11/26/2013. dear elsie.

Hello.  Do I know you?

Wrong question, sorry.

      I was going to write... For the time being, just to you.  I don't know.  One of my friends tried to commit suicide the other day.  Life is precious, idn't it?  Wanted to help but, I was more angry than concerned.  Can't people see they only get one.  You only got one.  Too short too.  I'd trade... A lot of things.

      I got six days until a lot of things are over.  Don't quite know what I'll do, though.  Life right now, it's just a cycle.  I waste hours doing absolutely nothing in the right way, then I sit up at five in the afternoon and it's all gone.  Then I start to scramble to finish everything.  It doesn't happen like that when I do things with people, but I suppose that's how everything works.  Peer encouragement pressure sort of idea?  Life is as bland as you make it.
      Do you think it's in human nature to eat other people's food?  Ask God for me, please.  It's... 11:26 on November the 26th.  We could have been here, together, for... stuff, you know.
      So I stopped robbing myself.  It felt alright.  Then it felt a little weird... Can't quite put my finger on it.  Not emotional robbery, no.  But it was sort of... Physical and mental, without being emotional.  Hurt.  But it was on a really shallow level.  Eights are out this week.
      Do you remember, sometimes, when neither of us had the gall to speak to each other and it'd go on for weeks, just because we were afraid of being overly eager?  Sometimes, I wish we could just have doggy mindsets and do doggy things in doggy ways, except be toilet trained.  That works out, doesn't it?  I'd much prefer dog than cat in personality trait.  But you know, we're cat people.

Have fun in heaven, Elsie.

Signed:

Eisle

For:

elsie, 1913 to 1964.

blue backpack.

"Don't move." The lights flick on and the door of the room snaps shut.

She freezes, fingers gripping the blue backpack on the table in front of her. Her back is to the door.

With slow, measured steps, the man walks around the table until he faces her. He smiles when he sees her face. "Angela! What brings you to my dining room at four in the morning?"

Her lips twitch twice before forming a tense smile. Digging her fingernails into her palms to stop their trembling she rests her elbow on the backpack. "I left my graphing calculator here. I needed it for a... assignment due tomorrow and..." Mind spinning wildly she laughs, trying to dispel the tension that hangs in the air between them, thicker than her mother's lobster bisque. "I was pulling an all nighter! You know, college is tough! I didn't want to wake you so I figured I'd just sneak in and grab it."

The man's brow furrows, "You have the key?"

Angela twists one of her long blonde curls around her finger. "Yeah! Hannah gave it to me the other day when we were working on homework. She said it was just in case of emergency, you know?" She grins widely.

"Hannah, gave you the key? When? Hannah's been away all week. When did you leave your... what did you say? Calculator?"

"Yes, sir. My calculator. I left it a week or so ago but I guess I didn't need it until now so I forgot," she says, sliding the backpack over her shoulder. "See you another time, Mr. Judson!"

He takes two steps forward and grabs the backpack as she turns to leave, "Not so fast, Angela." The zipper breaks as he tears it open and dumps the contents onto the table.

Three bananas he had bought the day before. A teddy bear that Hannah had outgrown. A blanket from the downstairs couch. A roll of paper towels  and four spoons from next to the sink. He didn't recognize the rest of the items. A ziplock bag filled with dozens of plastic frogs. A box or crackers. A jar of applesauce. A picture frame, lying with it's stand in the air.

He reaches down and flips the picture frame over to reveal a laughing little girl with strawberry blonde pigtails and dozens of freckles. He looks up at Angela - red hair tied up in a ponytail, freckles scattered across her nose. Tears stream down her cheeks.

She darts forwards grabs the crackers and the teddy bear and runs out the back door.

The little girl in the picture smiles up at him from the wooden picture frame in his hand.

caffeine flashback - 1.0

Inward gazing, mist hazing.

Life erasing, babes chastising?

No.

