-1-
An iced unsweetened green tea should be banned from the Thinking Cup menu.
Why the hell would you order that ?
It’s called water and water is free.
I really want to snark off to Sev about this, but I can’t. Because her date ordered it.
She and Ethan are sitting at one of the bean bag chairs talking about going to see a movie at The Cameo. He wants to see some dumb sports documentary and she wants to see something in Italian.
I don’t get it.
But I get it.
From my observations Ethan Morrow is a borderline alcoholic unemployed douche bro but…. he’s also her guy.
Her hot as fuck all-American blonde hair blue eyed guy.
“When did that happen ?,” Morris asks, lurking behind me to observe the couple.
“I have no idea,” I shrug.
One day Sev is asking me to teach her Excel so she can schedule out Unnamed Team study hours and the next she’s switching to the later shift so she can go running in the morning. She’s even spent the night at Ethan (Well, Matthew Saylor’s) house claiming it’s because Matthew is now the subject of her midterm short film.
I don’t even say goodbye to her as I head out of The Thinking Cup for Principles of Accounting. Since opening with Morris put me in a sour mood tips had been low. I’ve start my long walk from The Thinking Cup to campus. I only make it one block when I hear someone revving their engine at me.
I turn to see Phillip’s Mustang.
I wave him off, but he keeps following me, revving the engine.
“It’s cold as balls outside,” he says rolling down the windows. “And I fixed the heat.”
It is cold as balls out here.
I take a hesitant step and get inside the car. I’m instantly enveloped by the warmth.
And the weed smell.
“Where to Miss Daisy ?,” he asks in a shitty southern accent.
“Accounting.” I breathe.
“So… you need gas money ?,” he asks as he starts the car.
“I need music that isn’t inoffensive adult alternative.”
Truthfully, I had less than half a tank for the rest of the week and I needed to save it for when I worked nights.
He starts blasting The Killers. His car is so old it only has a tape player. The sound doesn’t have that in your face crispness--which I love.
We get to campus in less than one song and he scores a space right in front of the Humanities Building.
“Thanks,” I say.
He gets out of the car with me.
“I could see if they’d hire you at the library,” he says, shouldering his bookbag.“You don’t have to do much and it’s on campus.”
Phillip follows me up the steps and into the building. I spot Jonah Morrow reading at a bench outside of our Russian History professor’s office . He sees me , but seeing I’m with Phillip he ducks his head back into his e-reader.
“Are you following me ?,” I ask Phillip.
“Honors Physics lab,” he tells me.
“Nerd.” I throw at him. “And no thanks. I kind of like being a coffee girl.”
He pulls a few pieces of his hair away from his face. He misses a piece and I have to will myself not to move it for him.
“So, I have to pick up trash on the side of the road for 100 hours. Even roadkill--”
“Ugh, gross.”
“Tell me about it--”
“Has picking up dead possum rehabilitated you ?,” I ask
“I think if I pick up another used condom in the woods I’m going to start thinking the wildlife have figured out how to prevent more than forest fires.”
“Ugh, ew,” I laugh and he laughs too.”But seriously. what’s up with you ?”
He shrugs.
“I’m trying to be good. But it’s just so damn hard sometimes. Harder without you--”
Shit. I know where this is going. And I don’t know how I plan to respond, but I can feel my stupid heart getting soft. Phillip came back for me. Something I would have never predicted.
“What are you saying ?,” I ask
“I don’t know…let’s hang out…I won’t run away anymore.”
“You said some pretty horrible stuff to me. You were an asshole--”
A girl in tight jeans with a crop cut and large pink Beats walks right through our conversation. She’s playing some kind of loud emo-punk.
“Cool sound,” Phillip says to her as she passes.
She smiles politely and keeps walking. My eyes follow her down the hall.
“Anyway, I think I can be better…” Phillips starts.
I don’t hear the rest because I’m watching the girl disappear out the building.
“Phillip, I’m sorry. Can we do this later ?” I say stepping away from him.
“I mean it’s kind of--”
“Later, I promise. I gotta go. Sorry,” I say and take off out the door, after the girl in a full run. I’m vaguely aware of Jonah at my heels.
I do a quick scan on the steps and I spot the girl a few feet away from me about to get lost in the between classes crowd. I bolt down the steps after her, I end up knocking over several people in my wake.
“Corinne!” I hear Jonah call distantly from behind me.
“Hey!,” I shout to the girl. “Hey ! STOP !”
Everyone turns to me and I finally reach the girl. She turns to me alarmed and I get a look at the sleeve of her jacket.
BAL.
“Where did you get that jacket ?,” I ask.
She puts her pink headphones around her neck and looks at me like I’m crazy. Then again, I guess mowing down half the Eastham population to ask about a jacket could qualify as a kind of crazy. Jonah finally catches up to us and when he sees the jacket he just stares.
