“Sorry,” she says. “My bad. You look like you’d smoke.” I shake my head.
“Sorry,” though I’m not sure exactly what I’m sorry for.
Having just finished pouring a massive amount of artificial sweetener into her Berryblossom tea, my sister steps out of the Starbucks doorway, just in time to see leopard-print tights retreat around the corner.
“What’d she want?” I notice her right hand, clumsily withdrawing a pack of Marlboros from her purse. I pretend not to notice.
“Nothing,” I say. “Directions.” Tess nods her head. She flicks open the red and white box and lowers her mouth to meet its contents. When her face reappears, a cigarette is between her lips.
“Come on.” I put my hand on her shoulder and steer her toward the sidewalk.
Every time we come into town, we sit on the same bench: in front of the consignment shop, down the street from Dunkin’ Donuts, across the intersection from Starbucks. If we were astronomers, this would be our observatory.
Tess sinks onto the bench and sets down her tea; a pale hand pushes long, dark hair out of her face, and drops it to one side. The same hand now reaches into her shorts’ pocket, and pulls out a faded pink and white Hello-Kitty lighter—anyone could see that this cat gets a lot of attention. She flicks the button in back, and has it lit on the first try. In another five seconds, she is finished, and the small, pink and white cat disappears, back into her pocket.
I watch the smoke diffuse in the warm August air, and breathe in the sweet scent of tobacco. It burns my eyes… stings my throat… coats my lungs. I am pacified; it reminds me of my first love.
Tess leans back on the bench, closing her eyes. “You know,” she says, “I could get kicked out of school for this. If they ever saw me.”
I adjust my head slightly to better see her face. “You mean, on school grounds?” I can’t help but smile. “Yeah, no shit. Most schools don’t tend to like that, Tess.”
She scowls at me, amusedly, and takes another drag. “No,” she chirps, giving her head a quick shake. She blows smoke over the sidewalk. “If they see me at all. Anywhere.”
I look at her, and laugh; then I look at her again. “Wait… like, legit?” She nods somberly. “Can they do that?”
“Oh, yeah.” She stares down at the smoking gun resting between her fingers. “Andrea’s parents saw me on Thursday. They drove by when we were here.” She smiles, and I wonder what’s so funny. “But I lucked out,” she says. “They thought I was you.”
I bring my hand to my face and press down on my eyes. I consider giving her the “you should really be more careful” lecture, but I know she’ll do what she wants to do anyway, and she’ll trust me more if I don’t act like our mom. So I just shake my head, and laugh, lightly: “you dumbass.” I look up at her, and she’s still smiling. She doesn’t know she makes me worry; she doesn’t know she makes me sad.
I grab my coffee off the bench and shake it, to mix it up. I take a sip, and gesture towards the camera around her neck. “So what’s it today? A couple, right?”
“Yeah.” She bends over and puts out her cig on the concrete. The sidewalk becomes her ashtray.
“Well, what about them?” I point out a young couple, canoodling across the street. Why do people always do that shit where everybody’s trying to walk?
“Nah,” she wrinkles her nose. “They’re no good.”
“Okay… them, then.” An old man and woman teeter along—the way old people do—holding hands, and both dressed in a palate of peaches and beige.
“They’re cute,” she says, “but not quite.”
I look across the intersection. “Please don’t tell me you want them.” She regards me curiously, and follows my gaze. A round couple in their fifties wheel their bikes along in tight fitting, frighteningly skimpy spandex. My gaze follows them down the street, past Starbucks, as they move toward the more residential part of town. I think, they’re either very brave, or they have no pride. Either way, I hope they don’t realize how scary they look.
Suddenly, Tess jumps up, breaking my hypnosis. The camera becomes glued to her face, and, as she clicks away madly, I spin around to catch sight of her subjects.
Their backs are towards us, but their bulky, hunched backs are all I need to see. Both are tall and stocky, almost square. The woman has long, dark, shaggy hair; so does the man, with the addition of a large, shiny bald spot centered on his scalp. Lumbering down the sidewalk, holding hands, I have to wonder how on earth they found each other…
By now they’re out of range. “Dammit!” She flicks a button. “My light meter was off. But should come out okay.” I just can’t stand it. My chin drops to my chest and I convulse with laughter, so apparently amused by this tragic love affair. I am a bad person; I am sick. My sides hurt.
“I should have known!” I gasp between giggles. “I should have known. You would go for the most awkward couple alive.”
