lystra
Bluelighter
The Willow
The fall air shivers down Anna’s body. She looks down at her peeling fingernail polish and shoves her hands in her pockets as she starts up the trail. A motley of leaves blankets the ground and the once lush yards of her neighbors. The leaves crunch underneath her heavy steps, and she stops for a moment to feel to the pull of the wind.
She peers in the windows of her neighbors’ houses, bulging with orange light from their fires. She smiles, the calm of the season and the setting sun ease over her as she makes her way further up the trail to Edward’s house. She balances across the uneven driveway and up the cracked steps to the front porch. Resisting the urge to knock, she twists the doorknob and nudges the copper kick-plate with her foot.
Once inside, she hears the sound of the evening news and simulated gunfire coming from Edward’s room. She paces down the hall to the bathroom, and closes the door behind her. She lets down the lid of the toilet and slides onto it. She folds her hands in a wedge between her knees and takes a deep breath. Wiping a tear drop from the tip of her nose, she stands up to scoff at her reflection. She stares at herself for a minute and flips off the light.
She makes her way down the hall to Edward’s room and opens the door to a rush of heat and the smell of stale pot.
“Jeez, it’s hot in here, Ed”
“All the computers”
“Oh, well, what are you doing?” she asks.
“Playing games”
“Oh, okay”, she swallows, forcing a smile. She flops down into an muggy green chair and flips on the television. Immediately, she looks away and around his room—dingy, mushroom-colored blankets tacked across the walls, posters peeling towards the floor, and buzzing computer monitors hunched in every corner. Paint that was once new and white had now taken on a fuzzy, brownish fur from all the smoke.
She focuses her attention back on the television only to turn the volume down.
“Thanks”, he mutters.
“No problem, don’t want you to die”, she offers, eyeing the computer screen, “Whatcha playin’?”
“Battlefield,” he replies, keeping his head turned to the game.
“Oh, you doin’ good?” she asks. He doesn’t answer.
Anna sinks lower in her chair and pretends to resort to the television. She fidgets with the buttons on her linen shirt, drums her fingers on the metal arm of the chair and quietly slides her feet in and out of her shoes. Hours pass without a word from Edward, only muffled expletives at the computer screen, and the occasional grunt when he has to pass her the lighter.
“I gotta pee”, she says, and waits a while before she leaves the room. She drags her hand across the wall, trying to find the door to the bathroom in the dark. Pursing her lips in the mirror, she pats on some Carmex until it stings. She twists on the faucet and fingers the water until it feels hot. She lingers a moment, closing her eyes in the warmth before inching back down the hall to his room.
Sitting down on the bed this time, she pulls her knees toward her and locks her arms around them. She wishes she could scream. She wants to tell him everything. She wants to shake him and tell him why.
Hours pass in silence. In a moment, she clears her throat.
“I think I’m gonna go”, she says. He doesn’t look up. “It’s almost my curfew anyways. I’ll come back when my mom’s asleep.”
She waits, “I’ll call you.” She clasps his shoulders and presses her lips to the back of his neck. Without a word back, she slips down the hall and through the living room to the front door. She pulls up the hood on her sweatshirt, drops her shoulders, and leaves.
She crumbles down the trail away from his house. It’s very dark by now, and she wishes he was walking her home. She squints, scared. Her mind replaces the darkness with ghosts, the silence with screams. She sobers herself with a gulp of the dark, dry air and continues down the hill.
She stops at the Willow tree on the corner before her mother’s house. She kicks at the skirt of shriveled petals that has fallen around its thick, twisted roots. The season has stolen its leaves, and it stands gray and hollow. It begins to weep. Syrup dribbles down its slender branches and she presses her body against it as she lets herself cry. The Willow moans.
“I’m sad too,” she whispers as she hugs tighter.
Palming its dry, flaky bark, she closes her eyes and lets the world leave her. The gentle whisper of the crickets pulls her in. She hums along with them.
No one else will know these lonely dreams. No one else will know that part of me. No one else will have me like you do. No one else will have me, only you.
Soon, the wind comes with a start. It sweeps and swirls back through her long, dark hair. She lifts her eyelids and steps back to watch the breeze untangle the Willow’s skeletal branches. They whip and hiss as they lash against each other. The Willow begins to creak and swell.
Suddenly, thousands of tiny silver and green leaves shoot out like arrows down the stringy branches. The roots yawn and stretch, curling in and over themselves and spiraling through the soil. The whole of the structure pulses, as the trunk teems, engorged with sepia. Its flora fluffs and flushes into a voluminous, verdant mass. She inhales, and in a moment, the wind is gone. Everything falls still.
Her lips are dry. She licks them and tastes salt. She lets her tongue linger there and wraps her tired arms around herself. She waits for a moment, before turning to finish down the trail to her house.
She finds her way to her house and quietly pushes the door behind her. She looks back from her bedroom window just as an amber light from the porch behind her tree flickers on, beaming in solid, logical lines through the foliage. The Willow sways, welcoming the light and its warmth.
