Post by blakelee on Aug 13, 2009 12:48:50 GMT -5
HER HEART BEATS RED WINE, MY TOXIC VALENTINE
she lays her halo on the pillow that used to be mine[/size][/center]
With the coming of September, came also the coolness of autumn. Blowing in with the season were whipping winds, chilling rains and a spectrum of illnesses attributed to this time of the year.[/size] pages fluttered in the wind, crackling as they were blown about like the dead leaves scattering the ground. A solitary figure under the gazebo slammed a gloved hand upon the pages that were being turned in the wind. She was lying outstretched on her stomach along the bench that wrapped around the whole of the gazebo structure, squinting intently through thick-rimmed glasses at the small text she was trying to hold still. Every now and then, she would pull a stick of chapstick from her jacket pocket and apply it generously.
Textbook
With[/size] a slight cough, Blakelee sat up and slammed her book shut. Sniffing, she shoved her things back into her bag and wrapped her jacket tighter around her body. She had lived here in Salt Lake for a year, and still had not gotten used to its drastically different climate. Back in Wilmington, September meant cool breezes and warm sun. At this time of the year, the ocean was the perfect temperature, and she had it all to herself (the tourists usually diminished significantly after July). Now, here in Utah, she was struggling through a cold, carrying Blistex, tissues, and a thermos full of hot tea and honey with her wherever she went. Even her clothing had changed sooner than it would have back home. In North Carolina, she would have been in jeans, tee-shirts, and sandals. Here, though, she was forced to dress warmer. Today, she was clad in dark jeans, a tunic, and silver boot pumps, and wrapped warmly in a dark peacoat.
Though[/size] she generally hated the weather here, Blakelee had only one more class left in the day, and she didn’t feel like going all the way home to hang out and get warm. She figured that if she studied outside, the autumn chill might make her more focused. Now that she had thrown her books back inside of her book bag, she pulled out of it her tablet, which she turned on and opened Photoshop. With her stylus, she absentmindedly played with the brushstrokes, using them to create different textures on the random layer she had created. She & Him drifted softly from her iTunes, and Blakelee sang along, her voice weaving in and out with Zooey‘s, her heel unconsciously tapping the wooden floor, making up a beat for the song. You Really Got a Hold On Me. It was old, but her favorite. Originally by Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward had covered this (like so many others) on their 2008 album. Though this was a great cover, she would honestly never forget the first time she had heard the original.
It[/size] was the annual end of summer family get together. Blakelee was fourteen years old; Virginia, ten. It had been a day of Sea Doo racing on the waves and boat riding; contests to see who could net the most shrimp or see the largest shark. As the sun began to sink over the Atlantic, Blakelee’s entire family, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, all retired to the Young’s docks. The children dozed in reclining beach chairs while the adults drank maybe a little too much alcohol and lounged around chatting about what was going on in their lives. The older folks reminisced about old times with each other and the dogs lay lazily in a huddle near the center of the dock. The sweet smell of low country broil filled the air and Blakelee licked her lips in anticipation. It was her favorite thing to eat, and this was her favorite time to eat it. The speakers placed around the boat house had been spouting oldies music throughout the day. She hadn’t been paying much attention to it, for she had been out on the ocean most of the time. As the day came to a close, a soft voice from the speakers announced the next song and the opening lick slid soothingly from the radio. Blakelee watched as her father left the low country cooker and walked over to her mother, held out his hand to help her up, and led her to the middle of the dock where they began to dance. Blakelee’s aunt whistled, and her mother’s face grew red as she turned to shush her sister. Blakelee watched as her mother and father danced, Marilyn’s head laid on Shapiro’s broad chest; her hands on his shoulders, his on her hips. They rotated on the spot and were soon joined by other couples. Virginia poked Blakelee, and she swatted her sister away, awed. She had always known her parents loved each other, but she had never seen them act like this, publicly showing affection.[/i]
As[/size] the song came to a close, Blakelee gave a sniff that had nothing to do with the cold that she was getting. Another song soon drifted from the speakers and she was jolted back into reality. Her hand had stopped drawing, stylus poised inches above the tablet screen, which was filled with her screensaver (a slideshow of photographs she had taken). She heard footsteps coming up the stairs to the gazebo behind her, and hastily tapped the screen, beginning to doodle again.
Status: complete[/size]
Wordcount: nine hundred sixteen[/size]
Outfit: clicky [/size][/blockquote]
