and glanced at the box in her arms. “Moving day? I hope you don’t need these back.” She held up the balled-up tissues.

“Uh, no.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather give you my wallet first if it came down to that.”

Oxa gave a dry laugh. “This would be the most convoluted way to do a robbery unfortunately. Or the best busking anyone’s ever done.”

“Busking?” “You know,” Oxa strummed the empty air. Some darkness had left her eyes. “Street performers. They sing or do magic for money on corners.” “Oh!” Andrea smiled now, hesitantly. “Yes. I know those. One of them took my quarter for a trick once and never gave it back.”

“Can you believe people these days?” Oxa shook her head humorously, though not quite meeting the mark with her shaky movements. Andrea would never point that out. “Really! Taking quarters and crying on benches for free tissues. In my day, we cried into the dirt like adults.”

Andrea did laugh this time. She covered her mouth and giggled a little too loudly. Luckily, the rain was pittering and pattering outside and harmonized with her. Oxa made a face, screwed up her nose and wagged her finger in the air. Andrea’s shoulders shook.

“Don’t tell me you’re a comedian.” Andrea edged a bit closer.

“I wish,” Oxa’s eyes softened. “Just a depressed bastard on a bench, and you can find those a dime a dozen. Nothing special here, ma’am.” “I think we’re the same age,” Andrea said quickly. “What?” “You called me ma’am.” “Oh.” Oxa gave a watery grin. “My bad. You're just very well dressed--and needed some cheering up. I can sing too? Anything for a little lady.” “If you call me ‘little lady’ I will in fact take my tissues back.” She hummed thoughtfully. “Then also perhaps make you eat them?

Oxa was the type of person that laughed with her whole body, like she was possessed by it from the inside out. Andrea covered her mouth a second time for no reason at all just as she bit her bottom lip.

“Oh my God,” Oxa giggled. “Who’s the comedian now?”

Andrea unclenched her shoulders. She shifted in place before shuffling over to take a seat on the bench next to Oxa. She made sure to keep a whole body length between them, but they could at least be eye to eye now.

“I suppose,” Andrea started as she settled in, but Oxa smiled at her then and her mind abruptly fled from her. For no reason at all. “Well, laughter is the best medicine,” she said stiltedly and cringed. It was the wrong thing to say, not original or even lighthearted. She should have stayed standing.

Oxa didn’t seem phased. “No way. True medicine in this case is listening to horribly sad music on repeat until the noise has lost all meaning.” Andrea persevered. “Is that so?” “I’m a nurse. I would know.” Andrea lit up. “A nurse, that sounds interesting. Do you work at Good Samaritan?”

“Nope. ER at the corner clinic.”

“Oh.” Andrea searched for the right thing to say. “I heard that can be a . . . stressful job.” “Unrelated to this.” Oxa gestured to herself. “Ya think it would be, but this was just . . .you know, it was just, it was,” Oxa took a deep breath and Andrea recognized when someone was struggling to find the end of their tongue. “Yes,” she said gently. “I had some troubles today too. I had to clear out my desk as you can see.” Oxa’s brow wrinkled. “Last day or . . .?” “Fired,” Andrea clarified. “I should have just said fired, I was fired. They fired me.” She repeated the word like a mantra as if it would make it sink in more readily, be less bitter, less bile in the throat, and more real. She sat up straight. “But it’s fine.”

“Alright.” Andrea side-eyed her.

“I got all my things and received my last paycheck.” She lifted her box with her fern and her photos. “It’s fine.” Oxa was quiet for a long string of moments, musical even as the rain filled the space with a steady shushing. Like the world wanted you to hush and grow dark.

Andrea felt like she was going dark herself when Oxa spoke up again, steadily and Church-like.

“It’s fine as in ‘it was a shitty job and good riddance’ fine? Or fine like losing all my stuff in a house fire but I can’t talk about it at this McDonalds fine.” “Well . . .” Did her house burn down? Andrea hadn’t checked yet.

She felt her own expression shifting like light over water, mouth twisting up and then down again, eyes searching the empty air around them for something. Was there always a hand pressing down on her chest?

“Is this a McDonalds now?” She forced a chuckle. “You think I would have noticed.” “What is the world but a giant McDonald’s line with an unreadable menu?” They chuckled together this time but Andrea still felt the weight of her, Oxa, still pressing down.

She took a moment to glance out the window, checking for breaks in the clouds.