Lucky, she says to herself.
The fall air shivers down Anna’s body. She looks down at her peeling fingernail polish and shoves her hands in her pockets as she starts up the trail. A motley of leaves blankets the ground and the once lush yards of her neighbors. The leaves crunch underneath her heavy steps, and she stops for a moment to feel to the pull of the wind.
She peers in the windows of her neighbors’ houses, bulging with orange light from their fires. She smiles, the calm of the season and the setting sun ease over her as she makes her way further up the trail to Edward’s house. She balances across the uneven driveway and up the cracked steps to the front porch. Resisting the urge to knock, she twists the doorknob and nudges the copper kick-plate with her foot.
Once inside, she hears the sound of the evening news and simulated gunfire coming from Edward’s room. She paces down the hall to the bathroom, and closes the door behind her. She lets down the lid of the toilet and slides onto it. She folds her hands in a wedge between her knees and takes a deep breath. Wiping a tear drop from the tip of her nose, she stands up to scoff at her reflection. She stares at herself for a minute and flips off the light.
She makes her way down the hall to Edward’s room and opens the door to a rush of heat and the smell of stale pot.
“Jeez, it’s hot in here, Ed”
“All the computers”
“Oh, well, what are you doing?” she asks.
“Playing games”
“Oh, okay”, she swallows, forcing a smile. She flops down into an muggy green chair and flips on the television. Immediately, she looks away and around his room—dingy, mushroom-colored blankets tacked across the walls, posters peeling towards the floor, and buzzing computer monitors hunched in every corner. Paint that was once new and white had now taken on a fuzzy, brownish fur from all the smoke.
She focuses her attention back on the television only to turn the volume down.
“Thanks”, he mutters.
“No problem, don’t want you to die”, she offers, eyeing the computer screen, “Whatcha playin’?”
“Battlefield,” he replies, keeping his head turned to the game.
“Oh, you doin’ good?” she asks. He doesn’t answer.
Anna sinks lower in her chair and pretends to resort to the television. She fidgets with the buttons on her linen shirt, drums her fingers on the metal arm of the chair and quietly slides her feet in and out of her shoes. Hours pass without a word from Edward, only muffled expletives at the computer screen, and the occasional grunt when he has to pass her the lighter.
“I gotta pee”, she says, and waits a while before she leaves the room. She drags her hand across the wall, trying to find the door to the bathroom in the dark. Pursing her lips in the mirror, she pats on some Carmex until it stings. She twists on the faucet and fingers the water until it feels hot. She lingers a moment, closing her eyes in the warmth before inching back down the hall to his room.
Sitting down on the bed this time, she pulls her knees toward her and locks her arms around them. She wishes she could scream. She wants to tell him everything. She wants to shake him and tell him why.
Hours pass in silence. In a moment, she clears her throat.
“I think I’m gonna go”, she says. He doesn’t look up. “It’s almost my curfew anyways. I’ll come back when my mom’s asleep.”
She waits, “I’ll call you.” She clasps his shoulders and presses her lips to the back of his neck. Without a word back, she slips down the hall and through the living room to the front door. She pulls up the hood on her sweatshirt, drops her shoulders, and leaves.
She crumbles down the trail away from his house. It’s very dark by now, and she wishes he was walking her home. She squints, scared. Her mind replaces the darkness with ghosts, the silence with screams. She sobers herself with a gulp of the dark, dry air and continues down the hill.
She stops at the Willow tree on the corner before her mother’s house. She kicks at the skirt of shriveled petals that has fallen around its thick, twisted roots. The season has stolen its leaves, and it stands gray and hollow. It begins to weep. Syrup dribbles down its slender branches and she presses her body against it as she lets herself cry. The Willow moans.
“I’m sad too,” she whispers as she hugs tighter.
Palming its dry, flaky bark, she closes her eyes and lets the world leave her. The gentle whisper of the crickets pulls her in. She hums along with them.
No one else will know these lonely dreams. No one else will know that part of me. No one else will have me like you do. No one else will have me, only you.
Soon, the wind comes with a start. It sweeps and swirls back through her long, dark hair. She lifts her eyelids and steps back to watch the breeze untangle the Willow’s skeletal branches. They whip and hiss as they lash against each other. The Willow begins to creak and swell.
Suddenly, thousands of tiny silver and green leaves shoot out like arrows down the stringy branches. The roots yawn and stretch, curling in and over themselves and spiraling through the soil. The whole of the structure pulses, as the trunk teems, engorged with sepia. Its flora fluffs and flushes into a voluminous, verdant mass. She inhales, and in a moment, the wind is gone. Everything falls still.
Her lips are dry. She licks them and tastes salt. She lets her tongue linger there and wraps her tired arms around herself. She waits for a moment, before turning to finish down the trail to her house.
She finds her way to her house and quietly pushes the door behind her. She looks back from her bedroom window just as an amber light from the porch behind her tree flickers on, beaming in solid, logical lines through the foliage. The Willow sways, welcoming the light and its warmth.
Lucky, she says to herself.
