Tess wrote a beautiful story, and she gave me permission to put it up on my blog. Enjoy.
I remember. I remember it a thousand times.
Her hands slammed softly onto my shoulders, a concoction of noise escaping her
lips in dramatic effort. My heart fluttering, adrenaline pumping through my
veins, I spun, whirling to face her smiling face, unfocused as she giggled
hysterically.
“Did it work?” she squealed as she teetered on her toes, her body electric with
energy. My eyes adjusted, her features focusing, her soft amber curls quivering
with her quickening, excited breath. I waited. She waited. The late afternoon
sun curled its way through the threads of her scarlet hair, igniting a crimson
fire that danced around her features in the humid winds. We stood, our breaths
in symbiosis as we waited routinely. Her emerald eyes bore into mine, our gaze
impenetrable as we waited for the answer we both knew was coming.
“Hic.”
“Dammit!” she yelled. “Ok, you know the drill, hold your breath. Quick, quick!”
She filled her cheeks up with air, her head bobbing up and down and she pointed
to her cheeks and murmured incoherently through her closed lips.
I concentrated, gusts of carbon dioxide escaping like rapids over my tongue,
teeth, lips. I held myself for a moment, empty, and then drank all the oxygen I
could manage back in to fill the depleted cavities of my lungs. I continued to
swell them with oxygen, thirsty, as though they were limitless, filling every
millimeter and I was sure I would burst. My fingers wrapped around my nose to
prove my sincerity.
I heard her giggle. “No cheatin’!”
I watched her lips. Pink, stained with freckles, I heard nothing as I watched
them mouth the numbers.
“43…44…”
I burst. My lungs exploded and through my lips escaped the toxic substance, my
body expelling every atom of the unusable gas; it had been depleted of its
usefulness. I gasped, my breath labored as I doubled over with the exertion of
starving my body of oxygen. My heart beating rapidly, desperately trying to
regain it’s rhythm.
I felt her anticipation.
“Hic.”
She shrieked. “This one’s a toughie!”
I heard her feet hit the tarmac as she ran. In a heartbeat she had returned:
the water lapped over the sides of the cup as it attempted to regain its place
within the glass.
Instinctively I bent over, my breath still ragged. My curls swung in front of
my vision and I focused on my feet, planted firmly on the ground. Taking the
glass from her delicate fingers I put it to my lips and began to drink
clumsily.
“What are you doing! You’re spilling it everywhere! We’re in a drought you
know!” She moaned as droplets of water escaped the corners of my grin to
explode and melt on the burning tarmac my worn feet had grown to call home. I
straightened, lightheaded with laughter and stumbled over to the yellowing
grass where I collapsed in bliss. “Hic.” I cooed.
Grumbling merrily with exasperation, she threw her body towards mine, our
bodies colliding gently, she straddled my stomach.
She grabbed the sides of my head, her fingers laced through my own curls. She
gazed into my emerald eyes, my freckles dancing as she quivered with joy at this
routine.
And with the most perfect, articulated execution a six year old can have, my
sister whispered: “I’ll give you a hundred dollars if you hiccup again.”
Silence. Her head collapsed onto my chest in excited exhaustion, her ear above
my pounding heart. This was ours. It had always been ours.
Her skin translucent, she faded into the sheets. The monitors flashed foreign
languages at me, languages of unfamiliar heartbeats and oxygen levels. I
pressed my head onto her chest, my curls splaying over her delicate body,
tangling with the cables that snaked their way from her every orifice, as I
listened for the steady rhythm of my childhood that would not echo back its
chorus, her heart faltering, her pulse weak, her breath ragged and muffled.
“I’ll give you a hundred dollars if you stay alive.” I screamed, inaudibly.
One noise escaped her cracked, bleeding lips. “Hic.”
“Dammit.”
The Argentinian version of Take Shape is out!
