#detouch

you’re just wishing this could happen anytime besides how but now is the time this is happening and it’s happening now and how’s the time it’s happening it’s happening now and now’s the—

the gasp you make presses your hands against your mouth in a tight, watery sob. you’d just slipped to the side of the guest house, and tried to be quiet. just think about it like having to hide from a murderer, you think. just think about it like you have to shut up. it’s not even too cold out.

hard gasps. those are rough. and your hands are numb. they’re completely without feeling. your fingertips. your brain’s so foggy. you’re going to have to apologize because this is weird, it’s weird, you know this is weird—

you think you hear the front door open and theo step outside. it hasn’t occurred to you that a freak out is even weirder when you’re having it practically sobbing and crouched against somebody’s house. but the fat, awful tears slip between your fingers and everything tastes like salt. you should’ve just gotten in your car and got... out. and it would’ve been weirdest (you would’ve barfed from all the guilt) but it would’ve been better than being caught.

        “Theodora...”

        Mary hesitates, but she feels a tug. It’s Theo’s eyes; they hook her, every time.

        Why does she do this? Why is she like this? Her hands frame Theo’s face, thumbs brushing her cheekbones, holding her still so that she can steal a kiss from her parted lips. She sighs at the feeling, the spike of pleasure, warmth, desire, the feel of Theo’s response, the promise that yes--for now--for a moment or a minute or perhaps the whole night--she is wanted. Wanted, and seen, until the frost creeps back in, those eyes turn away, and the gloves come back on.

        “Yes,” she breathes. “Please. Please.” If only for the night, please let her be seen.

trish likes the crain family. she likes them because sometimes she can imagine what it’s like to have a family around them.

(mom’s always mad at her. she knows why. she’s stupid and she does stupid things. she’s too big for her age and she’s too tall. she cries too much and too loud and she’s learned to be quiet when she cries instead of loud because if mom hears it she’s going to be in trouble. and if she wasn’t always so stupid then maybe mom wouldn’t be so mad. but she thinks she doesn’t know what she’s doing wrong.)

she’s sitting at the table with theo. she tucks her hair behind her ears (when they’re older, theo will watch her do exactly the same thing), a big motion that it takes her whole body to do. there’s a rubber band ball squeezing in her gut all the time and some little things make it looser. really, nothing does.

her eyes are big and green and her hair used to be in a messy ponytail, all these bright yellow curls, and it slowly fell out of the ponytail holder and now it’s soft and so gold it’s around her shoulders. this is why she keeps tucking it neatly away.

“i wish I could stay here. with you,” her voice is small, really small, like maybe a talking cricket or something so small, “mom would be mad at me. I have to do an audition in the morning. the thing for tv commercials. i just don’t... want to.”

she pouts. mom’s always kind of there, in her head. pats, don’t be ungrateful. I sacrifice everything for you and you complain? so like a spoiled brat.

thinking about it makes her want to cry. the rubber band ball gets tighter.

“acting’s— not like the movies yet. i want it to be. like scarlett, in gone with the wind you watched with me. i want to be beautiful and so good everyone can watch me on a tape like that. but now it’s boring and it makes me tired. i don’t like any of the grownups i have to talk to but pretend i like. i want to go to school tomorrow and just— eat lunch with you.”

trish’s feet almost touch the floor. she hates this. she doesn’t want to be bigger. (mom always gets mad.)

                a  lifetime  of  secrets  could  be  told  by  merely  looking  at  someone’s  hands  .  cracked  or  weathered  ,  manicured  and  smooth  .  a  tell  of  where  a  person  had  been  and  virtually  where  they  were  going  .  olivia  ,  for  instance  ,  had  the  hands  of  a  creator .  unpolished  nails  though  filed  smoothly  ,  hands  soft  and  pale  though wrinkled around  curves  that  had  bent  at  the  will  of  a  pencil  or  an  infant’s  finger  .  from  a  young  age  ,  theo  had  clothed  her  fingers  beneath  gloves  that  built  a  wall  between  herself  and  the  outside  world  .  those  gloves  had  more  to  say  than  her  hands  ,  and  the  world  had  so  much  to  show  her  just  beneath  her  fingertips  .  olivia  had  counted  them  once  ,  to  make  sure  she  was  as  perfect  as  they  knew  she  would  be  .  ten  tiny  fingers  with  ten  tiny  toes  .  she  was  older  ,  now  .  beautiful  .  and  as  olivia  looked  her  over  with  cautious  eyes  ,  a  smile  spread  over  her  lips  as  she  saw  those  wonderful  hands            bare  ,  unclothed  .  they  were  sensitive  ,  were  they  not  ?  the  way  they  saw  this  world  was  different ,  marred  .  but  necessary  .    ❛  i  almost  forgot  what  your  hands  looked  like  .  ❜  it  comes  as  a  gentle  murmur  ,  voice  merely  above  a  whisper  .   ❛  i’ve  missed  you  . ❜

     theo looks at you like there’s something else she wants to say, or like she isn’t really talking to you at all; for a split second when her eyes cast up and skate over the porch looking for something that isn’t there, she looks so much like nell you almost cringe. it takes a moment to school yourself. to remind yourself that nell is gone (what you saw in the apartment was a hallucination, or some psychological manifestation of a fear because she had been on your mind almost all day). 

         “ you don’t? “     comes out of your mouth tired and accusatory. you don’t? sounds like of course you do. we all know how we got there, how we got to the point of giving up, how we twisted what mom and dad did to us, what they passed onto us, into a blame game and came out the other side with nothing but resentment. 

because shirley has blamed you for years. because you blame dad and dad blames mom, and theo blames luke and luke blames himself. and nell... nell just blamed the house. 

               ❝ don’t tell your father i told you this , ❞ she says , turning and glancing away from the blueprint momentarily to look at her middle child. ❝ but i think you got all your rhythm from me. i used to dance ,  in school. it helped me a lot. ❞ an activity that involved not touching people ,  that she had to concentrate on: it did wonders. maybe it’s something theo would want to do in the future. olivia knows she will wholeheartedly support her ... even if it means being around entitled parents who think their children are the next best thing. ❝ what’s that song i keep hearing you listen to? it’s catchy. almost makes me want to dance myself. ❞ when was the last time she and the kids just heard a good song together and danced to it? she can’t even remember.