by Daisy Allen
In the parking lot, a crowd has formed in a circle. Just from their backs I can see it’s made up mostly of the people I’ve just spent the last hour with.
“Get the fucker!” I hear one voice yell and then everyone joins in.
“What the…?” I push through the circle, only to come to a complete standstill at the sight in front of me.
It’s him.
Green Eyes.
Except now I can see the rest of him.
He’s tall, lanky; his hair is dark and pulled back into a short pony tail. A lock of black hair is plastered against his forehead, sweeping just above his eyes.
Those glinting, emerald green eyes.
That are doing their best to avoid mine.
Jack is circling him, arms up, ready to fight.
“What the fuck is happening?” I ask the guy next to me.
“It’s that guy, that guy Randi said was perving on you guys. Jack’s showing him that we don’t take too kindly to that kinda thing around here!”
“But he didn’t do anything!” I yell.
“Looks pretty guilty to me. GET HIM, JACK!!! Fuck him up!” he yells, pumping his fist, his eyes dilated, as if high on the anticipation of bloodshed.
At the sound of the growing cheers around him, I watch as Jack takes a half step back and then lunge, swinging his arm around, his fist making contact with his opponent’s face. Everything suddenly moves in slow-motion. I hear myself gasp as Green Eyes stumbles back into the crowd. Someone shoves him forward into Jack’s swing radius, and another punch lands on the other side of his face. Jack takes the opportunity to push him to the ground, stepping on his back, holding him down.
“Stop it!” I yell, but I can’t even hear my own voice over the shouting. “STOP IT!” I scream again, the air dragging against my throat like a razor. I run over to Jack, pushing as hard as I can against his arm, making him sway to the side. “Get off him! He didn’t do anything!”
Jack growls, spinning around towards me, his eyes glazed over and red, his arm raised, ready to strike.
“NO!” Green Eyes, jumps to his feet, shoving me over, standing between me and Jack. I trip and almost fall over, but someone catches me, and holds me upright.
Jack blinks; his arm still raised.
They stand there, chests heaving, blood dripping down the right side of Green Eyes’ face.
“Oh, so now the pervert is a hero?” The sarcasm drips from Jack’s lips. “Relax, I wasn’t going to hit her.” He takes a breath and steps back, a sneer creeping up his face as he rubs his knuckles. “I would say I don’t hit girls but the black eye you’re going to sport tomorrow, is evidence to the contrary.”
Green Eyes doesn’t move. But I can see his jaw clenching, the vein snaking its way down his throat growing thicker. Something tells me, if I don’t stop it, someone is going to get seriously hurt.
“Just… just go,” I say, glaring at Jack. “Please.”
“Great way to thank me, babe.”
“There’s nothing to thank you for. Just go!” I yell.
Someone squeezes my arm and I realize it’s Randi who had caught me. “Hey. You okay?” she asks, softly.
“It’s fine. I’ll be alright. I’ll see you at school tomorrow.” I give her a tight smile.
Jack snickers, shaking his head at me. I stare him down until he finally moves, pushing through a gap in the circle, with the rest of the group following behind him. Leaving me with Green Eyes.
It’s almost a minute until we’re completely alone, but he hasn’t moved. The trickle of blood reaches the top of his dirtied collar, and I reach forward, as if to wipe it away.
As soon as my fingertips touch him, he jumps and pulls away, turning his back to me.
“You go, too,” he says, so softly I’m not even sure he said it.
“No, please. Let me help you.”
“I said go,” he says, louder this time.
I take a breath. I don’t know why, I can’t walk away.
“You’re hurt, at least let me help clean the wound. It’s my fault. Jack’s a jerk.”
He doesn’t say anything, but I can see him lift his hand, his fingertips gently touching his cheek.
“Does it hurt?”
“No.”
“I’m… I’m really sorry. It’s all my fault,” I repeat. I don’t know what else to say.
“Just go.”
I stand for a few more seconds, but I can tell he really doesn’t want me there. My throat locks as I try to swallow, wishing I could see his face one more time before I leave.
“I go to Langham High, if you need anything. You can find me there.” I don’t know why I tell him that, I know he won’t use the information. But it’s the only thing I can think of to say right now. “I’ll… see you later,” I say, and take one last look at his back, thin, hunched over. Defeated.
When I’m almost fifty feet away, something tells me to turn around. I catch him, standing by the doorway of the ice cream parlor, watching me go. I raise my hand and wave, but all he does is step through the door, disappearing inside.
***
The first time I ever saw someone dance, I thought she was an angel visiting from heaven. It was on TV, a ballerina, decked out in tulle and pale pink tights floating across the stage as if she and air and gravity were separate only in the constructs of our minds.
She leapt from the ground as if lifted by an invisible harness, performing a grand jeté that appeared frozen in time. In that split second of holding my breath as I waited for her to land, I knew I wanted to be a dancer.
There’s little that is more persistent than a four-year-old who’s got it in her mind what she wants to do for the rest of her life. Even more so, if she is blessed with the knowledge that her parents will do anything to help her fulfill that dream.
