Storm Clouds and Sirens Marcie Mallory

I fidget with the hem of my blouse. I wish I had not said I’d wear the yellow one. I hadn’t expected everybody in the coffee shop to be wearing shades of black, with rain clouds over each head and brooding looks on everyone’s faces.

I felt just as bleak about this impulsive life choice as they looked.

Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Wear something bright, something that stands out? The coffee shop is busy, crawling with young people, clinking coffee cups, whistling steam, a little too loud to be a good place to talk. I check my watch and slowly rise out of my seat, trying to decide whether I would abandon ship, when I see a flash of strawberry blonde. I sink back down before I realize it’s not her. I think she has dark hair now anyway, that’s how he’d always liked it. I can’t help but remember another time when against all my doubts, she convinced me to stay. “It’ll be quick,” she said. “Is that supposed to make me want to?” “Of course! You don’t even have to stress about it, it’s really no big deal.”

I wanted to scoff at her. I wanted to hurl, if I’m being more honest, but I kept quiet, not sure how to respond to her nonchalance.

“Then what are you worried about?” she always could read me better than anyone.

“You! Us. Ugh, I don’t know, I just need you to be okay.”

“We’ll always be okay, you know that. We’ve been best friends forever!” Her eyes were sparkling, pure and clear, as she said that. They always looked like honey in the golden hour light, like amber when she was angry. She was making me put down my defenses the way only she was able to.

“Exactly. Won’t this complicate that?”

“I would never let that happen, not with you.” “You can’t promise that.” “But I can, because I know I’ll always love you.” At the time, I believed her, I believed her the way

you have to believe in a life raft in the middle of a hurricane.

“And I’ll always love you.” “I know. Because you’re not like them. You aren’t here to steal away parts of me for yourself.”

“Can’t you forget about them?” I knew she’d sense the pleading in my voice. I felt ashamed. I was not the one who should be begging for anything. Her smile broke my heart.

“You know I can’t. They’re like a bitter taste in my mouth. I need to cleanse my palate, replace it with something sweet, something that reminds me just how delicious something can taste.” Her eyes closed, soft lashes resting against her cheeks, the same smile she has when eating strawberry crepes for her birthday. “What if I can’t give that to you?” “Don’t be silly! You’re the most giving person I know!”

“What if I don’t want to?” The question was a lie. “Please. I need you. You’re the only one I trust now.” At that point, we both knew that I would agree. The first time she had told me the story, I held her. Wiped away her tears while she told me about too rough hands and the too wet mouth. She told me that at first she tried to let him down easy, to play coy, but the only

game he played was the end game. I sat stone still as she whispered the atrocities, the words too harsh in the light of day. The only control she had over what happened was the retelling of the story. I brought her ice for her bruised wrists and hot chocolate for her bruised heart. She lay wrapped in all the blankets I owned, every inch of skin covered except her face, even in the stifling summer heat.

When she finally fell asleep, I cried silently with everything I had. I sank ships with the storm inside my head, doomed every man to be lost at sea to pay for what he had done. Begged sirens to pull them to their watery graves, victims to the hands of women more ferocious than us.

I know she can’t understand why this might mean so much to me. Why I would be giving her more of me than I had ever given anyone else. She believed that the boy who leaned in, mouth puckered tight, orange Gatorade clinging to his wisp of facial hair, was my first love. It was my first real kiss, if you could call it that. All I could think about in that dark room was how badly I wished I could brush my teeth, and wondered how long I could I hold my breath before I died. It took days for me to wash the scent of his cologne off of my clothes, weeks for me to push away the hurt I felt when he called me a whore for NOT letting his sweaty

palms under my favorite sweater. The next day at school he told all his friends he had made it all the way and I had let him, for reasons I didn’t quite understand. But when your best friend squeals and grabs you and asks you how it was, eyes like honey, you say amazing just to see her smile.

“You’re beautiful.” She whispered “Please stop.”

“Don’t cover up, don’t hide. This is exactly what I need.”

“Too make me feel uncomfortable? To be the one in power?”

“Of course not, silly. To see the power in something so gentle.”

I’ll never forget the smell of her sunscreen and vanilla chapstick, the scent soft and warm. Her face looked weak at moments, mighty at others, like sitting in a rowboat on a vast river bank, the tide ebbing and flowing, giving and taking, on the surface gentle, underneath the current all consuming. Like before, time was not to be trusted; some moments felt paused, like I had lived in this version of Eden always, and then others I begged for it to slow down, I wanted to live in this Eden forever. As with Eve, though, we both could not stay. As the end approached I heard her whisper his name. Someone had to bite the apple, and if this is how Adam felt, I might, for once, side with the man.

We stayed close for a while, but I was changed, and she was not. I heard through old friends or maybe Facebook, what’s the difference these days, that she had married a businessman. I looked him up and he was all sharp edges, but I’m sure his hands were smooth from not being used. Their kids got his dark eyes, and that killed me inside. Since then all my flames have been candles instead of firecrackers. None have shined as warmly as hers. And as I look around this coffee shop I can’t imagine meeting anyone that makes me feel like summer around all these dark storm clouds, so I pay for my coffee and leave.