I think that's about the saddest thing in the world.
I just about jumped out of my skin when someone knocked at my door.
"Pastor Johnson said no ones allowed on this floor." I called out, pulling the covers up over my chest. But the door opened anyway. Marco. I'd not seen him since he abandoned me after the bunny incident. I don't know if it was the sight of my weak stomach or just me being weak in general that made him leave like he did but I didn't realize just how mad I was until I saw his face. "Get out..." The only thing I could get out before he was on his knees beside my bed apologizing.
"I shouldn't have left." The room grew tense, quiet. He took both of my hands in his; they were warm, not cold and clammy like mine. "I'm sorry." He whispered, stomach against the edge of the bed, my knees touching either side of his chest.
"I..." I started, but stopped as his lamp flickered out leaving us in almost complete darkness--besides my oil lamp on the other side of the room. His breathing was heavy, his breath smelled of peppermint and a hint of peaches. This made me smile, his love for Old World food. It was only until he pulled out a bottle of peach flavored vodka that I understood. The way he looked...so desperate. He was drunk. I pulled away.
"No, I swear I just sipped it. I swear. I brought for you. Taste it." And I could see the truth in his eyes, the care. The finding of something lost, precious. And I realized what he was asking.
"No. I can't. I've seen what kind of people drink this stuff. What it turns them into. They become mean. Men, they become monsters and women...whores. I will not be someone I don't recognize." I crossed my arms to show that I would not be moved on the matter. Instead of insisting, like I expected, Marco climbed on to the bed with me, rubbing dust off of the knees of his pants.
"Well, Miss Recognition," he joked, "What do you do?" When he saw the disgusted look on my face, he panicked. "No, no, no. God, I can't win tonight. I meant, like, in your spare time. Hobbies, whatever." He laughed nervously, running a hand through his out-grown hair. His left hand. Still wearing his wedding ring. Not that it mattered to me.
"I raise my sister. We sing, we write, we look at the stars, at the city." I could feel my face turn red with embarrassment, talking about myself with a grown man. Talking of childish things to someone who's been around, who's grown up, who's loved before. While my only loves have ever been my mother and my sister and a world I just couldn't quite touch. But he looked like he wanted to delve into the deepest parts of me. The gleam in his eyes, the way his thumb stroked my hand, the way his attention never left me, the way he laughed when I was being funny or corny, the tears that he blinked away when I talked about Mom; the tears that were no doubt for his lost love.
Sometime during our conversation, he began sipping on the peach vodka. I did to, it felt natural--it's cold mouth to my own. I shivered but was immediately surrounded by a calming warmth. I felt like I was glowing from the inside, like I was almost weightless. I felt amazing. Before I knew it, the room was silent, as if he'd just came in all over again. I couldn't help but laugh, putting the bottle to my lips once again and making a face as the bitterness of the alcohol hit the back of my tongue. When I set the empty bottle on the floor, Marco looked impressed. I stared him up and down, unable to think of anything else to say except:
"You're grown, you know." I gasped suddenly, covering my mouth. "I am so sorry...what I meant was--"
"So?" He looked offended, staring off towards my oil lamp. "Mae was just a year older than you." If I hadn't just said the stupidest thing in the world, I wouldn't have heard him. But I was dumbfounded, speechless.
"Look...I'm sorry. I just...I've never been with anyone. Excuse me if I'm a little put off by the idea. The horror stories of people like you. Who lose the ones they love and are never the same. Or the people who just...fall out of love? How do you do that? How does anyone deal with that?" As I said it, I realize I no longer sounded like myself. I sounded grown, more mature than I'd ever felt since turning 18.
"Easy. You marry who's chosen for you. Who you'll mesh with best. Whoever's the likely candidate to take your seed, have your baby. It doesn't mean you hate them, but it doesn't mean you have to love them either." He pulled a bottle of whiskey out of his jacket. Christ, how much did he bring? "There are people who don't get a choice, Jemma. Who didn't have a swarm of ladies knocking at his door." It was in that moment that I realize just how hard this "New World" was. Not just on him, but on everyone. Him, Mom, Miss Angie, my sister. My heart hurt. How many people had been forced together in this world just to keep the human race going? In that how Mom got with Dad? Whoever he was. Would that be how Mandy would have to live?
"Why are you here then?" I asked, moving to him as he laid back on my pillows, looking up to the mirrored ceiling.
"Pastor Johnson said no ones allowed on this floor." I called out, pulling the covers up over my chest. But the door opened anyway. Marco. I'd not seen him since he abandoned me after the bunny incident. I don't know if it was the sight of my weak stomach or just me being weak in general that made him leave like he did but I didn't realize just how mad I was until I saw his face. "Get out..." The only thing I could get out before he was on his knees beside my bed apologizing.