      Sullenly, I crumpled up the paper and threw it at the waste receptacle.  This was an awful way to start three hours of the so-called "relaxed song-writing time".  Sitting in Caribou, nothing left to write except awful words that wouldn't fit anywhere.  I realized I'd missed the rubbish box.  "Have to get up, too."  This phrase, muttered under my breath and followed with a sigh, was quite supposed to be a private statement.

"No, I'll get it."

"I'm sorry?"

      She stood, picked up the offending article, and placed it deftly inside the bin.  I realized I'd used three different words to describe a trash can.  Why...?  For both actions.

"Em, thank you."

      Smiles are the funniest things.  They can brighten your day, they can let you know that you no longer have to sit up straight since you won't be hired anyway, they can inspire you, they can make you walk into poles.  This one... was everything except one.  Guess.

"I'm sorry, I guess you didn't notice me staring at you.  I was sitting next to you and I couldn't help but notice...  Stephen?"  Her hands twisted together nervously.  My mind was doing the same thing, but more out of confusion.

"What?  I, I mean, yes.  You are...?"

"Oh you know me!  You don't... I mean you don't remember, but you do!  Really.  You know me.  Mmmm."

Mmmm.  That was familiar.  I'd picked up the habit from her.

"Julie?"

This was the walk-into-poles one.

"Yes."  

long - 1.3

"This has been our world for countless years now.  You and I, Hero, we do not notice the mortality of those who are... mortal."
"I notice.  I see them die.  I-- wait.  I am mortal."
That smile.  "Well.  That may change."  Don't look, don't look.
"Look."  It was no friendly suggestion.
"Keep... going."
A map slid out from under the table, conveniently into her hand.  The microwave beeped.
"Ah.  After we partake of this innovation I stumbled upon weeks ago."
The package says... Hot Pocket?
"Yes, I believe that is what humans call them."
"And you dragons would eat this?"
"We are wyvern formes, Hero.  And I enjoy this quite a lot.  It says, ground beef.  I quite like a cow."
I laughed.  Why did I do that?
"Thank you."
"You do know though, they are extremely unhealthy."
She gasped.
"Oh, no.  No.  I've been trying to cut down the excess around my chin, here..."
Don't look.
"Yes, don't look."  She blushed.  I looked.


"Sorry."
"No, I don't... do you find it repulsive?"
I stared at her, worrying at the excess fat that clearly wasn't there, pulling at her chin.
"Uh.  No.  I don't."
"You don't like it!"
"No, no, yes, I do!"
She smiled.
Why did I... "Oh.  No."

6/29/2013. dear elsie.

      Remember when you were an awful person, Els, and all I could do was try to, well, play along?  But then I realized, I had my bad days too.  I was going to be there for you.  Just a little bit late, as always.  Me, I mean.
      So, the uh, new glasses; I got new glasses.  They're funny.  Sometimes they stay and sometimes they don't and I have to cremate them to make them fit.  That probably wasn't right, but I like that word.  Enough news and reminisce.
      You know what people don't like to talk about that's always there?  Anger.  Festering anger.  Festering.  I like that one too.  I gave my name to the lady at Starbucks today and she looked at me as if to say, "Well, well.  Another one of... those."  Not sure what she meant, but I was, well, angry.  But just a bit.  Not festering.  I wasn't actually angry, ha.  One of those days when you're not sure if some hotshot celebrities aren't Christians, haha.  What defines work?  I worked a whole day.  I played RPG's the whole day.  However, that is my occupation.  Therefore, I worked a whole day.  Logic doesn't apply.

      Oh, honey bunches of oats.  I didn't fold the laundry yet... it's sitting behind me [glumly.]  My mum just walked by and said, [roughly translated, I'd just tell you in Chinese but, you know, I don't want to write pinyin] "Wow, you still haven't folded the laundry?  Duck sauce."  Duck sauce being a substitute for, you know, that.  Mhmm.

