#nrll

                     lip of

       scuffed            your

the                                   elbow

while I eye the threads

of your plaid shirt, soft

at the seam of your shoulder and chest

from my constant graze of

of

            contour                                  your

the                                                                              collarbone.

I am not listening to Margot’s

silence, or Royal’s lies,

but dwelling in your every cell

and grasping at the fraying fringes

of                                                                                                         this moment,

and                                                     this moment,

and                 this,

Olive opened her eyes to a canopy of twinkling emeralds. She tilted her head slightly and rays poured through a gap in the branches, bathing her cheeks in their warmth. There was a pleasant breeze that made the leaves hum as they rustled. It caressed her skin and made her body sing too. Breathe in and out, in and out.

She loved living in this city so intertwined with history, buildings from centuries gone planted right next door to a Tesco, but it was here at the University Parks that she felt most at home. The earth went on for thousands of miles beneath her, it had been there longer than any building could claim and would be there long afterwards. Her elbows rested in the crook of the tree roots, her lean legs splayed out and were supported by the topsoil, her fragile back propped up by the spine of the tree. She dug her hands into the ground and rolled the damp clumps between her fingers. Past, present, and future; all together. Breathe in and out, in and out.

Her brother, Greg, was leaned against the other side of the tree, his head resting on a knot. They had been inseparable growing up, like Irish twins, except that they weren’t Irish. They were Italian. Their mother had been the eldest of eleven, so there was a constant onslaught of new family members popping into the scene. No matter how many girl cousins or school friends she gained, it was always Greg at her side.

Every loss, every gain, he was there.

They had been coming to the Parks as long as Olive could remember. As tots, they crowded the Crepe-o-mania truck begging their parents for second breakfast before Church. After a couple years, only Dad brought them and they lingered even after the bells had rung. Then not too long after that, it was only the two of them; they stayed most of the day, and only he ate a crepe. Every Sunday they were there. Any passerby would say they looked like a normal happy family, a pair with chocolate curls that bounced along the path with smiles in tow. But Olive knew that wasn’t all true, so did Greg; but he didn’t like to think on it. Neither did she, really.  

His watch beeped. It was time. Her doctors had assured her that she was well prepared for this, that there was nothing to worry but she wasn’t sure how much she believed them. Suddenly her brother’s upside down face appeared among the green.

“Olive, time to go!”

“Can we just stay just a bit longer?”

“Not today.”

 “Why not?”

“We need to get some food remember?”

“I know.”

“So up you get.”

He helped her off the ground, then put his arm around her shoulders, guiding her along the center path towards the South Walk. She couldn’t keep from clenching and unclenching her hands. Part of her wanted to dig her heels into the ground and refuse, but she couldn’t listen to that voice. Not anymore.

            “I’m right here, okay? I’m right here.”

She let his words surround her and linger on her skin, like a warm blanket on a rainy day. She let his words drip down her back, all the way down to her feet, until they had weaved their way into her very cells, until they found their way into the blood that pumped her heart, until they were carrying her unabashedly forward.

            As soon as they were in line, Olive felt herself shrink as though she were five years old again and they were all there: Mum, Dad, Greg, and her.  She closed her eyes. She couldn’t think that way; be here, be here. So she expanded herself back up to her eighteen-year old self. She opened her eyes and found herself already at the front of the line, greeted by a man holding a t-shaped mallet – like a magic wand ready to transform her.

            “What can I get you?”

            “A crepe with maple sugar please.”

Greg gave her a gentle squeeze, then kissed her on the forehead.

            “And you, young man?”

            “A crepe with chocolate.”

            “That will be six pound fifty.”

Greg paid while Olive watched the griddle. He waved his wand around, moving the batter in a perfect circle, and then flipped the crepes until their sides had an equal golden hue.  

            The smell of sugar hit her like a tidal wave and started to bring her down. She gripped Greg’s hand as a battle raged in her head:

            -You can’t eat that.

            -I can.

-It’s a giant pancake. All carbs covered in sugar.

-Yeah, it is a pancake and I feel for it, so I’m going to eat it.

Even though she knew she could have it, her hands trembled as she reached out for the plate.