“Fine is a state of mind, isn’t it?” Andrea wasn’t sure why she spoke up. They could have let it be buried there, a little gravestone among the field of dead conversations between strangers. “Anyone can do it really, zen and all that.” “Yeah?” Oxa did not look happy, perhaps even preparing to narrow her eyes again. “I’m not sure I’ve ever personally been very zen to be honest. I’m open for some lessons though. What are the steps for being fine?” “Well, of course,” she tried to smile, but it was metal on metal. Her voice wavered, “First you have to be fired.”

“You know,” Oxa pantomimed pretending to think. “There is this patient I’ve been really wanting to mack on, a bombshell really, maybe even a rebound? I think that would be worth getting fired over.”

“Perfect, you’ve got it.” She collected herself, tried to. “Second, you have to get drenched in the rain on the way home from being fired.” “Done. Please videotape it and send it to my least favorite teacher too with a note that says he's free to say I told you so.” Andrea giggled and it was fine. “Thirdly,” she faltered as Oxa watched her, smiling, waiting. What does she want? Andrea didn’t plan for the next words. “Finally, you have to be a really good liar.” “Oh.” Oxa blinked a couple times. She drew back just a fraction of an inch. Andrea felt it, she couldn’t stop it, she deflated and deflated and left nothing but bones behind.

“I mean, it’s fine. It’s fine to lie. You have to. How else would anyone get through the day? You need to lie.” Andrea was rambling now. “My boss asks if I know how to do spreadsheets so I say yes. My cubicle neighbor asks if I’ve figured out the emailing system and I say yes. The secretary asks if I can use the fax machine and I say yes and yes. Even after none of the faxes get sent. Even after they’re not sent a second time.” Andrea tried to recover with a joke, but it didn’t come out that way. “They ask how I’m doing and I say yes.”

Oxa waited for a full minute, kept waiting, eyes flickering over her as Andrea took deep breaths. “I’m sorry.” Oxa sounded like she meant it. “You’d think,” no, no, no. Andrea didn’t have time to check on her house. She didn’t have time for this or room for it. “You’d think it’d be better to be fired for genuine incompetence rather than just perceived incompetence,” she reached up to her cheek. No, no, no. Her face was wet, wet for no reason at all. “But it’s not. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Hey, hey,” Oxa was fully facing her now; she closed the person-length gap between them. She offered up the tissue box. “Here.”

Andrea hiccupped and prepared to grab at her emotions and yank them together, but she was clearly disappointing her mother that day. She made a strangled sound as she tried to swallow and it wouldn’t go down. The lump in her throat seemed to be threatening her with a knife and she had to wipe away the tears that wouldn’t stop.

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t. I didn’t want to be any trouble so I tried not to need anything.” She didn’t take the tissue even as the tears slipped out, one by one, and then a downpour. She put her face in her hands and shook. “Even in the end,” she gargled on her own tongue and sniffed. “They asked if I wanted to try one more time. But I couldn’t ask, couldn’t ask for a second chance.”

A hand pet her hair and someone was beside her now. She could see, couldn’t she? All of this and for a moment Andrea didn’t even care. “I know.” Andrea looked up with overflowing eyes. “I know.”

“I don’t know how anyone survives being fired.” She heaved. You have to be fine.

“Was this your first job?” Oxa crooned and cradled her head like she might kiss it. The idea made Andrea shake harder, ready to tear into pieces so small they’d never be put back together.

“No.” Andrea’s mouth tasted like salt and snot. She finally took a tissue, just one.

“It won’t be the last one. You’ll find another,” Oxa reassured. “And you’ll ask for help next time.” “I don’t know if I will.” She stared unseeing at her lap. “I’m not good at . . . asking for things.” At least she finally got a hold of her breath. “What if I mess up the next one?” “Well, then you’ll find another job after that too. You can even practice, practice and practice.”

“Sure. I can practice asking questions. Finally pass the 1st grade.” Her laugh cracked like starved earth.

“Hey, first grade is the hardest one.” Oxa mock-reprimanded. They both laughed, emptily. “Now repeat after me,” Oxa tipped her chin up and they were eye to eye again. “Excuse me, can you help?”

Andrea humored her hesitantly. “Excuse me.”

“Go on,” Oxa prompted. “The next part. This is an exacting drill, they do this in only the most grueling military regimes.”

Andrea covered her mouth to snort. “Alright. Can you help me?”

“Perfect. Next part, repeat after me.” She nodded. “I’d like to know how to scare off a flock of fucked-up crows from my yard.”

“What?” “We’re practicing asking for help.” “What kind of help do you need?” She broke into a real smile and Oxa returned it, close now, so close, and Andrea’s heart squeezed in her chest for unrelated reasons. “All sorts, don’t worry about it.”