She shrugs her shoulder, and smiles. We laugh as the day grows old.
* * *
“Before we leave, I need to go to the train tracks.” Tess lifts up her camera, an explanatory gesture. I nod, and we redirect ourselves onto a side street in town, leading toward the rails.
Our town is small – Main Street, Bridge Street, and maybe one or two in between. I guess we used to need a railroad here… but towns grow, and change. The railroad station is now a restaurant, and the trains no longer run through there. But we have no interest in the station, itself. Our focus is still hidden from view: an abandoned train car, parked in back of the station, one mile down an old dirt road.
It rained yesterday. I avoid the pot-holes, filled with water, jumping here and there to keep my shoes clean. But Tess just laughs at me, and trudges right through. In a vintage lace mini-dress, frayed jean shorts, and her beat-up blue leather boots, she looks like she belongs there, with the gray debris and dark water flying around her feet.
The train car comes into sight: a giant red box surrounded by feral foliage that, after so many years, still has not obscured it from our view. As we get closer, we see where the paint has chipped and worn, and where rust has built up over the years. In some places, it’s hard to tell where the paint ends, and the rust begins. Now, we stand at the bottom of the stairs, looking up into the car. We use the hand-rail to take the first tall step up, and then climb in, like this is normal; like we are passengers a long time ago.
The inside is barren chaos. The windows have no glass, and only bars on the floor show where seats had once been. Graffiti covers the walls and ceiling, and empty beer bottles clutter the floor. It would feel empty, if it didn’t feel so alive. We love this place, though it is damaged, decrepit. It’s beautiful; it gives us hope. My sister lifts her camera to her eye, freezing the scene on black and white film.
With the camera hanging once more from her neck, Tess walks to the front of the train car and looks for a space in the graffiti. Once she finds one, she drops to her knees, and pulls a Sharpie out of her purse. I watch as she writes,
The innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time.
~ W.B. Yeats
* * *
“We are beautiful… we are doomed…” Tess sings along jubilantly to Los Campesinos on the ride home, to lyrics too sad and true to merit such good humor. The song ends and switches over to one by MGMT. Tess checks her phone.
“Clare is a bastard.” A tired statement.
“What’d he do now?”
Tess makes a face and turns toward the window. She flicks her phone open and closed, and stows it in her pocket. “I think… I embarrass him… I think he’s embarrassed to be seen with me.”
I see. I don’t need to ask, but I do, anyway. “Why do you think that?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. He says he likes me… but, then, he never talks to me at school. Other people talk to me. His friends talk to me. But he won’t talk to me.”
At this I keep silent; I have no need to speak. I am writing the words as they form in her mouth… and so she takes them, and continues.
She says, “He’s only nice when we’re alone.”
Tess turns back to the window, and a stinging sensation swells in my chest as my heart drops for her. But what can I say? That’s what you get for falling for a boy like that. That’s what you get when you let him make you his secret.
“Fuck Clarence,” I tell her, determined to be the strong, older sister. “Those relationships are best ended early.” I close my eyes, and I can still taste the smoke.
“No,” she snaps, “you don’t understand. It… it used to be so perfect.” She reaches into her purse, and pulls out a small bundle. Negatives: a moment forever. I wait, as she scans the film, square by square, page by page. “Here.” I slow the car for better control, as I squint to see the tiny figures. And there they are, Tess and Clare: Tess in an old fashioned lace-trimmed dress, Clare in a top-hat and jacket; the two holding hands, smiling at each other. “That was on his birthday,” she says. “I bought him that top hat, remember? And he wore it all day. We snuck out of school, and walked out into the woods together, and spent all afternoon exploring. And…” she pauses, and smiles: “and I got my first kiss.”
“But it’s not like that anymore.” She glares at me for spoiling her reverie. I meet her gaze straight on, and challenge.
“Time changes things. And people change. Trust me,” I tell her, “if you let it go on, he’ll only hurt you. He’ll… string you along; throw you out and pull you back, like a yo-yo. He’ll break you down… Tear you apart. I don’t want that to happen to you.” I can’t watch that happen to you.
I should have known: too heavy for Tess. She looks down at her fingers and starts picking at her nails. “Maybe,” she says. “Maybe. But I don’t love him, either.” She pauses, and smiles. “I use him as much as he uses me. So it’s a little more okay.”
I sigh. I tried. “I guess.” I guess this is one she’ll learn on her own. She reaches into her purse for another cigarette. I roll down the windows to let out the smoke.