      Guess.  What.  I didn't complain about women today.  Your lucky day.  I'm one hot tomato.  But you know, I'm actually planning to in just a little bit.  Have fun in heaven, Elsie.

Signed:

Eisle

For:

elsie, 1913 to 1964.

6/11/13. dear elsie.

      I don't know much anymore, Els.  I just can't reciprocate the way, you know, I'm expected to.  Or the way I think I'm expected to.  I think I can, but it's more of a matter of actually executing.  Speaking out, yeah?  Wish I was Irish.  You had some Irish blood, didn't you?  But... every time I get, you know, close, I just sort of... stop working.  Working the right way.  It's really annoying.  I think she thinks I hate her, really. Or am sort of ambivalent, is that the word?  I'm not.  I don't hate her.  I really, you know... I really enjoy time with her.  But I... ugh.  This is awful.  This whole thing is awful, putting vocal noises into writing is awful, I've got an awful procrastination tool right now which I really don't need.  It's all awful.  Just, bah.
      Well, anyway, I met a man today, his name I can't recall because I never asked for it, but I loved his hair.  It was awesome.  Indescribably awesome.  How indescribably awesome?  I'm having a hard time describing it.  He was cool.  I have sweaty wrists, what's up with that?  Oh, I got a haircut.

      I can't decide whether to tear my whole work apart or just half-ass it the whole way, or week, now it is. And you know my new justification for using the word ass?  It's not original.  If God can use Balaam's ass, he can use yours too.  Quite enjoyable, mmm?  I don't know, I just... can't figure out where to go with life.  I hate being so young.  It's a bother.  That haircut?  It was avant-garde by my mum's standards.  Not mine.  I wanted to shave the whole thing off.  Silly delusion, suppose.
      Indubitably, I just had start my new paragraph off with a razzle-dazzle word.  You know what I mean?  Can't be using "I" and "And" and all that.  I think I'm finished.  Yah.  I didn't spill anything.

Signed:

Eisle

For:

elsie, 1913 to 1964.

august night.

He laughs, the sound bouncing off the vaulted ceiling of the entryway with booming echos. So loud. Oops. He shuts his mouth firmly and grins apologetically, awkwardly. The girl across the doorway smiles, nervous hands twitching her skirt back and forth.

"Be back by curfew," says her father.

"Be safe," says her mother.

The boy nods and shakes hands with both of them. His palms are clammy and his heart pounds but he tries to be firm and confident. The father winces. Too confident. He lets go quickly and smiles, trying too make it apologetic and not too bright. The father smiles back. Thank God.

The girl opens the door and they walk down the sidwalk, her shoes click clicking, his a muffled thump step, thump step, thump step.

The silence is long and uneasy, both of them grinning like that can make up for the missing words.

"Do you like cotton candy?" "I've never been on a roller coaster." Their words cover each other.

More silence.

"It's all right, you can, go ahead."

"No, you. What about roller coasters?"

Hesitation stretches long as he turns at the light.

"We should go on one."

"Okay."

paraflox.

      "Comfortable?"  I rubbed my hands surreptitiously together, making sure they weren't sticky, then placed an arm around her.  The low light of the carriage helped disguise my blush for a natural face colour.  Nothing to see, just, normal.  Yes.  She smiled and glanced at my face.  "Now I am."  I paused. "Oh."  That was positive, yeah?  Well.  "Anyway, nice to meet you."  Leaning over, she whispered into my ear, "We've been married four days.  But I knew you for twelve before that.  Twelve years.  Take a deep breath."
   
      In, out.  Deep.  I cleared my throat.  Her dress rustled on the floor as she shifted her legs.  Everything was just so acute.  I needed to calm down.  "Em, so I searched up belligerence the other day."  She looked up.  "Sorry, what?"  Speak in a higher register.  Just speak normally, relax.  You've done it before.  But you've never done this before.  Shut up.  "I... looked up a word you told me to yesterday."  My voice cracked.  She smiled.  "But that wasn't quite what you said the first time?"  "You didn't hear what I said the first time."  "How do you know that?"  My eyebrows folded.  "Well you said, 'sorry, what?'  Or something to that effect."  Again.  She smiled.  Oh, that smile.  Her head fell softly against my arm.  I felt tall.

