Margot

 

           Every morning, she was there. Always, she sat crumpled like a paper swan, her long skirt fanned on the floor. The crooked lines of her wrists stood out, thin brushstrokes of white, delicate against the brown tile floor. She applied her makeup languorously, languidly, but clutched her mirror between two fingers like her last lover’s hand. Black eyeliner, some times plum; two dark slashes under her eye, preparation for a masquerade, her protection. She’d smooth her skirt, her fawn legs visible at awkward angles underneath, and contemplate the thin petals of her blonde hair in the mirror. With a sigh, she’d unfold and leave.

I would see her half a dozen times a day. She walked fluidly, cat’s eyes down, a ghost of a more elegant time, skirt dangling from thin hipbones. Her skirts were olive, or perhaps floral, in a pattern that could never quite be defined. They looked as though they had been retrieved from the trunk of an attic, and while not stylish, belonged to her like the leaves of a tree. She clutched her books, arms across her chest, her sole anchor to the modern world. Without them, I am certain she would have lifted away, like Wendy and the Lost Boys, drifting on the breeze. She walked completely evenly, inspecting the patterns of cracks in the ground. Her skin was nearly translucent, her skeleton a sharp contrast to her trousered, tanned, bouncing peers. If they could be considered her peers. It always seemed as if she was already gone, not grown but fully formed, and destined not for homecoming and algebra two and letterman jackets, but for absinthe, dark walled flats and the Seine.

Sometimes I’d see her in the bathroom, smoking. And I’d always leave quickly, for that was not allowed, but not before I saw that she did not giggle and huff like the other girls, enjoying the thrill of forbidden activity and being, in their minds, “grown up”. No, she was a different creature, taking long, languorous drags on her cigarette, holding its holder with her two pleading fingers, holding the smoke in her lungs and softly releasing it. Her face sighed, her mouth relaxing, cage doors opened. She needed this. She was beautiful.

I was always invisible, lost to her in a world of colors too bright and chaos too loud, and I ached to find fault in her. Once, after a heavy rain, three sparrows bathed in a puddle that had wreathed itself across the red brick of the courtyard cobbles. They fluttered and dipped, throwing up droplets of water that caught the feeble light and scattered it in every direction. The sparrows were just glued clumps of feathers, streams of light skittering across the oil slicked water. I watched her, watching them, and looked for the greed or avarice I expected to see in her cat’s eyes. But then she smiled, and I realized that all that I was seeing was longing, and went away. 

One day, she couldn’t put on her eyeliner. The black pencil spiraled down her face, creating Maori tribal tattoos. The small mirror fell to the floor. When I saw her later that day, I almost missed her. She was on the second story corridor, as usual, but she was running, running wildly, her fluid ease completely erased. It was an action so alien to her that even when I saw the glint of her cat’s eyes I did not recognize her. She began dancing, twirling faster and faster, like a sparrow in a pool of water. She spun, stopped, hips askew, and jetéd grandly. Straight over the cracks in the ground, straight over the red brick balcony. Then, I could not move quickly. The whole world was frozen at her speed, the light shattered like shards of glass. When I languorously, finally arrived at the balcony edge, I went blind; but I saw her fawn legs, visible at awkward angles, underneath her long skirt.

 

      

Author's Note

This needs some editing, but I'm not really sure what, exactly, is necessary. Feel free to tell me what you think.

Reviews

[Poppy]

This is amazing, it's a beautiful piece of writing. I love the unusual descriptions of the girl. Although I think the mixed images of birds and the cats in your descriptions of her are possibly a bit confusing, but that's just my own personal opinion.

Really enjoyed it and to be honest don't think anything needs changing. I'm looking forward to reading some other work of yours.