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God Still Loves You (1)

Emerson · 2008-05-12T03:32:09Z

For Cal's romance contest. I'm not entirely sure I trust myself in the first person. Oh, and the underlined words are the prompts used. 041. The Apple of my Eye I ran away from home when leaves were hanging to trees by their last vein. Actually, it was more like walking away from home, because I look stupid when I run. Everyone looks stupid when they run. So I kept walking because mom had come home drunk with a disease and all dad could do was hold a bat and swing. When I saw her sitting outside, I was glad I had left. She was an Angel, sitting on her porch steps and cleaning apples. I didn’t know her, but I wanted to believe she was waiting for me. Her house was all rot wood and rural; I knew it was safer than mine. I wanted to talk to her because, as I walked closer and saw the dimples in her cheeks and the way her eyebrows curved, I knew her voice would be more beautiful than her face. I wanted the caress of her voice to heal me. She looked up because I made a noise. It was awkward. I was trying to speak, but the words sounded like cat screams. My throat was closed tighter than the legs of a Christian who thought she could find God through abstinence. I saw her eyes for the first time: green with flecks of gold. When she blinked, I felt my soul shudder. I didn’t want her to blink because I always wanted to see her eyes. The small gold flecks made everything else easier. “How can I help you, Ma’am?” The muscles in my shoulders relaxed; I was right. Before a better excuse could be made, I said, “I’m lost .” She giggled. “Nice to meet you, Lost. I’m Found.” The trees around us shivered and filled our silence with the sound of dancing leaves. I tried to think of what to say next, but there was nothing. I bit my lip and wondered if she was a human lie detector. “I think I know you.” She set down her apple. “D’you go to the high school here?” I slipped my hands into my pockets because I couldn’t stop fidgeting. I wanted to curl my bangs around my finger, bite my nails, pick at my cuticles, anything to vent my nerves. “Yeah, I’m a senior. Why?” “I’ve seen you before. You sit with those people who always wear black, dontcha? Do they worship the devil or somethin’? Never seen anyone wear that much black before.” There was no one else she could have been talking about. “You go to North East, too?” “I’m only a freshman but I think it’s pretty neat, bein’ in high school and all with the older people.” “Yeah… Neat.” She stared at my face but I stared at her hands. They moved meticulously about the apple, massaging its skin like it was more human than apple. “Why are you washing fruit?” I asked. I didn’t care, but I wanted to justify why I couldn’t stop staring at her hands. “Oh, Father makes me warsh all the apples ‘fore I bring ‘ em in.” “Why not wash them in the sink, inside?” Her smile sparkled. It reminded me of the bubbles that float on top of New Year’s Eve beer. “If I was warshing things inside then I wouldn’t’ve been out here to meet you, Missy Lost.” This time, the sound of the water spilling out and over her fingers filled the gaps between our words. I pushed my hands further into my pockets. I worried she could still see them shaking behind the fabric of my jeans. “So, Miss Lost, where you tryin’ to git to?” “Back to the center of town.” She dried her hands on the edges of her skirt. “Why’re you runnin out here, anyway?” I drew a smiley face in the dirt to make myself feel better. “My house was getting too loud.” I could feel the distance between us. She was sitting on rotting porch steps, and I was standing in front of her. Only a few feet between us, but they felt so far. Farther than I had walked to get there in the first place. Farther than I had walked in my entire life. I wanted to take a step forward, but I didn’t. I declared my smiley face to be the boundary that I couldn’t cross. “You can’t just walk back the way you came?” she asked, interrupting my inner border dispute. “I forgot the way.” My eyes watered because I stared too hard at the smiley, until I couldn’t see it anymore. It was just a blur of ugly brown. When my eyes cleared and I looked up at her, she smiled. “That’s mighty foolish of you.” My laugh came out in the same way that a cripple person walks; they just don’t. “If you want to git back, just walk the same way you came.” She giggled and pointed to the road. “Right down there, left at Port, and right at the bank. That’ll put you next to the school.” Without saying goodbye, she went inside. The screen door slammed against the frame and shuddered for a moment. I wanted to say thank you, but there were no ears to hear, like always. I sauntered home, in no rush. I made it back by dark; the hills consumed the sun and the moon peaked out behind a cloud. My trailer was quieter than a morgue when I finally arrived. No one to say goodnight, no one to wish sweet dreams. Mom's car wasn't in the drive, but it was better that way. Maybe she'd find a shelter to sleep in. I fell asleep thinking of the apple-washing angel. The next day at school, I looked for her. I had a feeling I wouldn’t find her. If I hadn’t seen her before, what were the chances that I would see her now? One out of 304. I think that’s why, when I saw who I would be tutoring, my heart melted into jell-o and I couldn’t breathe. There were 303 other students that could have been sitting in that chair, desperate for my useless math skills. Instead, she sat there with her math book in front of her and a weird smile, as if she knew it would be me. I shoved my hands into my pockets and whispered a standard greeting along with my name. “Hi, Miss Josephine.” She pulled an apple out of her bag and handed it to me. “My name is Nina.”

sofi

Gender

Points 890

Reviews 68

Wed Jul 09, 2008 1:38 pm

sofi says... · Wed Jul 09, 2008 1:38 pm

i loved this.

some of the images you used were amazing, i wish i could write something as good. they really seemed to capture the moment they were describing perfectly.

i wish i had something more constructive to say, but i really didn't see anything wrong with it!

'Don't you just love these long rainy afternoons in New Orleans when an hour isn't just an hour but a little bit of Eternity dropped into your hands- and who knows what to do with it?'
T.W.

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powerofwords2008

Gender

Points 890

Reviews 27

Wed Jul 09, 2008 6:01 pm

powerofwords2008 says... · Wed Jul 09, 2008 6:01 pm

this is an interesting piece. you have a good usage of dialogue and accents and also the transitions and description are good as well. the numbers on the other hand appear to be more thought of on the spot toward the end. overall it's a good piece and i really want to know more about the girl. oh yeah. and in your description of the girl it appears as though you are talking about an old woman. i am not sure if that is intentional or not. but overall good piece.

Quote

You'd be astonished at the intimate stories, hidden struggles, and heartfelt dreams that people are willing to reveal if only they find someone who'll truly listen.
— Arcticus

God Still Loves You (1)

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