      Her voice broke the silence again.  "Hey."

      "Yeah."

      "I love you.  You know that?"

      "Yeah."

long - 1.2

The doors swung shut behind me.  This was no time to be caught off-guard.  Sword unsheathed itself.

"Please, put that down."  The wyvern king boldly turned her back to me, gliding towards... a microwave?

The back of her dress was too low-cut.  

"I wore it for you."

Confusion.  I ran my hand through my hair.

"Hold on a minute, I'll just... fry something here."  She placed something in the microwave, turned, smiled.  I blushed.  Hadn't meant to do that.

Okay.  Don't look at her.  "How do... you have microwaves?  That's human technology."

Another smile.  Don't look.  "Look, please.  Well, I call this the heat ray.  It was a gift from one of my generals.  Quite more efficient than using heat spells, mmm?"

"Mmmm.  I see.  And... how many humans did he kill for that?"
She was close.  Too close.  Too... her eyes searched for mine. 

"Right."  No.
"Yes."  She matched my pace as I stepped back.

"No.  Stop.  I can't."

"Can't?"

"You have killed my people.  How can you be you?"  Slender, delicate, sinuous... beautiful.

"Thank you."  She blushed. 

"Oh.  No."

Her lips parted.  "There is reason to this war.  War may destroy some, but it sustains more than it destroys."

"What?"

a_sence.

      The sun rolled further down in the sky, lazing over a city block as he basked in his own warmth.  He adjusted the thermometer down a little: 5,502 degrees Celsius.

      "It's much too early for you too be up like this, sun.  It's only eleven in the morning."  I sighed.  Walking down twenty blocks from 63rd in this blistering weather wasn't particularly enjoyable.  It was these mornings that I took time off... But I'd used up all the sick days for this year last year.  Bother.  "Bother."  It made more sense when I said it out loud.  I sounded like one of the main male protagonists in one of those reverse harem role-playing games.  Well, why not.  I cleared my throat, remarking, more to myself than anyone else, "You... You're not hurt, are you?  If you... If anything had happened to you, I'd... I'd fall in love with you."  I glanced up and caught the gaze of the lady walking across the road, who immediately averted it.  Why had I chosen such a quiet intersection to relieve stress?  "Bother."

      "Morning, Missus Lumkee."  I always had to stop thinking "lumpy" when I said the name at looked at her hair at the same time.  "Stop smiling, stop smiling."  I muttered.  "I'm sorry, Mister Fung?"  She'd heard?  Well, I could pass it off as a careless comment about my own behavior with absolutely no relation to her hair.  "Oh, nothing.  Beautiful sun out today, isn't he?"  She smiled painfully.  "Mister Fung, you're eighty minutes late."

      "Oh, fudge."

4/30/13. dear elsie.

      Today, I went out and grew out my hair, Els.  Well, not today, but over a period of time.  If I try really hard, I can cover both my eyes and I look like a mushroom.  I was going to write in May, but I just... felt like writing it now.  I'll write in May too, not like I'm not writing at all.  Right.  How's Ursa?  It's probably nice to have her there, was a bit of a surprise for us when she went up to live with you instead.  Still, at least you have company from down here.  

      Nope, haven't gotten the call back yet.  There's four or five people vying for the spot, so I'm pretty sure I'll get bumped.  I don't mind, I'll just keeping looking for stuff.   Yah?  

      I actually told myself not to tell you to come back.  Must be pretty nice up there, worshiping God all the time and all.  I'm being selfish, yeah... but I think you went a bit too early.  Well, I started again.  Mmmm... I'm trying to decide whether life is worth doing.  Like, for a bunch of years.  But you told me to keep it, so, suppose I will.  Thanks.

