Girl

-

Verses.

Prophecies.

Curses.

Life.

Hate.

Pain.

Kiss.

Butterfly.

Open.

Shield.

Sink.

Fly.

Die.

Rage.

Paper.

Pride.

Sex.

Shells.

Incense.

Nails.

Bite.

Shut.

It’s kind of pathetic, you know? The way I always find a list of words to string together and bend East or West, it’s like I have nothing better to do than take up a pen at any given moment of my day and write something. Anything. Whatever. It’s not like I know anyone who gets it. I guess I’m saving all my words for someone who comes, who’ll be able to handle them all, and I’ll be able to let all my words out and share them with the world.

-

I sat in the café, my notebook open, pen in hand, coffee steaming next to my hand… it was a usual rainy Sunday afternoon. There were a few people sitting at a nearby table, I think they were Brazilian, possibly Russian, I wouldn’t remember, I was slightly distracted. I was busy writing my latest string of words, my pen gliding across my paper at it’s normal fast rate, without hesitation for thought or editing. Suddenly someone disturbed my writing. What a cliché thing to happen.

“Hey, Writer Girl, if you drown in your words, who’s gonna save you and bring you back to the clouds?” a sinewy, green and black haired man asked me.

I eyed him expressionlessly. After a moment I said, “Well, it would be the way I want to go. Otherwise, there’s no one.”

“There’s always someone, you just have to find them.”

“Who’s there for you?”

“I haven’t found anyone yet.”

“Hm.”

Without asking, the guy took the seat across from mine. I raised my eyebrow, not saying anything.

“What are you writing?” he asked, nodding his head at my notebook.

“Nothing much, here,” I handed him my notebook. Within a split second I was over come by confusion and anger. I never let anyone, anyone read what I wrote, yet here I was, handing my notebook to a complete stranger.

“The rain upon a window’s face,

Steaming the glass,

Dancing on pavement,

Crying for oceans,

Laughing for air.

I’m here, I sit,

It never ends.

An endless thrum,

Like deep throat moan,

Bruised cloud lips,

Like first hard kiss,

I wait, I dream.

And here it ends.”

He read everything clearly, and the way I meant it to be read. I felt light headed suddenly, and quickly took a gulp of my coffee, sighing as it burned its way comfortably down my throat.

“It’s brilliant, you know.”

“Thanks.”

He had to be my someone I hadn’t had before.

-

After that day in the café, Blue and I spent as much time as possible together. And after a month and a half, we lived together, because we both went to the college and neither of us could afford our own place nor tolerate the dormitories. We weren’t going out, mind you, it was never like that, we were just friends. There was no intimate contact, kissing, sex, nothing, we were just friends.

On Monday and Tuesday nights, we worked at the Clamp, a noisy restaurant preps would go to and think they were cool. Gross and totally all the same. Other nights we spent going to clubs, concerts, and studying. Weekends, during the day we went to the beach, Melrose, the Grove, Downtown, wherever, I’d always bring at least a pen, if not pen and notebook wherever we went, even during the week, and I’d write as much as possible. Then on Sundays, while we had brunch or lunch at the café, I would let him read my week’s writings and we would talk and drink coffee and forget the terrors of the world.

I started telling myself that Blue was my one person, that we were meant for each other, until he told me that it wasn’t the way I thought it was.

“Writer Girl, come here!”

“Yep?” I said, flopping onto the couch next t the chair he was in.

“Writer Girl, you are my soul mate, so I’m telling you this now. I love you to death, but you should know, I’m about as straight as a windy road,” he said, his long eyelashes casting shadows on his high cheekbones.

“I –“ I snapped my mouth shut and looked at him thoughtfully. My insides froze for a moment and then heated up again. “You are my soul mate, and so I’m telling you this. I’m glad you told me this, and I really do love you, but I’m about as crooked as moon beams.”

Blue seemed to relax, and his thin lips formed into a sickle moon. “Thank you, Writer Girl.”

-

We went boy union mate hunting all the time, but both of us would come home around the same time the morning after, utterly disappointed. Blue got lucky first though.

One morning we came back home, and I was very unimpressed by last night’s union, who had a pool table type thing and chains, when I caught sight of Blue’s satisfied smirk.

“You got lucky?” I asked, my voice thick with fatigue. I rubbed my fist over my eyes, it felt like they had sand under their lids.

“Lucky is an understatement, Writer Girl. He was Japanese American, he was beautiful. His name was Kyle Tanaka. Truthfully, Writer Girl, I think he’s the one.”

I couldn’t help but smile for my friend. This was what he wanted, I just needed to find my own union mate, because now my soul mate had found his, and it would get uncomfortable if one of us had someone, but the other didn’t.

