The last summer of absolute freedom sauntered its way toward orange and red days. Weeks of sunshine and no school and no authority in which language changed and relationships morphed and evolved. We were about to go through the fire of high school. We no longer played, we hung out. Secret conversations focused more on events than imagination. Breath changed and seemed for the first time real because of our control of it. How could we know that breath would become real to use a million times over our lifetimes?
Marianne was in a skirt for the first time since her third Easter when Mother presented her with the blushing pink dress complete with lace and ribbon. She was NOT going to wear THAT. I hate pink! Her face bloated to a tomato. It's only a day, an hour really. Just put it on. NO! The skirt tore at waistline, and Marianne was instantly over a knee. Pop! Pop! The noise brought the tears and wailing more than the pain. Now put it on. I don't like it. Well, you don't have to wear it after today, guilt trembling Mother's voice. Marianne sucked the snot back into her nose and wiped the remaining bit on her hand and her hand on her jammies. Promise? Yes, no more pink. Or dresses? We'll see.
She had avoided a skirt for ten years, but Angela had made her swear upon all things holy that she would wear something pretty that first high school day. Marianne had trouble saying No to Ang.
Nearly a year ago, Angela leaned her back against the oak, her sandwich poised for the first destructive bit. Her eyes darted back and forth, frantically taking in the groups of students and noting which ones glanced at her, which pretended they weren't talking about her, which were laughing at her even though she'd done nothing. She folded up her long and ever-growing legs, reached up the treed with her spine and defied them all to mock. down her nose she eyed that sandwich and bit in. A girl without a group positioned herself on the opposite side of the tree and began to chew her salad just loud enough to almost grate on your nerves. I don't know how you can stand to look at them. It's all so beige. Pardon? Them. They all have a kind of blindness to anything new or anything outside of the this ... bubble of a town. I don't like being judged. Please. Most of them probably don't even see you, and those that do only so they confirm their "superiority". So why watch? For information. Okay. The view over here is better though. The tracks? The tracks, the road, the sky, the trees, the birds - wouldn't you rather look at that? Maybe tomorrow. I'm going to go. Sure. I"m Marianne, by the way. Angela. Nice to meet you.
Angela knew this year was going to be different. People were goignt o like her this year. School was new for everyone. The field was level. She had had revelations at church camp this summer. She'd been popular and sought after. The two boys from school had warmed to her finally. She sang to her Awesome God and shared nights whispering about crushes to the girls in her cabin. She never whispered these things to Marianne. She hadn't realized she would even want to. Her mind created boyfriends from her first junior high. Jesus would forgive her these few fibs. The liles were not palatable, but she couldn't spit them out. Then the big chance. Billy had a crush on her. The girls told her to hold his hand, sit next to him at meals, laugh at his jokes, and sneak off when he asked - and he would ask. She did. All of it. And in a little wooded area, she finally had her first kiss.
But Ang, how can it be your first kiss? I've kissed you. It's different. It doesn't mean anything when you kiss me, but when a boy kisses you, it's something. It's a milestone. It feels like you can move forward, like everything will be okay. It feels good to be wanted, to not feel like a freak. Oh. You'll understand when it happens to you. Who's to say it hasn't?
She always knows how to push my buttons.
Ang caught her breath when Marianne got out of the car wearing a hippy skirt. Her heart changed its nervous thundering into some throbbing orb lodged in her throat. Marianne's hips had widened a bit over the summer, and she turned her pole-like frame away and absently touched the cross around her neck.
Why did she turn away? Marianne started feeling even more ridiculous than she had in the morning's mirror. She'd gone all out: skirt, peasant shirt, hair as controlled as the curls would agree to, mascara and lipgloss. She looked good or thought she looked good or maybe she should book it to the bathroom and hide. Ang definitely thought she looked stupid. Fuck. But Marianne made it to the flagpole next to her friend.
Hey. Hey. You look great. yeah, you too. Thanks for wearing the skirt. It looks good on you. You should do it more often. Please, you'd look better in it. Not with these bony hips. Your legs'd make up for it. What lunch do you have? Last. You? Same. Cool. Meet by the... Actually I don't know where... How about here? Yeah, that works. God, I missed you. Angela was in a hug she'd forgotten and that was over far too soon. The bell rang. See ya at lunch! Can't wait.