      So I took the baseball bat to the computer.  Well, actually just rebuilding it, but uh... you know.  That kind of thing.  I'll let you know later.  Oh.  The firm's doing horrid right now.  Boss is using a totally rubbish business model.  I got acc[here, the text is obscured by some unidentifiable blackish blob.]

Accepted, sorry.  It was blueberry muffin.  You're favorite.

*Your.

Signed:

Eisle

For:

elsie, 1913 to 1964.

trauma – 1.3

When she woke up, she saw the sun glistening through the window. She felt sore, but well-rested. Where was she, though, she wondered.

A nurse in flower-print scrubs pushed aside the curtain that surrounded her bed. “Good morning, sunshine! How are you feeling, Natalie?”

Natalie gave a crooked smile. “I guess I’m okay. I survived,” she added hopefully.

“Is there anything I can get for you? There’s someone waiting to see you.”

Perplexed, she paused to think. “Is it Tyler?”

“Yes, believe that’s the gentleman’s name. I’ll send him in when you’re ready.”

Not five minutes later, Tyler was seated by her bed in one of the uncomfortable-looking visitor chairs. He witnessed a bandaged face with a bright smile beneath it, but also an exhausted body that lay immobile on the bed.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Of course.”

“There’s something I want to tell you, Tyler. I originally asked you to come because I didn’t know if I was going to get through. You know, live. But now that I know I’ve still got some time, I really want my life to have meaning. Time lost is never found. Use today as if it was you’re last.”

untidy.

{in which two girls both have something to learn.}

"Janice," Mom called up the stairs. "Have you cleaned your room yet?"

Emma, her twin sister, was quick to answer. "No, she hasn't, Mom. I've done my half already."

Reaching the top of the stairs, Mom saw a room, cluttered with dresses, jeans, a bottle of perfume, barbie dolls, candy wrappers, school notebooks, lunch bags, and an empty cup. The drawers of the dresser were pulled out, their contents spilling over onto the pile of items lying on the floor.

"Aunt Susie is coming over, girls. She'll take you to the amusement park if you can find the tickets she gave you for your birthday."

Janice scowled. "I don't want to go," she said with a grimace.

"No, that's because you don't know where your ticket is," Emma sharply retorted.

"Emma..." Mom gave her a warning glance.

"Alright, fine. I'll help you look. Maybe together we can get through this mess."

Mom smiled. "I'll let Aunt Susie know that you girls need a little more time. Once you've got your room cleaned up, I'm sure you'll be ready to go."

troll.

"Grunge in m'pants, grunge in m'pants..."  The old geezer truckled down Mulberry Boulevard on a Sunday afternoon with his camouflage beanie and a stick of licorice.  I'd spotted him walking up this particular stretch of road at this particular time of day with that particular stick of licorice twenty two times before.  Every day this happened.  But I'd just have to bear with it.  I stopped my ears with buds, took a deep breath, and began blasting Megurine Luka [(c) Vocaloid] so he'd be able to hear it and I wouldn't be able to hear him.  Didn't work.  He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and confrontationally spread wide-eagled his two arms.   "Nnnnuuuuunnnnkkkkkkaman???" Is what it sounded like through Dancer in the Dark.  What, me?  I didn't hear nothing.  Walk past, just walk past...
"Nnnnuuuuuuuuuuunnnnkkkkkkaman!!!"  Come on.  "I'm sorry, sir, did you say something?"  "Did you just call me an old geezer, you foul-mouthed young whippercreamer?  Why, you know, those days, my days, mmm.... The young men, that's me, or was me... Mmm.  The young men were respectful to women!"  You're not a woman... "Sir, I never said anything, I never even thought you were an old geezer."  Well, maybe I did.   But he won't know.  "There.  You just said it.  Old?? ME?  Quaint, antique, perhaps.  But not old.  Why, in my nnnuuuuunnnnkkkamananananan."  It sounded like that because I'd gotten past him and put Excalibur on.  This was the twenty-third time.  It's nice being nice... But some people don't have unlimited patience.  I'm one of those.  "Pmmmummdinnnn!!"  That was different.  I turned around.  "What's wrong, sir?"  "Please, I'm dying."  "Excuse me?"
A devilish grin formed on his face.  "If a tree falls in a forest and no one hears it, does it make a sound?"
That was the twenty-fourth time.

tropical.

