I often wonder if there are particular steps one must follow in a particular situation. I can feel her breathing on my arm, its soothing. I like it, who wouldn't? I wish someone could just come to me one day, and teach me how to act normal, and be normal, and do casual normal things. So what I am supposed to do now, after all that's been said and done? In the movies, they would have probably kissed and made up after all those apologies and words. Right? Yeah. But see, that's why I generally don't watch movies with bad plot lines and phony characters, and that's why I feel like shoving knives in my ears when people talk about movies with bad plot lines and phony characters. And that is also why I'm going to sue Stephanie Meyer.
She's just sitting on my bed. Oh yeah, by she, I mean that girl with the hair and the eyes. She's actually going through my stuff, like being a ninja gives her the right.
I think it's rude when she doesn't pay enough attention to me.
I don't even think she's tall enough to be a ninja. And aren't ninjas midgets to begin with? I don't know. My knowledge stops at prehistoric fish and zombies.
I'm like, "how tall are you anyways?"
She looks at me weird.
So I'm like, "don't be a dick, I won't laugh unless you're under five feet."
She thinks for a few seconds. "I'm pretty sure I'm 5''4… why?"
Deep breath. Hold it in. Common body parts… fail. I laugh and look at her in disbelief.
"I think you're the smallest dwarf I've ever met. You probably can't even get into kiddie rides in amusement parks."
"Sometimes Ashley, it's like you're too weird for me. It's not like you're six foot either."
I snort. "Yeah, okay. Maybe not, but at least I'm not considered a Little Person by the government"
She looks at me and rolls her eyes.
I'm left to chuckle for a little while. At first she gives me dirty looks, but slowly gets tired of it and ignores me, and continues to look in my drawers.
I think she's pretty cute for a midget.
"Why don't you paint anymore" She's like.
"Why don't you tap dance anymore?" is my reply.
She looks at me with a look of shock and utter annoyance, "Fuck Ash, must you suck every little information about me out of my mother?"
I smile at her. "I wouldn't be a good…"
There's a brief pause. It seems like a bunch of words are dancing between us, none of them being able to put a name to what we are.
"…A good friend if I didn't know every embarrassing moment of your life"
The word friend feels wrong in my mouth. Kind of like yogurt you know? Like you don't need to chew it, but you can't really swallow it right away. So you just let it sit in your mouth awkwardly until you realise you have to swallow it.
That's why I don't like yogurt and words like friends.
She doesn't seem to notice that off feeling that came along with the word, and I guess that's okay. I guess that's good for her. But for me, I'm just left confused, the type you rather experience alone.
What do words like love mean? What do they imply? I mean, maybe its not because a girl loves you and you love her, that she makes you feel happy and makes you shiver, even when you're warm, that it means anything more than it is. But what if hearts had requirements, what if to conserve it like you would with milk, you had do certain things? The equivalent of putting milk in a refrigerator would be like calling the girl you love girlfriend, and holding her hand in public.
"I still think you shouldn't have stopped painting." She signs as I finally look up at her. She's going through some random papers I haven't touched in ages. Probably filled with half finished drawings from before I met her.
I'm like, "I don't know Spence, I just don't feel like it anymore."
She's like, "Well, you should try again. I wouldn't be a good friend if I didn't push you to do everything I know you can do well.
There's a certain thought that goes through her head as she signs the word friend, I know that because a certain look in her eyes appears and leaves the moment she says the word. She lifts a perfect eyebrow, challenging me.
I quickly wipe the paint off my desk before it dries and I have to scratch it off with my nail. Like the first time that happens, you kinda even have fun scratching away the paint, watching it become those little colourful pencil shavings like things. But after a while, trust me, it ain't so fun anymore.
I look at what I've done for a while, trying to acknowledge every single part of it. Then when it's dry, I put in on the pile with the others. I've had the time today to create a rather big pile of paintings, on cheap sketchbook paper.
Yeah. I guess you're all wondering if this is a flashback, if some other girl that's not Spencer and a dwarf will come in. Well, no. It's actually the current day. I don't know why I decided to paint today, of all days. I mean. After all this time, I could have mistaken a bottle of lube for water colors. Erugh, what a disgusting comparison.
