Title- Hold Your Breath

Author- Bubblegumwhore

Word Count- 1198

Warnings-Violence, unbeta-ed

(AN) My first fiction press story. Hopefully there won't be any rotten tomatoes.

Do you miss the days when we were young? The soft ripples of adolescence?

Do you remember me when your reflection dances in the puddles murky realm? The way we used to laugh when our faces bloated and out calves wiggled, liquid cellulite? The way we would stare into the depths of inches and contemplate whose hips were bigger?

Do you miss the days we ran through the cool air, out arms entwined, our auburn hair rejoicing with the autumn leaves? The way our heavy, cold fingers clenched together as we slowed for breath?

The way the sunlight would shine on our skin, so alike in that bright light? The way we would never touch the water without each other? The way we knew if one began to drown, the other would sink with her habitually?

Watching the pebbles slowly draw nearer, vision blurred by water logged retina.

Do you remember the late nights, the white sheets we shared entwined about us as we read each other their corresponding mash page?

Do you miss the tea parties we had on the patio in the spring? The way you would raise your cup, and I would manage the tea pot, the way I would never let you touch the porcelain saucers?

The way the street seemed to fall away beneath us when we rode bikes. Front tires burning skids into the dark asphalt. The way your spokes shook, you always were less coordinated then I was.

The way our skirts matched at out tenth birthday party? White and flowing, they were the most beautiful things we had ever worn. The smiles we wore that day made it worth it I think, to our parents, the beneficiaries of our reckless joy that day.

Do you remember the gardener who used to watch us play? The Mexican Tex, with the green gloves, rubber and crusted? Filthy?

Well I remember him.

Do you remember Tom Lorder, the boy from next door? The one you were to busy watching to take much notice of anyone else. Do you remember his dweby shorts? The ones you thought were cute? I remember those too. Plaid and torn about the seat.

Do you remember the fall day he took you aside and told you that he thought you were cute, his lisp impairing his annunciation?

Do you remember blushing and not saying anything at all?

You worried about that for a night and morning, but then he came to play again, still smiling in that awkward boy way.

The way you played with him more then me that week? I remember what it was like to see green.

To be envious of Tom was to be envious of a dead man. He moved away a week or so later. I can remember pretending to be sorry for you.

It never felt wrong, when we were together.

The town was always buzzing when you were there. The gardener was always looking over the fence of the flower plots, and mom and dad were always happy to see us come home.

You never kissed Tom, even though we joked about it. We talked about kisses with such reverence you would think that we had been waiting our whole life for one.

Late at night we would prop ourselves on our elbows, forming a pop sheet tent. We laughed about Garry, the boy who was dating Cameron. We discussed the horrors of boys, and their nasty ways. The cute boys and the ugly boys. The ones we liked and the ones we didn't.

"Tex thinks you're hot." We giggled one night, the true meaning of these words lost in the gale of laughter.

Kisses and crushes had always eluded us. One night you pecked my lips by accident and laughed. I giggled, burying my face in my hair.

Do you remember our first day of middle school? The pretty girls didn't mind me. In fact, they never really saw me. But they saw you. And they hated you, how they hated you, gills choked with green, and I know why.

Curves followed sixth grade. I got a bra first. I think I thought about it more then you. You never cared how your breasts looked in a shirt. Not like I did. It's funny how your's always seemed bigger.

Do you remember the night we spent, on the closet floor, using the fluorescent lights to do our first make over? The way the eye shadow tended to smear, and the way the mascara brushed seemed to have a fondness for causing us pain?

Such curiosity in our eyes as we peered into the mirror, expecting to find women. What we saw were children, painted well enough that we might be able to make do making believe.

Cheeks flushed with delight, and rouge.

Mother found us their and frowned, our treasures worth gold, measured a penny to her.

The first sip of alcohol was far more covert wasn't it?

Grandmas third wedding, and the whole town seemed to be there. Champagne flutes were easy to grab, even for thirteen year olds. You coughed on the carbonation, and wiping you nose, warned me not to drink it too fast. Don't think either of us got that buzz that we so frequently heard about at school, a legendary feeling neither of us seemed to be capable of accomplishing.

That was the first night we saw adults as big children. Too foolish to know they were drinking poison. Maybe that's why you went to the bathroom without me, your pretty hair beginning to frizz.

I don't know whether you ever fixed it. But by the nest time I saw it, it was beyond what my imagination had ever touched.

That night when you walked away was the last I ever saw you smile. I can't imagine how it must have been to die alone. I can't even let myself contemplate death by the hands of another, something that would have made such a fabulous joke between us at one point.

Tex must have finally seen you without me, floating in your dress, your boobs so much bigger then mine.

He must have seen you smile. The one I lived for. The teeth that tucked ever so slightly at the canines. He must have seen what I had always seen. That was why he didn't come to me, alone at out table, but followed you to the bathroom.

I don't really want to know if hurt. But I'm sure it must have. His hands invading the sanctity of your dress, the dirt underneath his fingernails biting your wanton skin.

Sometimes I wondered how you could let yourself die without me. The grace of our matching footsteps has never left my mind.

We watched him watch you age in fascination and neither of us said anything. I can't even think what he might have been imagining, his brown eyes filled with the madness that drove us apart. Were you afraid? Were you cold and ashamed as you bled your last? Did you think of me?

Do you remember our childhood from where you walk now? Or does it fade to nothing but warmth?

Can you forget, because I can't.

Can you linger in our world? Can you linger underwater for a moment more?