Natalie and Kara

An extremely short story from a while ago:

They sat on the wall in front of her house. The trees shading them were gorgeous shades of rich oranges and reds. Neither one wanted to start the conversation. It was going to be awkward and messy.

Natalie stared at an ant crawling across the sidewalk so intently that everything around the ant went fuzzy. It was carrying a piece of red leaf. Possibly to its anthill. Or perhaps it would just keep the leaf for itself. Nature could be so giving, but it could also be selfish. Nature didn’t give a damn if you were dying or a glutton.

Such is the way of God. Or whoever was floating around up there.

Kara was the one to start talking. She spoke of pianos and purple skies. She mentioned horses and ketchup. Rambling about nonsense was a specialty of hers. Talking about reality was not.

“I dropped the ketchup in the piano while I was tuning it. Now the C above high C sounds odd.”

“Kara, stop.”

“I know,” she sighed. “Things are different now.” The times when Natalie would lie in bed with Kara and listen to her talk about whatever subject floated into her head were in the past. It was saddening because Kara had the sweetest voice. Every word flowed like a concerto. Every syllable seemed to be meticulously chosen, but it wasn’t. That was just Kara. Natalie missed her voice—her songs and words, her moans and cries.

That time was gone. Empty shells and glassy eyes were left, and neither girl knew what could bring life back into the void.

“I can’t take it back. And I don’t want to.”

“I figured that out. I can read you like a book,” Natalie smirked. Kara rarely did things that she regretted later. She was rash and impulsive, but everything she did had an intention behind it—regardless of whether it was conscious or not. Nothing happened without a purpose.

The ant had disappeared into a hole in the sidewalk. His fellow workers were congregating on the little mound surrounding the opening. They all had offerings of sustenance and were diligently working toward winter food reserves.

Natalie hadn’t looked at Kara once. When they first met, Kara’s facial piercings looked foreign to Natalie. After only a few days, though, they were familiar features, just like a little nose or beauty mark. She wanted to know if Kara’s youthful face had grown worry lines or blemishes, but she couldn’t bring herself to look. It would hurt too much.

Besides, she knew that Kara’s lovely face wouldn’t have acquired anything detrimental to her exquisiteness. Someone else was lucky. Someone else could hold her and look at her face and know that she would be there when he awoke.

Natalie wasn’t sure when she would be okay with that knowledge. Maybe never. Maybe tomorrow.

“Your birthday’s next week. You’re gonna be 21. Any plans?” Natalie had forgotten her own birthday.

“I’m probably going to drink a Jack and coke and be done with it.”

“You do that every night.”

“I’m also going to cut off all my hair.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.” Where Kara was open and intuitive, Natalie was stubborn.

“I can read you like a book, too, Nat.” Natalie flinched. “You’re not going to cut your hair. You think it’s the only thing that’s pretty about you.”

“Exactly.” The ants were almost all inside now. The sky was turning red and orange to match the trees as the sun left half-circle flashes in Natalie’s eyes when she blinked.

“Do you think we’ll ever come back here?”

“No. This is over.”

“Yeah.” And Natalie knew this little session of closure had ended. It was time for a new period in their lives. One without them together. It was time to find out how to live separately. This was good for them. When one would breathe, the other would exhale. It was like that in bed and life. Now was a new age.

Natalie realized that she was wrong. Maybe she could be okay that night. It wouldn’t take until tomorrow. It certainly wouldn’t take forever.