            Greg led her over to a picnic table where they sat opposite each other and rolled up their crepes like scrolls. They picked up their crepes and when he nodded, both took a bite. 

            She turned her brain off. She couldn’t experience this moment properly if she judged it. That’s what she was told anyway. She let her mouth just taste it. The simple sweetness melted on her tongue. She had forgotten how delicious these were.

Olive heard a shuffle of footsteps behind her. It wasn’t long before Rachael, Greg’s girlfriend of about 2 years, came around into view. She gave him a hug from behind then joined them at the table. At first she hadn’t particularly liked Rachael. Maybe it was her shiny blond hair, or her pixie sized figure, or the way she always looked put together, or the fact that Greg would rather spend more time with her. Maybe. But Rachael had brought her a mix cd when she was in hospital over Christmas, which made Olive like her a little bit more. She listened to it and learned that Rachael loved Glen Hansard too, and Ray LaMontagne, and Florence + The Machine, and all of her favorites. After that, she knew they would get along fine.

She continued eating, trying to let her hunger cues guide her instead of that voice resisting in her head. In the end, there were only a couple bites left. Given that it was her first crepe in over seven years, Olive felt proud of having finished that much. In the periphery, there was a flurry of motion. A sparkle. A diamond. Breathe in and out, in and out. There was a ring on Rachael’s finger, on her fourth finger. That was definitely her left hand. Breathe in and out, in and out. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t have proposed. Greg would have told her.

All she could see was the sparkle.  

Greg whispered in her Rachael’s ear, her eyes darted down to her ring and her hand slipped off the top of the table. Both of their cheeks flushed. Olive felt a smile stretch out her cheeks but she wasn’t altogether sure how it got there because her stomach had dropped. Breathe in and out, in and out.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you!” said Rachael.

It was a chirpy response but Olive could sense a creeping awkwardness spilling into their laps.

“When did he ask you?”

“Olive, I-”

“Not too long ago, less than a month.”

“You were in the middle of your exams, I didn’t want to make you more stressed,” he added.

She had known this day would come eventually, but she wasn’t expecting it to be this soon. This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t feel her toes. Breathe in and out, in and out.

 “So I guess we are going to be sisters now,” Rachael commented.

She didn’t want a sister. She had to share Greg already.

“I guess so.”

The non-feeling had spread from her toes up to her knees and was rising fast. Olive didn’t know what to do next. Her whole body was tingling in discomfort, yelling at her run.

“Do you mind if Rachael joins us for the rest of our walk?” Greg asked.

“You guys go ahead.  I have my appointment soon anyway,” Olive said as she got up.

“You sure? I can still take you, it’s not a problem.” Greg said, his forehead showing lines of concern.

“Yeah yeah. I am just going to jot home and journal about the crepes then head over. Don’t want to forget to do it.”

Olive waved at their backs as they continued along the West Walk. It wasn’t a lie, not completely. She was supposed to journal about today and then head to see Sarah, her therapist, but she didn’t feel up to it. Sarah would want to hear about her tackling a fear food, but she couldn’t imagine talking about that right now. All she could think of was that diamond. As her brain was taken over by a fog, she let her feet lead her. They usually knew what they were doing. They took her out by Keble; they seemed to be following the trees. 

She opened her eyes. She hadn’t been asleep, but her feet had carried her to the door of a house on St. Giles Street. A pale yellow house with a red door. The door opened and she was met by a small but strong-built woman with white hair.

“Hello there sweetie.”

“Hi.”

“How can I help you?”

“I’m not quite sure. Where am I?”

“This is the Friends Meeting House.”

“Oh.”

“Would you like to come inside?”

“Is that alright?”

“Of course, of course. Come on in. I’m afraid we’ve already had our meeting for worship but we are having tea in the Garden Room if you would like to join us.”

“Sure, thank you.”

She followed the woman and the sounds of bustling people into a room of windows. There were little ones in the corner drawing and making arts and crafts, then all other ages drifting about the room, talking in clusters or helping distribute beverages and biscuits. There was something about the light, the way it permeated the room and enveloped every person, that Olive found comforting. It stirred something in her, but she couldn’t place it. She settled into one of the seats along the perimeter of the room.