NS 09.20.09
“Sorry,” though I’m not sure exactly what I’m sorry for.
Having just finished pouring a massive amount of artificial sweetener into her Berryblossom tea, my sister steps out of the Starbucks doorway, just in time to see leopard-print tights retreat around the corner.
“What’d she want?” I notice her right hand, clumsily withdrawing a pack of Marlboros from her purse. I pretend not to notice.
“Nothing,” I say. “Directions.” Tess nods her head. She flicks open the red and white box and lowers her mouth to meet its contents. When her face reappears, a cigarette is between her lips.
“Come on.” I put my hand on her shoulder and steer her toward the sidewalk.
Every time we come into town, we sit on the same bench: in front of the consignment shop, down the street from Dunkin’ Donuts, across the intersection from Starbucks. If we were astronomers, this would be our observatory.
Tess sinks onto the bench and sets down her tea; a pale hand pushes long, dark hair out of her face, and drops it to one side. The same hand now reaches into her shorts’ pocket, and pulls out a faded pink and white Hello-Kitty lighter—anyone could see that this cat gets a lot of attention. She flicks the button in back, and has it lit on the first try. In another five seconds, she is finished, and the small, pink and white cat disappears, back into her pocket.
I watch the smoke diffuse in the warm August air, and breathe in the sweet scent of tobacco. It burns my eyes… stings my throat… coats my lungs. I am pacified; it reminds me of my first love.
Tess leans back on the bench, closing her eyes. “You know,” she says, “I could get kicked out of school for this. If they ever saw me.”
I adjust my head slightly to better see her face. “You mean, on school grounds?” I can’t help but smile. “Yeah, no shit. Most schools don’t tend to like that, Tess.”
She scowls at me, amusedly, and takes another drag. “No,” she chirps, giving her head a quick shake. She blows smoke over the sidewalk. “If they see me at all. Anywhere.”
I look at her, and laugh; then I look at her again. “Wait… like, legit?” She nods somberly. “Can they do that?”
“Oh, yeah.” She stares down at the smoking gun resting between her fingers. “Andrea’s parents saw me on Thursday. They drove by when we were here.” She smiles, and I wonder what’s so funny. “But I lucked out,” she says. “They thought I was you.”
I bring my hand to my face and press down on my eyes. I consider giving her the “you should really be more careful” lecture, but I know she’ll do what she wants to do anyway, and she’ll trust me more if I don’t act like our mom. So I just shake my head, and laugh, lightly: “you dumbass.” I look up at her, and she’s still smiling. She doesn’t know she makes me worry; she doesn’t know she makes me sad.
I grab my coffee off the bench and shake it, to mix it up. I take a sip, and gesture towards the camera around her neck. “So what’s it today? A couple, right?”
“Yeah.” She bends over and puts out her cig on the concrete. The sidewalk becomes her ashtray.
“Well, what about them?” I point out a young couple, canoodling across the street. Why do people always do that shit where everybody’s trying to walk?
“Nah,” she wrinkles her nose. “They’re no good.”
“Okay… them, then.” An old man and woman teeter along—the way old people do—holding hands, and both dressed in a palate of peaches and beige.
“They’re cute,” she says, “but not quite.”
I look across the intersection. “Please don’t tell me you want them.” She regards me curiously, and follows my gaze. A round couple in their fifties wheel their bikes along in tight fitting, frighteningly skimpy spandex. My gaze follows them down the street, past Starbucks, as they move toward the more residential part of town. I think, they’re either very brave, or they have no pride. Either way, I hope they don’t realize how scary they look.
Suddenly, Tess jumps up, breaking my hypnosis. The camera becomes glued to her face, and, as she clicks away madly, I spin around to catch sight of her subjects.
Their backs are towards us, but their bulky, hunched backs are all I need to see. Both are tall and stocky, almost square. The woman has long, dark, shaggy hair; so does the man, with the addition of a large, shiny bald spot centered on his scalp. Lumbering down the sidewalk, holding hands, I have to wonder how on earth they found each other…
By now they’re out of range. “Dammit!” She flicks a button. “My light meter was off. But should come out okay.” I just can’t stand it. My chin drops to my chest and I convulse with laughter, so apparently amused by this tragic love affair. I am a bad person; I am sick. My sides hurt.
“I should have known!” I gasp between giggles. “I should have known. You would go for the most awkward couple alive.”
She shrugs her shoulder, and smiles. We laugh as the day grows old.