“Uh, regional conference…” she says and smiles uneasily. “Oh, are you a sister here ?”
“Me ? No, oh god, fuck no.” I say quickly, Jonah kicks my foot and realize I may have offended her. “I mean no, I’m not. Do you go to school here ?”
“Sort of,” she says. “I’m trying to transfer. I used to go to Johns Hopkins.”
“I’m Corinne,” I introduce myself. “And so, to clarify… you are BAL ?”
“That’s me. Brooke Anabelle Louis,” she smiles.
“Jonah,” he introduces himself.
“Did you know our friend Abigail ?,” I finally ask. “Dark hair…she’s like super into poetry ?”
Brooke thinks and shakes her head.
“Did she go to Waverly High or Hopkins ?,”
“I don’t know, Please think. I—she jumped off a bridge,”
“Oh, shit,” Brooke says with recognition. “Abigail Winters, right ?”
My hands fly to my mouth and I make some kind of sound. Jonah grabs my arm in shock.
“Oh my god,” I say. “You knew her ?”
The girl shrugs uneasily.
“Not really. I mean, I DJ part-time and she was at a dance I was DJ-ing the night it happened. The investigators questioned me because I’d talked to her right before…they were sweet girls. I still can’t believe they jumped off the bridge--”
“They?,” Jonah said. “There was more than one ?”
Brooke looks at us like we should know this.
“Yeah, Abigail Winters and Blythe Turner.”
----
We skip class and Jonah drives us to the Plymouth Pride Center. A greeter at the door asks us if we need anything and we tell her we just want look around. Since school is still in session the center is mostly empty.
Following Brooke’s instructions we walk to the very back of the center where an entire wall has been turned into a timeline of photos, like a living scrap book. In red bubble letters someone has cut out the phrase Hearts and Breaker’s Valentine’s Day Dance 2010 and below them is a collage of thousands of photos.
I spot Abigail in one of the photos immediately, her hair is in those perfect princess curls. She’s wearing a short black dress with heart pattered tights underneath and little red heels. Her pink coat is draped over her arm.
Standing beside Abigail is a stunning blonde girl who must be Blythe. She has her arm over Abigail’s shoulder and a hand in her coat pocket.
“I know her,” Jonah says quietly, pointing to Blythe
“What ? You do ?”
“I mean, I’ve seen her. Remember ? She was in one of the papers we looked at…the cheerleader who went missing,” he clarifies.
“I can’t believe someone reported her missing, but not Abigail. That’s such bullshit.”
“Look…” Jonah says. He’s pointing to a red headed girl who I don’t recognize, but I do recognize her black skirt and yellow jacket.
I’d seen Abigail wear it.
I spot a few more outfits I’d seen Abigail in, including Brooke DJing in her Delta Nu jacket and mint jeans. No wonder she was always so dressed up, she’d been unconsciously taking them from her last memory.
“She seems so happy,” I say and she does. “She mentioned she’d been in love once. Maybe she was talking about Blythe ?”
“Do you think it was a Romeo and Juliet situation ?,” Jonah asks and wanders around the room.
“I hope not,” I sigh. I catch glimpse of Abigail in a few more pictures, including one from an ice cream social where she is standing with someone who must be her mother. They are making sundaes and her mother looks young enough to be her sister
“Hey…look at this,” Jonah says
He is standing in front of a bulletin board that says “Forever In Our Prayers” there are photos of a couple of teenagers, but the one of Abigail and Blythe is front and center. In this photo it’s New Year’s and they are both facing forward making peace signs at the camera. It would have been taken a few weeks before they jumped.
“We have to find her--”
“Maybe she’s gone.” Jonah sighs. “I mean, we solved it.”
“She doesn’t know that. And we didn’t solve anything…we don’t know why.”
I walk back over to the board of photos from the Valentine’s Day party.
“Which one of these do you think will jog her memory ?,” I ask
“We can’t take one--,” he says
“It’s just one, they won’t miss it. I’ll bring it back.”
He points to the one where she is alone. She’s been caught off guard by the camera and she’s, sitting in a chair sipping on a drink. She looks slightly self-conscious, but also kind of flawless.
-2-
The Strauss Bridge began construction on March 12, 1911 in Massachusetts to connect Waverly County to Williamstown. The project was built by over 500 men and was completed in 1918. For the first time merchants could get shipments across the state without paying for a freight ferry.
When the highway system reached New England, the bridge lost most of its original purpose, but remained a popular spot for it’s spectacular view of the coastline. The benches and telescopes lining the bridge offered tourists staying in sleepy bed and breakfast the opportunity to look clear across the Plymouth Bay.
Abigail Winters sits at one of the benches.
In her current form she is both occupying it and not.
She thinks about bridges and how they’re always made heavily symbolic. About how they take people places they could never get to previously. She thinks of how if there was a bridge to her next step in life she’d spend her whole existence running from it. She thinks she’s already doing that.