“What’s your name?” The woman handed Olive a biscuit and a cup of tea as she sat next to her.

“Olive.”

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Rose.”

After a moment of silence, she continued.

“You look like you’ve got something tossing in that head of yours Olive.”

“It’s been an interesting day.”

Olive tilted her head towards the windows.

 “My brother’s getting married,” she finally said.

“How wonderful.”

“It is, I’m happy for him. Truly I am. I just- I found out today on accident. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me before. We’ve never had secrets.”

“I’m sure he had a reason for keeping it from you.”

“Yeah. I know he didn’t do it hurt me.”

“Is it just you and your brother or do you have other siblings?”

“Just us two.”

“Ahh, its bound to be a big change then.”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen. I know he had to leave at some point, go off and live his own life, but I’m not sure I’m ready for it.”

“Well, just because it’s unknown doesn’t mean it’s necessarily bad.”

“True…” Olive conceded.

“That’s okay, you know that don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Anything could happen. Both bad and good.”

Olive bit her lip.

            “I don’t know if you are a spiritual person Olive but one thing I can tell you, is to try and have faith. It seems like your brother loves you very much. Just remember and trust in that. You might not have the same relationship with him after he gets married, but it could develop into something even better than you can imagine right now.”

She must have scrunched her face unknowingly for Rose smiled and reached for her hand.

“Whatever the future holds, if you lift it to the light you will find the truth.”

Someone called for Rose, so she excused herself then headed to help in the kitchen. As she thought over their conversation, Olive drank more of her tea, even had a couple more biscuits, and watched the light dance among the feet on the floor.

             They used to go to Church but they had by no means been a religious family. Mum had been raised Catholic so that was they were. Although it was just for show because Dad didn’t bring them on his own. All she had left was vague memories of being forced to wear itchy dresses on holidays and repeated reenactments of Noah’s Ark or the downfall of Adam and Eve with Playmobil in Sunday school. She didn’t remember any sense of community or tenderness. What was a Friend anyway? Her eyes scanned the room until they found an indication. On the edge of the table with the teapots was a thick red book with fading gilded letters that read ‘Quaker Faith & Practice’ and beneath it ‘The book of Christian Discipline of the Yearly Meeting of the Religious Society of Friends (Quakers) in Britain’. Quakers. It sounded familiar; she had probably learned it at some point in college.

            The clock struck one. The patter of feet was growing steadily fewer. She felt a tap on her shoulder, it was Rose. There were only a few people left in the room besides them.

            “You can to stay if you’d like but we’re finishing up in here.”

            “Oh right, of course. I’ll head out.”

“Can I call someone for you?”

“No, no thank you.”

“Do you know your way back from here?

“I think so.”

Rose walked her back to the front door.

“You are always welcome back sweetie.”

“Thank you.”

I realized as the rain fell around me.

I hugged my sweater closer,

still nothing I did made things better.

  I realized as the rain fell around me

that I had only failed today, not a lifetime.

Still, nothing I did made things better.

Even the puddles laughed at me.

  That I had only failed today not a lifetime

was an assurance that mixed with the rain and fell away.

Even the puddles laughed at me.

My jacket needed to be as warm as my mothers arm’s around me.

  Was an assurance that mixed with the rain and fell away

my only source of comfort?

My jacket needed to be as warm as my mother’s arms around me,

but she wasn’t here.

  My only source of comfort:

I hugged my sweater closer,

but she wasn’t here.

(not that you’d remember)

You were tired from your day and

            unwilling

to look around. But I did.

And I saw you.

Saw your beauty, your

uncaring

beauty.

In the end, we

            crumpled

like the tiny breadcrumbs that dropped beneath our feet.

The ducks never got to appreciate them because

your head hurt from all the yelling and you needed something

to swallow the advil. I

            broke

the bread, it soothed your mind, and the ducks were

            forgotten.

This is a play that I am working on entitled The Bench. It is still very much a work in progress, there are parts of it that I am still frustrated with and can't seem to figure out. So any and all constructive criticism is welcome! Enjoy!