“Well Hunter Girl,” Kyle said one time when we were on the phone, “Don’t give up, it may turn out that your union mate is right there tomorrow, you just have to wait for tomorrow though.”

I fall to my knees,

I stand on my nose,

The cricket screams,

I shut my ears.

The silence deafens,

I’m blind to it all.

Where are you, Silver,

I need you now.

-

I hadn’t given up on finding someone, though it was exasperating whenever I had another disappointment. Blue’s union mate, Kyle, certainly was beautiful. He was delicate but steady, and he always seemed to see into you. His slanted brown eyes sometimes had a golden look to them, and they went perfectly with Blue’s black orbs. They were perfect for each other. We hung out together all the time, but late a night, when they were in their room together, I would get lonely and sometimes cry myself to sleep. Sometimes Blue and Kyle would hear me, and they would come to my room and lay down with me, ad we would all hold each other and cry for one another. They would cry for my loneliness and I would cry because I was afraid for them. STD’s were so scary, and if anything happened to them, especially because of having sex, which was really what created us all, I would always be sad. It’s terrible that we have to live in fear of something as beautiful as union, when we should really be feeling safe instead of afraid.

My union mate was Sash, a skater I found at the Troubadour, who played the guitar and had hair as black as Kyle’s, cheekbones and eyelashes as high and long as Blue’s, a thin frame like mine, and blue eyes like the sky at 5:00 in the afternoon. He wore straight-legged baggy pants, and he had band and skate company t-shirts, and big baggy sweatshirts that could fit both of us in at the same time. His skin was tan like lion’s fur, it looked golden next to my pearl skin. We wrote on each other with inky pens, and sometimes he would draw something amazing like a beautiful leaf or a wave and a sunset.

He was perfect. Sash. And as straight as moonbeams, just like me. We would go and get vegan Chinese and Thai food, go to the beach, the bookstore, and Melrose, and watch movies with Blue and Kyle. The four of us lived together and we were always happy.

“Moon Girl,” Sash whispered into my ear. His breath caressed my cheek. I closed my eyed briefly. “What do you want, more than anything in the world?”

“I want love, I want peace, I want happiness,” I answered. I could feel his body ripple with laughter from behind me.

“No, no, no, what do you want for you. Those things are wonderful, but they apply to the universe, not just you,” he said, voice light with mirth.

“Ok then, here’s what I want. I want you and me, Blue and Kyle, and a family,” I said, smirking at my choices. “Oh, and an endless supply of pens and notebooks,” I added.

“Ok, that should all work out just fine.”

You came in time,

Like winter’s first rain,

And gave to me a silver world.

With love, with life,

And spring begins,

My life is whole,

I love you soul.

-

My daughter was as perfect as Sash, as present as Blue, and as beautiful as Kyle. She was perfect for me. She had hair like Sash’s, skin like mine, eyes like silver, and life like the wind. We named her Fox.

It wasn’t long after Fox turned six that Blue and Kyle decided that they were going to live in Japan for a while. They didn’t know how long they’d be there, they just needed to go and be somewhere else for a while. I cried. I cried like I used to cry when I didn’t have Sash yet. It hurt. Blue was my soul mate, even though I had Sash and Fox, I had never forgotten how important he was to me, and how much I depended on him. When he and Kyle left, the last thing he said to me was, “I’ll be back, one way or another, and I’ll stay safe.”

Well, they never came back. At first, when it sunk in that Blue and Kyle were gone, especially Blue, I was angry. I was mad, hurt, pained, everything. It was unfair that they had left me, after becoming so important in my life. But I continued loving Sash and Fox, and later we adopted a fifteen year old when Fox was eleven, and I loved him too. But all the time, I couldn’t help thinking that my soul mate and his union mate were gone. Then we got a postcard in the mail.

“The sky’s writer girl,

The water’s hunter girl,

The earth’s moon girl,

You’re there for us,

And we’re here for you.”

It was a misdirected postcard from Costa Rica, and it had first been sent a year ago. When I had finish reading the postcard for the seventh time, I sighed and smiled, finally realizing that all the time I had had with Blue, and Kyle too, had meant so much to me, that I didn’t mind letting the rest of the world borrow them from me. And in that, I could let my anger and frustration go. I had gotten everything I wanted- me and Sash, Fox and Pierce, pens and notebooks, and Blue and Kyle.

I remember how one time I thought of how in so many stories and things, Blue was the name of someone’s imaginary friend, and once Blue helped that person find them self, Blue would leave. Like a cat. Randomly walk in, make itself at home, and then leave once you got to the point you would miss it but not need it. That’s how the stories went at least.

-

I fixed it a little, not much…I hate it. It’s like a Weetzie Bat spin-off… oh, well, ok, if I think about it as a Weetzie Bat spin-off, it’s all right. Ok, whatever. I guess it’s not that bad. I might post something by Sunday night.