I still remember that first time I donned a leotard and slid my hand along that smooth curve of the barre. Probably the single most perfect moment of my life.
That’s what I find myself thinking of as I lay here, my damp legs tangled in the sheets, my t-shirt riding up my midriff as I try to cool off in the already too warm nights.
Dreams are funny things.
It seems there is an infinite source of them, but a finite time in which to achieve them all.
As I’ve grown, so has my desire to do so much.
One month from graduation, and I still don’t know what the future beyond the summer break holds for me. There have been acceptances to a few colleges, but not the one I want. And second best is just not something I’m accustomed to. Something I don’t want to become accustomed to.
“Fuck this,” I whisper and swing my legs off my bed, grabbing my ballet slippers sitting on the chair by the bedroom door as I tiptoe past my parents’ bedroom and down into the basement.
My space.
The dance studio my parents decked out for me for my 10th birthday when they finally realized, I was serious about dancing. Nothing special, a wooden floor, a menagerie of collected mirrors propped up against the walls, and a sturdy barre.
That’s all I need.
I tuck the wireless earphones into my ears, the music already blaring.
I take a deep breath.
And I dance.
Dance until my feet rub raw in my slippers, my muscles ache from elongation, and my mind tires of running in circles.
And yet, still I dance.
Until the tiny stream of light filtering through the tiny basement window doesn’t remind me of strangers’ green eyes anymore and I crumple into an exhausted ball on the floor and fall into a dreamless sleep.
***
“So, do you know where I can find him?”
This conversation is going nowhere.
I’ve spent the last five minutes trying to describe Green Eyes to the ice cream parlor owner, but he either has no idea who I’m talking about, or has even less care.
“I told you, girl. I don’t know who you mean. Now are you going to order something? I have
to get busy for the after-school rush,” he says, annoyed.
“Please. I need to talk to him,” I beg.
“Then I suggest you stop bugging me and go find him.” He waves a wrinkled dish rag in my face and pushes past me, arranging chairs around the tables, mumbling to himself. I can just make out the words “bloody teenagers.”
I sigh and push the door open and step outside.
Coming face to face with him.
He skids to a stop in front of me, an ice cream bucket in each hand. So much for not knowing who he is, I think about the owner.
His right eye and the circle around it is tinged purple and his lip is split. My chest twinges a bit at the thought that I was the cause. I push it away to process at a later time, because right now, he’s here.
Say something, you idiot, a voice taunts inside my head.
“Hi.” Well, that’s a start.
He just blinks and then pushes past me, down the alleyway along the side of the ice cream shop.
It’s not what I expected.
“Hey!” I call after him. “Are - are you always so rude?” I ask before I can stop myself.
I see his feet falter, just for a second, before he reaches for a door in the side of the building.
***
I come back the next day.
And the next.
I don’t know why. I just do.
I’m not always the first one there after school, but I’m always the last to leave. I don’t see him much, but there’s something about just knowing he’s there that brings me comfort. I use the time to finish my assignments, listen to music, run through my final performance dance routine in my head.
As the crowd thins, sometimes he just sits behind the counter, his head deep in a textbook or taking notes. I try to scan the titles of his books from where I’m sitting, but every time he lifts his eyes, it seems like he catches me staring at him, so I stop.
He never says a word to me. Even when I wave goodbye to him, three afternoons in a row, he just ignores me. I don’t know what I’d say to him if he ever acknowledged me. Maybe ask him why I’m so compelled by him. But I don’t. I just say goodbye.
And wonder why it’s so hard for him to say it back to me.
My Thursday dance rehearsal runs long and I’m out of breath as I run to the ice cream parlor, hoping it isn’t closed by the time I get there. As I rush past the window, I breathe a sigh of relief as I notice a few stragglers still in the corner booth, and him bent over a table running a cloth over it, collecting the debris in his hand.
There’s no time to sit and stare today, though; I’m there for a different reason. Instead of getting up last night to dance, I’d spent it writing a letter to him instead. If he wasn’t going to let me say any words to him, then he could at least read them. I woke up this morning to a pile of scrunched up paper at the foot of my bed, but I knew that what I’d written was what I wanted to say.
When he spins around from the table he’s just cleaned, I’m there, waiting.
“Hi,” I say, my voice breathy from the run and from my nervousness. “This is for you.” I pull the cloth from his hand and push the envelope with my note into his palm. Then, before I lose my nerve, I lean over and press a kiss against his bruised cheek and run away as fast as I can.
***
“Thanks, mom. Bye, I’ll see you tonight.” I give my mom a wave and climb out of the car. I watch as she cuts off another mother as she pulls into traffic, shaking my head at her bad driving.
I pivot towards the school entrance.
And he is there.
“Oh. Um, hi.”
He doesn’t say anything, just lifts his arm and hands something to me.
It’s the envelope I’d given him.
“I left that for you.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stares at me, his eyes scanning mine with a laser like precision. I feel as if he’s seeing everything I’ve ever seen. Then he reaches over and takes my hand, pushing the envelope into it and walks away, before I can say a word.
