BLUE DEER

PROSE BY OLIVE GOLDMAN

“We’re lost.”

“How can we be lost if we don’t have a destination?”

Fair point. I hate when he’s right. I stay silent in my incorrectness.

“Yeah, exactly, that’s what I thought.”

I hate his smugness. That stupid pride engulfs him and I can see it radiate off his skin. I walk softly on the ground, listening to the quiet, and he goes out of his way to crunch the leaves with his beaters. I hate those shoes. I’ve told him time and time again to buy new ones. As I stare at his stupid, dumb shoes, I realize I’ve never felt more alone in the presence of someone else. I love the quiet, but his silence feels deafening. I can’t pull the words I want to hear from him, or else he’d choke.

“Oh my God, look,” he whispers.

I snap out of my stare and lift my gaze up. It’s a deer. I freeze in the air between the trees and look into its eyes. I can hear my heartbeat, and for a moment, it’s in sync with the deer’s. I can tell, I just know it is.

A hand waves in front of my face and I look at him.

“Hello, is anyone home?”

I stare into his eyes and swat his hand away.

“I was watching the deer, dipshit.”

He lets out a quick laugh and turns his head back to the nonexistent path. The movement had made the deer run away, making my breathing uneven and choppy again and I couldn’t hear my heartbeat anymore. My eyes fall to my hands, to my fingers, to my nails. They’re painted a light blue. Light blue is his favorite color, and ever since I found out that information, I couldn’t help the obsession. My nails have been light blue 28 times, and every article of clothing I stumbled upon that is light blue often finds its way into my closet. It wasn’t always conscious, oftentimes the very opposite. I was a moth to a light blue flame.

The paint on my nails is chipped and it looks terrible, especially considering I’ve never been very fond of light blue. Looking at the color now, here, between these trees, I remember how my favorite color has always been green.

“I feel lost.”

“We already went over this, we aren’t lost.”

I take in a sharp breath.

“Yes we are,” I mumble, like a kid who knows they’re in trouble. It’s unfair of me to blame him for my nails. I painted them all 28 times, and I filled my closet with things that remind me of him. What pains me is I’ve surrendered my green for blue and I’m not even sure he’s noticed. I look up at the figure a few feet ahead of me and whip my hands behind my back.

“What color are my nails?”

“What?”

It was a simple question, how is he confused? His confusion tightens my jaw and makes me sweat.

“What color are my nails?”

Deafening silence.

“You’re so odd.”

Oh my god, he doesn’t know. Even though I shouldn’t, I’ve never felt more embarrassed. I drop my hands to my sides and I see him take a quick glance at them. Boys always think their quick looks are so sly. They aren’t.

“Light blue,” he says.

We stand many feet apart, but I can feel his eyes, and his breath, and his annoyance.

“Are you seriously gonna get weird cause I didn’t know what color your nails are?”

“We are together practically everyday, how can you not remember what color my nails are?”

“Just admit that you’re lost.”

“We aren’t lost.”

Even though his tone has stick and grit to it, I can feel my embarrassment melt away and now it is my turn to be smug. I’ll walk for miles if it means he has to soak in his incorrectness.

Underneath

SCULPTURE BY CLOVER

I could feel tears wanting to pour out, but that would be humiliating. I didn’t want him to take my tears. I felt like I was drowning, and yet I’ve never been so dehydrated. My mouth is dry and I can feel my tongue cracking. He takes a moment and won’t break eye contact with me. I think he is trying to decide if I should cry or not.

“Let’s go home.”

I look to the non-existent path and smile to myself.

“Lead the way, then.”

His eyes dart back and forth and I can see the gears turning within his brain. He realizes, in this moment, here, between these trees, that we are lost.

I think about what color I’ll paint my nails when I get home. I’ll feel wrong taking off the blue, I’m sure, but just because something feels wrong doesn’t mean it is. I would have worn that paint until discontinuation, but now I realize I need to stop at the store and buy nail polish remover. Neutrality is just far too painful. We got to his house hours later, and never once did he admit he was lost. His pride looked worn, though. There were moments of walking when I felt him wanting to break. But he never did. I took off the warmth I hoarded in his room and changed into clean clothes. After a few minutes of quiet understanding, I left. He called out to me when I was in the doorway, a fast

TYLER

“See you later.”

I see him through flashes of people in school, buildings crumbling around me when I make eye contact, and there hasn’t been a wave yet.

Not a smile or a nod. Sometimes I stare at my ceiling and imagine what a smile would feel like. I imagine what would have happened if I didn’t care about nail polish or getting lost or deer. He would think I’m cool, and relaxed, and the kind of person he could be with. He would say my name differently than other people, and listen when I tell him he should buy new shoes.

But I really loved that deer, and I think the deer loved me back.