* * *
“Before we leave, I need to go to the train tracks.” Tess lifts up her camera, an explanatory gesture. I nod, and we redirect ourselves onto a side street in town, leading toward the rails.
Our town is small – Main Street, Bridge Street, and maybe one or two in between. I guess we used to need a railroad here… but towns grow, and change. The railroad station is now a restaurant, and the trains no longer run through there. But we have no interest in the station, itself. Our focus is still hidden from view: an abandoned train car, parked in back of the station, one mile down an old dirt road.
It rained yesterday. I avoid the pot-holes, filled with water, jumping here and there to keep my shoes clean. But Tess just laughs at me, and trudges right through. In a vintage lace mini-dress, frayed jean shorts, and her beat-up blue leather boots, she looks like she belongs there, with the gray debris and dark water flying around her feet.
The train car comes into sight: a giant red box surrounded by feral foliage that, after so many years, still has not obscured it from our view. As we get closer, we see where the paint has chipped and worn, and where rust has built up over the years. In some places, it’s hard to tell where the paint ends, and the rust begins. Now, we stand at the bottom of the stairs, looking up into the car. We use the hand-rail to take the first tall step up, and then climb in, like this is normal; like we are passengers a long time ago.
The inside is barren chaos. The windows have no glass, and only bars on the floor show where seats had once been. Graffiti covers the walls and ceiling, and empty beer bottles clutter the floor. It would feel empty, if it didn’t feel so alive. We love this place, though it is damaged, decrepit. It’s beautiful; it gives us hope. My sister lifts her camera to her eye, freezing the scene on black and white film.
With the camera hanging once more from her neck, Tess walks to the front of the train car and looks for a space in the graffiti. Once she finds one, she drops to her knees, and pulls a Sharpie out of her purse. I watch as she writes,
The innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time.
~ W.B. Yeats
* * *
“We are beautiful… we are doomed…” Tess sings along jubilantly to Los Campesinos on the ride home, to lyrics too sad and true to merit such good humor. The song ends and switches over to one by MGMT. Tess checks her phone.
“Clare is a bastard.” A tired statement.
“What’d he do now?”
Tess makes a face and turns toward the window. She flicks her phone open and closed, and stows it in her pocket. “I think… I embarrass him… I think he’s embarrassed to be seen with me.”
I see. I don’t need to ask, but I do, anyway. “Why do you think that?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. He says he likes me… but, then, he never talks to me at school. Other people talk to me. His friends talk to me. But he won’t talk to me.”
At this I keep silent; I have no need to speak. I am writing the words as they form in her mouth… and so she takes them, and continues.
She says, “He’s only nice when we’re alone.”
Tess turns back to the window, and a stinging sensation swells in my chest as my heart drops for her. But what can I say? That’s what you get for falling for a boy like that. That’s what you get when you let him make you his secret.
“Fuck Clarence,” I tell her, determined to be the strong, older sister. “Those relationships are best ended early.” I close my eyes, and I can still taste the smoke.
“No,” she snaps, “you don’t understand. It… it used to be so perfect.” She reaches into her purse, and pulls out a small bundle. Negatives: a moment forever. I wait, as she scans the film, square by square, page by page. “Here.” I slow the car for better control, as I squint to see the tiny figures. And there they are, Tess and Clare: Tess in an old fashioned lace-trimmed dress, Clare in a top-hat and jacket; the two holding hands, smiling at each other. “That was on his birthday,” she says. “I bought him that top hat, remember? And he wore it all day. We snuck out of school, and walked out into the woods together, and spent all afternoon exploring. And…” she pauses, and smiles: “and I got my first kiss.”
“But it’s not like that anymore.” She glares at me for spoiling her reverie. I meet her gaze straight on, and challenge.
“Time changes things. And people change. Trust me,” I tell her, “if you let it go on, he’ll only hurt you. He’ll… string you along; throw you out and pull you back, like a yo-yo. He’ll break you down… Tear you apart. I don’t want that to happen to you.” I can’t watch that happen to you.
I should have known: too heavy for Tess. She looks down at her fingers and starts picking at her nails. “Maybe,” she says. “Maybe. But I don’t love him, either.” She pauses, and smiles. “I use him as much as he uses me. So it’s a little more okay.”
I sigh. I tried. “I guess.” I guess this is one she’ll learn on her own. She reaches into her purse for another cigarette. I roll down the windows to let out the smoke.
NS 09.20.09
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