“Hey, dipshit! You’re here for some more punishment?” I hear a voice yell out to him, and I see Jack standing by the bus stop, his friends cheering him on.
But he just keeps walking.
I turn the envelope over in my hand. It’s still sealed. He didn’t even read it.
Four
Him
Just keep walking.
Don’t stop. Don’t turn around. Just keep walking.
The urge to turn is almost too much and my walk breaks into a run to distract myself from the temptation.
My feet blur under me, my lungs almost burst trying to keep up with my body’s need for oxygen. The muscles strain as they tense and contract, completely unconsciously, like they’ve done for almost 18 years.
I run until I know that I’m too far for her to catch me.
And then I still keep running.
Until I know that I’m too far for me to fall.
But sometimes, the things we do, are too late.
***
Her
I'm running after him so fast, I can barely feel my feet touching the ground. I'm going to run him down if it's the very last thing I do. He doesn't even turn around to check what’s happening behind him, and that both hurts and urges me on. I wonder if he even knows I'm chasing him.
If he thought I would. If he wants me to.
Where is he going?
And why is it so important that he gets there so fast?
I don't even bother entertaining the question that he's running away from something, someone, as opposed to towards.
Running from me.
I'm getting closer. I can tell by the back of his head getting bigger.
Just keep running, I tell myself.
Now is not the time to ponder what it felt like when he took my hand before pushing the letter into it. How my heart jumped when I saw him standing there. How it felt so new and yet like I’d spent my life walking toward him.
Just. Keep. Running.
The street comes to an intersection, and he follows it around the corner. If he makes another turn before I get there, I'm going to lose him. I squeeze my eyes closed for a moment as I gather the strength for a speed burst. I’m used to telling my body to do things beyond what normal people can expect of their bodies, and I feel it respond.
Except, my feet suddenly aren't touching the ground anymore.
"Aw, fuck!!!" I yell, as a sharp pain spreads up my ankle and my shin. I fall to the ground, bracing my fall with one arm, feeling the gravel scratch the outer layer of my skin.
"Shit!" I yell at the traitorous tree roots sticking out from the broken sidewalk, gnarled and wicked, causing my fall.
Everything looks instantly blurry but it takes a few angry wipes of my eyes with the back of my hand before I realize I'm crying.
"Stupid idiot!" I curse myself this time. What the hell do I think I'm doing, chasing a stranger who won’t even speak to me? Have I lost my fucking mind? The thoughts are hardly comforting and the hot tears just keep falling. Asshole, I glare at the empty street ahead of me as I curse him too.
I brush the dirt from my hands and shake my legs, feeling them out. At least there's no real injury. That would really fucking suck. I take a deep breath, gathering myself, and resolve to never go looking for that asshole again.
Suddenly, something blocks the sun and a hand reaches out to me.
I look up into green eyes.
Something inside me, something stubborn, wants to swat it away, but I push the instinct down.
Taking the hand, I let him pull me to my feet. I drop it as soon as I'm steady, and notice a flicker of something unreadable across his face. I avoid his eyes, shuffling from leg to leg, regaining my balance. There’s a gust of wind, and a flash of white catches both our eyes. It’s the scrunched-up envelope, making its way down the street. It only takes a few steps of his long legs to catch up with it. He holds it out to me.
"I left it for you," I say, taki
ng it from him, breaking the silence.
His lips tighten for a moment and he finally speaks.
"Why?"
I’m surprised to hear him talk and it takes me a beat to respond.
"Well, read it." I push it back towards him, but he doesn't move.
"No."
"No?" Seriously, what is wrong with this guy? What's his fucking deal?
His shoulders lift in a deep breath.
"No. If there's something you want to say to me, you can say it to my face."
"You haven't exactly made it easy,” I scoff.
"Well, I'm here now,” he shrugs. “What do you want to say?"
I blink. I feel like I'm permanently being knocked off my feet around him. And not just literally. He's staring at me again, just like he was that first day at the ice cream parlor.
Piercing. Unwavering. Read your soul type staring.
My fingers curl and I feel the paper wrinkle in my hand. I will the words from the paper to seep into my mind. I'd spent hours writing that letter, choosing the right words, the correct phrases. But my mind is turning completely blank.
"I... I just want to say, I’m sorry about what happened, the other day with those guys harassing you. I - I didn't know they were going to. They're just fucking jerks. Anyway, I'm sorry. I didn’t want you to think I had anything to do with it."
Not very eloquent, but I hope I’m getting my message across. He stands completely still for a moment and then just nods. Saying nothing.
For so long that it becomes awkward.
"So... um, anyway..." I say, my head hurting with trying to make sense of this strange guy. Strange. Compelling. Unforgettable guy. "That's all I wanted to say."
I take one last look. Something makes me feel like, if he doesn't want to see me again after this, there's no way I'm going to find him. "I... I guess I'll see you around." I reach down to pick up my backpack, swinging it over my shoulder as I turn back towards the school.