In the middle of the hymn, they all had heard a squeak. Was it the sound system? No. It had sounded more like the squawk of a bird, really. And what do you know? From out of the corner, a flash of color flew into the air. The tropical bird looked like it came straight out of the movie Rio. Everyone gasped. This wasn’t going to be an ordinary Sunday service.

“What in the world?” “Where did it come from?” “How do we get rid of it?” 

The questions that lingered on everyone’s lips were silenced by their astonishment. Only a little girl with pigtails could shout: “Let’s keep it, Mommy!”

The silence had been disrupted. Utter chaos nearly enveloped the room as adults and kids alike pursued the bird up, down, left, and right.

“Over here.” “We’ve almost got it!”

Amidst the red, yellow, and blue feathers scattered on the floor, a man stepped out, speaking with a heavy Portuguese accent. “My friends. This is my pet macaw who accompanied me here to America.” He rolled his ‘r’s distinctly.

A collective sigh of relief and understanding rose from the congregation. 

The missionary continued, “I am so sorry. Rafael must have escaped from his cage again. But the excitement you all just experienced is typical of the daily opportunities I have to witness in my native land. Let me tell you about it…”

Perky.

Perky grasshopper likes leaves and sunlight and flowers. One day, perky grasshopper bounces her way to the meadow beyond the fence.

On a rock beyond the fence sits a grumpy-looking toad, unmoving. Grumpy-looking toad squints at perky grasshopper and then lets out a croak. He then goes back to staring straight in front him.

Perky grasshopper decides that she'll go explore the meadow beyond the fence. She converses with crickets, banters with bluebirds, and mooches around with mushrooms. Then she goes back to talk with toad. He's still looking grumpy. Perky grasshopper pops herself on the rock next to grumpy-looking toad's perch. He blinks.

Perky grasshopper pauses. She doesn't know what to say. Grumpy-looking toad speedily snaps out his tongue to snatch a bug. Perky grasshopper wishes she had a tongue to catch bugs with too, if only to have something to say to grumpy-looking toad.

The sun is going down on the far side of the meadow. Perky grasshopper hops away over the fence, with her back to the sunset.

--

Why do toads look so grumpy,
and why is there nothing to say,
and why must grasshoppers wonder,
are they are too perky or not enough?

4/12/13. dear elsie.

"If it's a genuine relationship, well, it's going to just happen naturally. You can't plan for it. If there are weird, awkward feelings, you probably not gonna do so well." Mum and one of my friends told me that yesterday, Elsie. Do you think so? I don't... I can't really relate to that. Isn't it easier being a girl than it is being a boy? Mean, my sis just calls and talks about how some weird guy took her out and she just thought it was friendly and then he did it again, and it was, weird... And Mum and Dad just give her relatively normal relationship, you know what I mean? But, when I do that, they just laugh at me. Heh, maybe because she's older.
      You should come back. I mean, it was fun. Really. Should... just come back and live. Come on. You're cooler than that. Get up. Do you hear me? I do not accept this. You are not going to do that. Again.
      I got a job... You know. I could've come gotten you flowers with my own money. Or Lindt hazelnut, like you wanted. I'm still... just, really awkward with women. It's probably your fault. You're not normal, you know that? You're like, a boy. Compliment. Well, I like to remember.
      You know what I liked? It was like, I, me. I could be the only person talking to you and then, well, and then, we could talk for a long time. That was cool. I can't do that with girls anymore. Like in person. Your fault again. Maybe I'm just trying to compare you to everyone I meat and it's just like, they don't even come close to...
      Oh, [meet], sorry. I'm writing in pen. Where was I? Well I, I don't remember what they don't come close to so, I'll just... You know, you were the best conversation practice partner.