I have about a dozen half decent sketches and paintings and I just, there's nothing here good enough. Just simply, that's it. There's some that I think she would like, and there's some that I like best, and there's some that I imagine she would like for certain reasons, there's some that I like the technique I used and others the idea. And just all in all, there's nothing I feel fit to give to her.
This is so frustrating. I close all the open bottles and shove them into a bag, and try to clean myself a little. I then hear a knock on the door.
"What?" Is what I yell out.
The door slowly opens and Spencer comes in. I give her one of those half felt smiles and try to ignore my frustration and empty hands.
She gives me a curious smile. "Hey you."
I greet her. "Hey midget."
She rolls her eyes and gets closer to me. She picks a bit of dried paint out of my hair and grins while she signs,
"What have you been doing? I didn't see you all day?"
I don't know why I randomly get mad. "Nothing at all Spencer."
I don't like the tone of my voice, even if she can't hear it, I know she can feel it.
"Oh, so you've done absolutely nothing all day?"
I pull a face and shrug.
She examines me for a moment. "What's up with you?"
"Fuck Spencer, nothing's up."
She raises an eyebrow. Spencer's not the type to take anyone's shit, and it seems, especially not mine. She looks at me and signs "Come and see me when you stop psming."
She leaves and I'm stuck with a pile of drawings and this feeling like, incompetence is it? Yeah I think so. Incompetence. Like I have to do something, not only with my hands, but with everything I own, and I just, I'm not able to. I'm not able to make a pretty painting worthy of being given to her, and I'm not able to make her feel like kissing me even if its not important, and I'm not able to make everything okay.
I'm lying on my bed, motionless as I stare at my ceiling. That's what love does to you. And it hits me. Love. My love for another being. My love for someone who's mute and scarred, miniscule and the most perfect person I know. I feel it out, take it in. Sometimes things are just there, so you don't really notice. I guess I didn't realise it completely.
I think I'm in love with Spencer.
Somehow, it doesn't feel weird, that thought going back and forth in my head. It doesn't feel strange to hear it coming out of my mouth.
"I'm in love with Spencer."
It's like it makes perfect sense after I make sure I don't have an electrical gadget attached to my head that might interfere with my thoughts. I take all that I drew and put it in the garbage.
I quickly make my way to Spencer's house.
I'm like, "Hello Spencer's mother! I was wondering if Spencer came back from my house because she accidently talked to my twin who happens to be a total d-word. I want to fix this mistake as soon as I can before she hires a Hit-Man."
Paula is like, "I thought you were smarter than that Ashley, usually sane people keep those types of twins locked up in the cellar."
"Touché oh great creator of Spencer. If I remember I'll put a star next to your name."
"She actually left a few minutes ago; she said she was going to the park." She smiles at me before going to back to doing whatever she was doing. I hope it has something to do with baking and cupcakes and pink icing.
"Okay! Bye! We will meet again!" Maybe it my imagination or my intense love for cupcakes and all that is baked and sacred, but I think I heard a laugh from the kitchen.
I pop my skate up as I reach the closest park to Spencer's house, and see her on the swings, her feet swaying slightly. She doesn't notice me, so I take a few minutes to breath in my surroundings. I feel the cold October wind against my skin and the delicate, subtle rays of the setting sun through my hair. The purples and the blues, the pinks and the oranges in the sky remind me of when Spencer and I first met. I walk slowly towards her.
I'm like, "Hey fattie, I think your mother has entered sainthood by the fact that I do believe that she is baking something right now."
She jumps slightly before saying, "You bleed yet?"
"Well I'm not Pmsing anymore if that's what you mean!"
She looks at me, unimpressed.
Look at my feet and kick innocent pieces of dirt. Yes I know, I can be heartless sometimes. "I stalked you because I wanted to tell you that... well... that I think that you are cute..."
She raises an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied by my lie that is not really technically a lie.
"OKAY you win Spencer, I came to say sorry."
She makes a hand motion that basically tells me I'm not finished.
"God Spencer okay, I'll admit it, I was a dick. Now are you done with making me suffer?" I start to smile but then realise I should be frustrated, so I quickly make it disappear.
I go on the swing next to her and we watch the sun fall slowly. Somewhere along the way her hand meets mine.