“A flock of crows?”

“Yes, come on! They’re ruining the garden and conspiring to rob my bank account as we speak.” “Well, dear sir or madam,” she leaned into Oxa’s space. “Could you please help me release more crows into my friend's yard? Preferably evil ones that understand bank codes.” “See? You’re part of the problem!” Oxa crowed and patted her hand warmly. “But that wasn’t so hard, right?” “Sure. But it didn’t involve me having to admit I don’t know something. Or am bad at following simple instructions.” She grinned weakly. “I absolutely hate when people realize that . . .”

“That you’re human?” She shrugged, loosely, with a sigh. “That I’m not like them.” “I see.” Oxa looked her up and down. “I have a secret for you too then,” she was so fragile as she leaned forward. “No one is. No one is like everyone else.” She squeezed her hand as she said it. Andrea squeezed back, hands accidently slipped together, foolishly, drunkenly; heads too close like they forgot they were in public. Her mom would have thrown something—especially as they ignored the rain turning into a slow haze.

“I have a secret for you too.” Andrea was too warm, her chest expanding with a hand still on it. Oxa leaned forward further and it spilled out, overflowing. She couldn’t help it. “If no one’s alike then I must be quite lucky. To meet someone out of millions in a gazebo.”

“In a Gazebo in the middle of a rainstorm that is?” “Yes. Naturally.” She responded shakily and wiped at her cheek again. “Favorite person I’ve ever met in a gazebo in the middle of a rainstorm.”

“Well Andrea, I have to say, you are the prettiest person I’ve met who’s ever caught me sobbing in a public gazebo.”

Andrea blushed deeply and looked away. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry,” she clutched her tissue in her other hand, drenched and useless. “I didn’t even stop to ask you the same thing.”

“Ask the same what?” “I mean, if you needed help.” “Oh.” Oxa drew back and scratched the back of her neck. “Well, I don’t need the same kind of lessons.” Oxa looked up at some unknown God in the bird-shit roof above them. “It wasn’t really . . . I mean, I knew my girlfriend wasn’t happy. I knew it, I had eyes, I had a brain. But . . . you lie. You lie to your boss. I lie to myself. And I said I could fix it, I could fix us, I was,” she gave a pained smile. “We were fine.”

“I’m sorry.” Andrea echoed, a cave that tries to speak back.

“I think I trapped her there. Trapped both of us. But why would she want to leave? I was trying so hard.” “Is she gone?” It was the wrong question. Oxa cringed with her whole body. “I’m sorry.” Andrea tried to squeeze her hand tight enough to make up for it. To pour every single free t-shirt, drippy ice cream, sunshine day into Oxa’s fingertips.

“She’s gone . . . She was the one that had to do it in the end.” A tremor started from her spine, her chest, her center. Oxa’s voice shattered. “Why didn’t I let her go sooner? Why did I drag us through that?” “Hey, hey,” Andrea scooted closer. An echo within an echo as she spoke softly. “You did your best. I can tell.”

“I hurt her!”

“Then . . . you’ll try again. The next one, you’ll find the next one and know a little more.”

“No. No next one.” Oxa shook her head miserably and her eyes turned that meteorite red. “She was the only one. There’s no one else . . .”

Andrea sat up straight as if electrified and set her shoulders. “Excuse me?” Oxa sat up as well, appearing a little stunned at the change.

“What?”

“It looks like I have to ask someone for help.” Andrea tutted. She didn’t mean to be her mother, but really? Really? “I have to ask someone to help me explain numbers. We both need to pass the first grade today I see.”

“Uh?”

“We don’t speak nonsense at this McDonalds. Only one? Do you know how many people there are on earth? Do you even know the chances of that?” Oxa’s expression folded in. “But what if– ” “What if you’re the last man on earth and your glasses break, huh? Right when you want to read a good book?” Oxa's mouth hung open, eyes dried up. “You’re obviously one of the kindest and funniest and nicest people in any Gazebo anywhere during a rainstorm, be realistic about the statistical chances. Be realistic!” Oxa shook. For a moment, Andrea was afraid she made her truly break this time and she was going to come apart at the seams and Andrea would have to deal with a lot more crying, like, a lot more. And it would be her fault.

“You’re right.” Oxa wiped her eyes. She laughed with her whole body. “You’re right! What can I say, I’m bad at math.” “Well, get better at it.” She huffed and refused to look outside where it was now drizzling a fine mist and splashes of thin light streaked through. “I don’t want to hear you, Oxa, doubting that she won’t find someone else. It’s just not possible. The numbers aren't on your side.”