Signed:

Eisle

For:

elsie, 1913 to 1964.

wére.

Morgan sat slumped over, his hair falling over his face, whitened from lack of sunlight and nutrition.  His drifting consciousness registered a figure standing in front of his cell.  The door swung open without a sound. The torture would begin again today; but today was different.  The figure spoke, with his eyes closed, his chest forward.  His voice was high, grating.

"I hope you understand why I'm here, Mr. Frieman.  I harbor no ill will towards you... But it is my duty to enlighten you as to why you are in here.  As you know, the society of Non Tenor Voices has been long abolished.  You, as the head of that society, have no rights to speak of within our glorious and ebullient na-" He stuttered.  "Mah, meh, mii.  Mhmm.  You, as the head of that society, have no rights to speak of within our glorious and ebullient nation.  Therefore, I will attempt, unwillingly, to enlighten you on your rights within reason.  There was a story of a boy, just like you.  His name was, well, he had no name, but they called him Old Man River.  And now, Old Man Riv-- Mah, meh, mii.  And now, Old Man River, he had a beautiful head of hair.  I would even venture to liken it to my own, but, eh, he had a beautiful head of hair.  No one in all the village could compare to his engrati-- Mah, meh, mii.  Eh, what's this?"

The cell door had swung shut behind him.  The figure was the only one left in the cell.

pass.

Hina clutched the pencil tightly in her hands as she ran down the avenue.  Nightmarish thoughts rushed about in her head as the wind played with her hair: I have to hold onto this tightly or I might drop -- But if I hold onto it too tightly, might I make it sweaty?  I hope the eraser doesn't fall off.  But none of that mattered.  She had to run.  

Peter clutched the player tightly in his hands as he strolled down the avenue.  Nightmarish thoughts rushed about in his head as the wind found no purchase in his buzz cut: I can't sway to this, not out in the open.  But... Tokyo Jihen is on... Blackout... Oh.  Someone save me.  Hina saved him.

"I, I, uh... This is your pencil."  The way it came out of her mouth made it sound like "pensuhhhaa."  Her cheeks flushed.  Don't look at him, just...

"Oh, you're in my chem class!  I'm sorry, you ran all the way to the music labs for that?  That's sweet.  Thanks."  Is what I'd like to say.  Okay, Petey, go.

"Thanks very much."  The way it came out of his mouth made it sound like "verrr muhhhhaaa."  Peter reached out and took the pencil; took the pencil, brushed her hand; brushed her hand, sparked it; sparked it, let go.  The pencil fell with a dull click onto the pavement.

"Um, sorry."

Who said that?

clothes - 1.0

"I want to ask you a question," said Brian.

"Well um . . . that's always a good start," I answered with a slight smile.  I was a little hesitant; the last time a boy said that to me, it had ended quite awkwardly.

"Do your suspenders actually hold your skirt up?"  He asked earnestly, as if it were important that he know the answer.  Oh.  And here I thought he was going down that other path.  I laughed and stuck my thumbs into my suspenders, like they do in movies.

"Not really?  I mean, my skirt wouldn't fall down if I wasn't wearing suspenders."

"Oh."  Did he look . . . disappointed?  Weird.  "Well, I guess that's why I'm wearing a belt.  It's not like my pants would just fall down."

"Oh, I mean my skirt wouldn't just fall down, but it's a little big on me so it would be down here awkwardly at my hips."  I gestured with my hand the exact awkward place at my hip.  Where is this going??  "I . . . generally like to buy clothes that don't just fall down."  Great going, Rose, exactly what people say when they make small talk!

"Me too!"  Brian laughed.

I turned to open the window.