short story

by moonwatcher

Sarah and I have been friends for months, ever since I transferred to the school in October. We got to know each other in English class and started hanging out every weekend. We watched movies and hung out at Brookside Gardens, talked on the phone, and became best friends. When last night started I thought I knew everything about her, but it turned out I knew very little -- although, I soon realized, I knew even less about myself.

Yesterday was cold and blustery, and snow fell for the first time this winter, about a month earlier than what's usual for Maryland. But it wasn't enough to cancel school, so we all sat through it, knowing it was our last day before Winter Break, and we could make it another measly six hours, and then we would have two whole weeks off for celebrating Christmas. And that night, there would be a Christmas party at Janey Smith's house, and she always invited everybody in the grade, whether she was friends with them or not. Of course, me and Sarah weren't friends with her -- we weren't really friends with anyone at the school except Joe, who Sarah had known since Kindergarten -- but we were going to go anyway.

Joe picked me up around seven in his rusty old Buick, and Sarah was already sitting in front next to him. I climbed in the back seat, and he pulled away, his engine lurching as it struggled to drive on the snow, which was already six inches deep. I buckled my seat belt and looked out the window. The sky was so dark I couldn't see the snow falling, except in the puddles of light under streetlamps, where it drifted down, slowly, dancing in the air and seeming to glow from the eerie light around it.

Sarah and Joe were talking about a movie they'd watched the other day, some fantasy thing about dragons -- Joe was obsessed with dragons -- and they were discussing the metaphor behind the story line.

"It's like the history of the human race, okay? The Dragon Master overcame his background, and trained with the most powerful wizard in the land, and he became the greatest master there ever was! Don't you get it?" Joe was saying. He was emphasizing his words with the hand that held his cigarette, while the other gripped the steering wheel.

Sarah shook her head, her little black pigtails wobbling from side to side, and lit one of her Benson & Hedges 100's. "That's bullshit. You're reading too much into it. It's just like every other myth, like Star Wars or something, the guy destined to become great and going to a teacher to 'learn great mysteries' and then he becomes some fantastic warrior or whatever. Haven't you ever read any Joseph Campbell? It's the same basic formula as all those stories."

"But don't you see how his rising up--" Joe started.

"There's nothing original in it. It's the same as every stupid story; it's tired and cliché. It's too predictable," she said blowing smoke out of her black-stained mouth. "I knew exactly what was going to happen the whole time. The special effects weren't even that great," she added. Joe just shook his head and didn't say any more. I smiled, because it was the same every time they saw one of his movies. He would extol the virtues of the movie for its symbolism and relation to the human pysche, and she would retort that the movie was pathetic, for whatever reason. They could never agree on movies, but for some reason she was willing to sit through the tripe with him. I always thought it was because she kind of liked him.

We reached Janey Smith's street then, and Joe let us out so he could go park the car. Sarah and I got out and walked up to the house, which was lit with white Christmas lights. Through the lacy curtains of the windows I could see the silhouettes of people already inside.

When we got inside, there were a bunch of people already there, and music was blaring from the stereo in the living room where a few people were dancing. We took off our coats and gloves, said hi to some people, then headed to the kitchen where the food was. Sarah always said the only point to going to a party was for the free food.

We found Janey there, talking to people as she mixed the punch, and she welcomed us. We piled up our plates with Christmas cookies and potato chips, and got cups of punch to take back to the living room, where we planted ourselves on the couch to watch the other people talking and dancing.

We were talking to a guy from my math class about the Simpsons when Joe walked in, and he went to the kitchen to get food, then sat down with us. The conversation drifted; a girl Sarah knew joined in and the first guy left to return to the dance floor. Eventually, the girl left too, then Joe went to the kitchen for more food and never came back, and then it was just me and Sarah, talking about everything from U.S. foreign policy to what we'd had for dinner the night before. After an hour or so had passed, we decided to leave, and Sarah went to find Joe.

She came back a few minutes later, saying Joe had ditched us, but that her mom would pick us up. We got our coats and left.

As we walked from the house through the deepening snow, I skidded on the walkway, but Sarah caught me before I fell. Not that this would have been important -- but it was her hand gripping my arm, helping me up, her voice saying "You got it?", the feeling of her through the felt of my coat, and the way her eyes looked when I glanced up at her, dark and shining behind her black eyeliner. It made my heart pound. I had to look away.