“Not possible? You underestimate me.”

“You’re very bad at math if you believe that,” she said with a force of finality.

“Okay, smartest women in the world,” Oxa was nothing but one smile now, wide and cracked open. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Andrea straightened her clothes. “Though I am very dumb actually and very good at getting fired, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

Oxa laughed. “Alright, I believe it. I’ll believe it if you say so.”

“Believe it because it’s true!” She threw her hands in the air in frustration. “You will find love! It’s not possible for there to be no one. It’s not possible for you.”

“I dunno . . .” she said softly, delicately. “Aphrodite herself, come down to give me romantic advice. Come down to help me solve math problems. I can believe that.” Her hand reached out, slow as syrup, and she pushed Andrea’s curls back.

Oh. How Oxa’s smile stretched and for that reason, oh, it made reasons and then more reasons.

Andrea gulped. “You’d think Aphrodite would be taller.” “She knows my tastes.”

“You’d think she’d have a job.”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

“And you’d also think she wouldn’t have bitten the tongue of the last woman she kissed.” Her face burned. She hadn’t planned on mentioning such personal details like her name or age or the fact she was thus inclined to look at women like Oxa.

Oxa’s face lit up all the same.

“You bit her?!”

“She moved! I was trying to concentrate and she moved really quickly.” “Aphrodite,” Oxa raked a hand through her short hair. “Even she bites girls in the wrong places sometimes!” She cackled.

“You are the worst therapist I’ve ever had.” Andrea scowled. “I even had to bring my own tissues.”

“But I’m the sexiest therapist you’ve ever had, right?” Oxa winked. Andrea opened and closed her mouth dryly. Oxa snorted. “Wait, wait, don’t answer that.” “No, no, one second.” Andrea put a hand on Oxa’s shoulder. “Please, excuse me there, hello, could you help me?” “Yes?” Oxa said breathily.

“You see, I met this terribly sad, but lovely stranger, in the park.”

“Yes, very sad, can’t leave that part out.”

“SO sad. But unfortunately . . .” She fluttered her eyes and it was silly. But the clouds were broken now and her mother wasn’t there. “Unfortunately, I seem to have a bad habit of biting the tongue of girls I like. Can you help me?”

Oxa inhaled sharply, but didn’t miss a beat.

“Luckily, I happen to work in a hospital.” Oxa shifted her entire body and they faced each other now, light streamed in through the windows on all sides and cast rainbows on the floor. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

“I’m also afraid . . . it’s a little disordered. I think you’re supposed to impress the person first before deeply disappointing them on the quality of your character.” “I’m not disappointed.” It was barely above a whisper. “Does that help?” “Yeah.” She still felt sticky and weak and broken up in too many places, but there was nothing left in her to resist. “But I seem to be drowning, nurse. Totally drowning. Can you help me?” A hand chastely, unhurried, grazed her cheek and then stayed there. Cradling it and leading her forward. “I’ll see what I can do.” Andrea closed her eyes.

Their lips met and it was ocean-bright. Salty and warm and threatening to drag her under into vast unknown depths. She didn’t resist. Oxa put a hand on the small of her back and drew them together, the soft press of them meeting. Andrea wrapped her arms around her neck and the kiss deepened away from herself and outside of herself. Her thoughts poured out until she was nothing but this. Life could be a kiss, couldn’t it?

Life could taste like salt and soft skin. Life could be strangers and rainstorms and, oh, life could be the best day and the worst day.

Andrea could live within that single moment where you kiss a nice girl in a damp place and forget about forming memories or following alarm clocks.

They kissed for a long time.

She was flushed and sparking like a frayed wire when they finally parted. She must have smoothed her hair out, must have straightened her clothes and stood up again. She must have walked out of the Gazebo as she stood outside in the too-bright sun and renewed birdsongs.

She didn’t remember what she said or if she said anything at all, but did remember the quick second kiss that begged to be continued.

They parted. Her heart tore itself into tiny tissue papers when she returned to herself. She wasn’t used to this. She wasn’t used to asking for someone to stay. And maybe she wouldn’t be fine.

Of course, Oxa grinned, cheekily and wide. She was flushed as well. “Let’s do this again if you like. I’m preparing my next breakdown already, Aphrodite.” She squeezed her hand like she was trying to say something.

Andrea glanced at her shoes for a moment, remembering herself. Then she forgot herself.

She inhaled as she looked up and didn’t care how loud she was or if anyone saw her glowing features and disheveled clothes. “Or I could walk you home?”

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insomniac-arrest · 2 days ago