"I shouldn't have left." The room grew tense, quiet. He took both of my hands in his; they were warm, not cold and clammy like mine. "I'm sorry." He whispered, stomach against the edge of the bed, my knees touching either side of his chest.
"I..." I started, but stopped as his lamp flickered out leaving us in almost complete darkness--besides my oil lamp on the other side of the room. His breathing was heavy, his breath smelled of peppermint and a hint of peaches. This made me smile, his love for Old World food. It was only until he pulled out a bottle of peach flavored vodka that I understood. The way he looked...so desperate. He was drunk. I pulled away.
"No, I swear I just sipped it. I swear. I brought for you. Taste it." And I could see the truth in his eyes, the care. The finding of something lost, precious. And I realized what he was asking.
"No. I can't. I've seen what kind of people drink this stuff. What it turns them into. They become mean. Men, they become monsters and women...whores. I will not be someone I don't recognize." I crossed my arms to show that I would not be moved on the matter. Instead of insisting, like I expected, Marco climbed on to the bed with me, rubbing dust off of the knees of his pants.
"Well, Miss Recognition," he joked, "What do you do?" When he saw the disgusted look on my face, he panicked. "No, no, no. God, I can't win tonight. I meant, like, in your spare time. Hobbies, whatever." He laughed nervously, running a hand through his out-grown hair. His left hand. Still wearing his wedding ring. Not that it mattered to me.
"I raise my sister. We sing, we write, we look at the stars, at the city." I could feel my face turn red with embarrassment, talking about myself with a grown man. Talking of childish things to someone who's been around, who's grown up, who's loved before. While my only loves have ever been my mother and my sister and a world I just couldn't quite touch. But he looked like he wanted to delve into the deepest parts of me. The gleam in his eyes, the way his thumb stroked my hand, the way his attention never left me, the way he laughed when I was being funny or corny, the tears that he blinked away when I talked about Mom; the tears that were no doubt for his lost love.
Sometime during our conversation, he began sipping on the peach vodka. I did to, it felt natural--it's cold mouth to my own. I shivered but was immediately surrounded by a calming warmth. I felt like I was glowing from the inside, like I was almost weightless. I felt amazing. Before I knew it, the room was silent, as if he'd just came in all over again. I couldn't help but laugh, putting the bottle to my lips once again and making a face as the bitterness of the alcohol hit the back of my tongue. When I set the empty bottle on the floor, Marco looked impressed. I stared him up and down, unable to think of anything else to say except:
"You're grown, you know." I gasped suddenly, covering my mouth. "I am so sorry...what I meant was--"
"So?" He looked offended, staring off towards my oil lamp. "Mae was just a year older than you." If I hadn't just said the stupidest thing in the world, I wouldn't have heard him. But I was dumbfounded, speechless.
"Look...I'm sorry. I just...I've never been with anyone. Excuse me if I'm a little put off by the idea. The horror stories of people like you. Who lose the ones they love and are never the same. Or the people who just...fall out of love? How do you do that? How does anyone deal with that?" As I said it, I realize I no longer sounded like myself. I sounded grown, more mature than I'd ever felt since turning 18.
"Easy. You marry who's chosen for you. Who you'll mesh with best. Whoever's the likely candidate to take your seed, have your baby. It doesn't mean you hate them, but it doesn't mean you have to love them either." He pulled a bottle of whiskey out of his jacket. Christ, how much did he bring? "There are people who don't get a choice, Jemma. Who didn't have a swarm of ladies knocking at his door." It was in that moment that I realize just how hard this "New World" was. Not just on him, but on everyone. Him, Mom, Miss Angie, my sister. My heart hurt. How many people had been forced together in this world just to keep the human race going? In that how Mom got with Dad? Whoever he was. Would that be how Mandy would have to live?
"Why are you here then?" I asked, moving to him as he laid back on my pillows, looking up to the mirrored ceiling.
"Because you've got to keep hope, Jemma. Broken people are better together than alone." He sighed, closing his eyes, wrapping an arm around and under me.
"I'm not alone." I yawned, nuzzling against his chest. It felt strange but...comfortable, the protection. It reminded me of Mom. Dead Mom. Then is dawned on me:
"I'm not alone." I yawned, nuzzling against his chest. It felt strange but...comfortable, the protection. It reminded me of Mom. Dead Mom. Then is dawned on me:
I am alone. We all are.
-Jemma
-Jemma
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