"So where'd Joe run off to, anyway?" I asked as we started walking.

"Oh, I think he hooked up with some girl," she answered. "Elizabeth I think? The one in my gym class?" I nodded, but I could see the look on her face; she looked upset. I knew it, I thought. She does like him. Without even understanding it, I could feel my heart sinking. I was sure he liked her back.

"Really?" I said. "I've always thought he liked you."

"Me!? What makes you think that?" We reached the corner where her mom was supposed to pick us up, but it would still be another fifteen minutes or so until she got there.

"Oh…I don't know," I replied, "The way he looks at you sometimes."

"Oh Jesus," she said, and I was so fucking sure for a moment it was in delight. But then: "Well, even if he does, he knows he couldn't get anywhere with me anyway." She dug her hands into the pockets of her jacket.

I looked at her in surprise. Her cheeks were red; perhaps it was just the cold. A few strands of her dark hair hung in front of her eyes, and her lipstick had all rubbed off.

"Why not?" I said, but even before she answered, I began to guess the reason.

"Because," she said, and her voiced softened, "he knows I don't like guys that way."

I felt the very breath stop in my throat. "You--you don't like guys?" I stammered.

She blushed and smiled nervously. "Is that a problem?"

"Of course not," I answered, then fell silent. In the glowing light of the streetlamp above us, I could see the snowflakes drifting down against the blackness beyond. Even under her hood, Sarah's pale face seemed to glow. She looked incredibly beautiful with her black hair, wet from the snow, framing her face, accentuating the darkness of her eyes. She watched me for a moment, then looked away, towards the tire tracks in the slushy street.

We didn't speak after that, but stood shivering together on the corner as the snow fell around us in the dark. After a minute or so, she pulled a cigarette out of her jacket. She tried to light it with a match, but each time it sputtered out before she raised it to the end of her cigarette.

I pulled a lighter out of my pocket and held it up to her cigarette. She moved closer and I flicked the lighter, but the flame went out. She lifted her hands and cupped them around mine to shield the lighter from the wind.

Now her closeness was making me weaker than ever. She was only inches away, and I could feel the edges of her palms on the back of my hands, even through the material of both our gloves. I kept trying the lighter, but the flame continued to go out. I looked up at Sarah, and she was looking right back at me with her dark eyes. Her lips parted, and I could see her breath escaping; she dropped her cigarette and gripped my hands through our gloves. She moved closer still, and soon her face was so near I could feel her breath on my cheek. I forgot the lighter in my hands, I forgot the cold and the snow that surrounded us. The whole world was just her.

Then her lips were on mine, soft and warm. She tasted sweet, like the punch at the party, with just a hint of vodka. I closed my eyes, and just let myself sink into it, as she lifted her hands from mine up to my cheeks.

She pulled away, and I looked at her questioningly. She returned my gaze, as if to see what I thought. I didn't know what to do. I didn't speak; I didn't smile. I just looked at her, with my heart pounding in my chest, and my knees so weak I thought I would fall. She smiled at last, and I returned her smile hesitantly. Then she took my hand in hers, and we stood like that until her mother's car pulled up.

The whole ride home I was aware of her hand gripped in mine, of her leg so close to mine I could feel its warmth. I nervously stared out the window, afraid to look at her, but as we pulled up to my house, I glanced at her, and she was looking back at me. She let go of my hand and unbuckled her seat belt.

"I'm gonna walk Penelope to her door, okay Mom?" Sarah said, speaking for the first time since before we had kissed.

"Okay," her mother said, and I thanked her for the ride and got out of the car with Sarah. We walked up my driveway side by side, and when we reached my front door, we stopped and stood there for a moment.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

I nodded, and took her hand again, then asked, "Are you?"

"Yeah." She pulled me to her in a hug, and I felt her breath hot on my cheek, making my heart pound all the more. "I'll call you tomorrow," she said, then let go of my hand, turned around, and left. I watched her walk back to the car, watched the car pull away, and stood on my doorstep for a long time in the cold, watching the snow fall, before I turned to go inside.

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