This story comes from work I did on Measure for Measure. I'm wondering how the dialogue reads, if you have to slow down too much and if it's fairly clear. Also, high school is weird.
Marianne was in a skirt for the first time since her third Easter when Mother presented her with the blushing pink dress complete with lace and ribbon. She was NOT going to wear THAT. I hate pink! Her face bloated to a tomato. It's only a day, an hour really. Just put it on. NO! The skirt tore at waistline, and Marianne was instantly over a knee. Pop! Pop! The noise brought the tears and wailing more than the pain. Now put it on. I don't like it. Well, you don't have to wear it after today, guilt trembling Mother's voice. Marianne sucked the snot back into her nose and wiped the remaining bit on her hand and her hand on her jammies. Promise? Yes, no more pink. Or dresses? We'll see.
She had avoided a skirt for ten years, but Angela had made her swear upon all things holy that she would wear something pretty that first high school day. Marianne had trouble saying No to Ang.
Nearly a year ago, Angela leaned her back against the oak, her sandwich poised for the first destructive bit. Her eyes darted back and forth, frantically taking in the groups of students and noting which ones glanced at her, which pretended they weren't talking about her, which were laughing at her even though she'd done nothing. She folded up her long and ever-growing legs, reached up the treed with her spine and defied them all to mock. down her nose she eyed that sandwich and bit in. A girl without a group positioned herself on the opposite side of the tree and began to chew her salad just loud enough to almost grate on your nerves. I don't know how you can stand to look at them. It's all so beige. Pardon? Them. They all have a kind of blindness to anything new or anything outside of the this ... bubble of a town. I don't like being judged. Please. Most of them probably don't even see you, and those that do only so they confirm their "superiority". So why watch? For information. Okay. The view over here is better though. The tracks? The tracks, the road, the sky, the trees, the birds - wouldn't you rather look at that? Maybe tomorrow. I'm going to go. Sure. I"m Marianne, by the way. Angela. Nice to meet you.
Angela knew this year was going to be different. People were goignt o like her this year. School was new for everyone. The field was level. She had had revelations at church camp this summer. She'd been popular and sought after. The two boys from school had warmed to her finally. She sang to her Awesome God and shared nights whispering about crushes to the girls in her cabin. She never whispered these things to Marianne. She hadn't realized she would even want to. Her mind created boyfriends from her first junior high. Jesus would forgive her these few fibs. The liles were not palatable, but she couldn't spit them out. Then the big chance. Billy had a crush on her. The girls told her to hold his hand, sit next to him at meals, laugh at his jokes, and sneak off when he asked - and he would ask. She did. All of it. And in a little wooded area, she finally had her first kiss.
But Ang, how can it be your first kiss? I've kissed you. It's different. It doesn't mean anything when you kiss me, but when a boy kisses you, it's something. It's a milestone. It feels like you can move forward, like everything will be okay. It feels good to be wanted, to not feel like a freak. Oh. You'll understand when it happens to you. Who's to say it hasn't?
She always knows how to push my buttons.
Ang caught her breath when Marianne got out of the car wearing a hippy skirt. Her heart changed its nervous thundering into some throbbing orb lodged in her throat. Marianne's hips had widened a bit over the summer, and she turned her pole-like frame away and absently touched the cross around her neck.
Why did she turn away? Marianne started feeling even more ridiculous than she had in the morning's mirror. She'd gone all out: skirt, peasant shirt, hair as controlled as the curls would agree to, mascara and lipgloss. She looked good or thought she looked good or maybe she should book it to the bathroom and hide. Ang definitely thought she looked stupid. Fuck. But Marianne made it to the flagpole next to her friend.
Hey. Hey. You look great. yeah, you too. Thanks for wearing the skirt. It looks good on you. You should do it more often. Please, you'd look better in it. Not with these bony hips. Your legs'd make up for it. What lunch do you have? Last. You? Same. Cool. Meet by the... Actually I don't know where... How about here? Yeah, that works. God, I missed you. Angela was in a hug she'd forgotten and that was over far too soon. The bell rang. See ya at lunch! Can't wait.
This story comes from work I did on Measure for Measure. I'm wondering how the dialogue reads, if you have to slow down too much and if it's fairly clear. Also, high school is weird.
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