But no matter how far Abigail runs she always ends up back here.
Abigail gets up and paces the length of the bridge, she stops at the spot.
The spot.
Their place.
Her fingernails graze the scratched and chipped paint on one very specific spot of the railing.
She effortlessly swings her legs over the railing and sits on the edge of the bridge. She peers down at the churning chilly water and imagines the ice chunks that developed in late winter.
Her heart aches for those last few months and the love she never thought she’d deserve. She smiles and a single tear escapes as the memories come to her.
Words touch her tongue and she involuntary speaks them in a small quivering voice.
“I think I made you up inside my head,” she says quietly.
She’s angry
Almost suddenly, she remembers everything.
_________________________________________________________________
-3-
When Margaret Winters' 17-year-old daughter entered high school she still talked to her mother about everything. She loved that Abigail hadn’t stopped talking since she turned 2 and was always telling her stories about teachers, her friends and her favorite classes. She asked her mother questions about her body and even questions about sex.
But never boys.
She’d always suspected her daughter had other interests and after finding a stack of LGBTQ advice columns waiting on the printer her suspicion had been confirmed. Margaret didn’t want to pull her daughter out of the closet so, she merely opened the door.
She told Abigail it didn’t matter who she loved so long as she loved. She’d tell stories of the unacceptance she and Abigail’s father, Jacob has faced at times from their own families and how no one love had ever stopped the world from turning, no matter how different.
Abigail decided to step through the door her mother opened during an episode of a reality show where two women were looking for identical dresses for their walk down the aisle.
“If I got married, I’d never let my wife wear the same dress as me,” Abigail said.
“I said the same thing to your mother,” her father joked.
“Alright,” her mother had said.
That’s it. Alright.
They laughed and then Abigail cried because know she knew it was finally going to be okay.
When Abigail entered her senior year she was still lamenting her choice to opt out of prom and homecoming last year. She hadn’t found a date that interested her and dreaded the comments from the boys if she danced with one of her friends. That fall, her mother enrolled her in a teen group at the Plymouth Pride Center.
“I don’t need a girlfriend,” Abigail whined on the way there. She hated being forced into social situations.
“It’s not about that,” her mother assured her. “It’s about being around people who understand you. It’s about making friends in your community--”
“Oh, Mom--”
“Besides they do volunteer projects and you can’t argue you could use more things on your application if you want to get into Eastham.”
Eastham.
It was their local college, but Abigail has fallen in love with the campus when her stepsister, Alana, went 10 years ago. Abigail wanted to be a writer and their writing program was one of the best--it even had a Pulitzer Prize winner on staff. She imagined spending her days in the local cafes writing and journaling just like Sylvia Plath.
As she feared, most of the teens in Teen Group had known each other for years, and already had their friend groups. From the time the meeting started they were talking over each other as they planned activities and trips for the year. After the icebreaker she’d stayed quiet, only agreeing when asked.
After the meeting had broken up she sat alone outside waiting for her mother to pick her up. She resolved never to come back. Abigail opened her book to keep her company and after getting a few words in a girl crashed in to the bench right next to her.
Abigail looked up and recognized the girl from the group. Her name was Blythe. If Abigail had ever thought of the physically perfect girl, this girl would come close. She had big bright eyes accented with perfect eyeliner wings, long legs, a delicate jawline and a wicked smile.
She remembered from the ice breaker that Blythe went to Penn High School across town and her favorite memory of summer was going camping with her family in the California mountains.
She later learned the last part was a lie.
“Hey,” Blythe greets her.
“Hi"
“Look, don’t be intimidated by them,” she says in a cool voice. “They’re kinda intense at first but I don’t know… it’s kinda fun sometimes ?”
“I imagine,” Abigail says. “Thanks for saying that.”
Blythe smiled and Abigail opened up her book again.
“I need to read more,” Blythe admitted. “What are you reading ?”
“Um, just some Robert Frost poems.”
“Oh, is it for school ?”
“Sort of,” she lies. It’s not.
Abigail wanted to find a good quote to work into the Eastham application waiting on her desk.
“Is it good ?,” Blythe asks.
“ I mean yeah, it’s Robert Frost. But it’s a little more narrative poem-ish than I was hoping,” she says.
She feels like an idiot when this comment is met with an amused stare.
“It’s not fair,” Blythe finally huffed with a smile
“I’m sorry ?”
“ You get to be gorgeous and super smart,”
Abigail blushes at this and Blythe smiles back before leaving Abigail to her reading. But she suddenly couldn’t read a single word, no one had ever spoken to Abigail like this before.
Margaret Winters pulls up and smiles when she sees her daughter waiting on the bench, chatting with another girl.
“Um, did you need a ride ?,” Abigail asks her.
“No,” Blythe says standing up. “I drove myself.”
- 4 -
Later, Blythe claims to not remember this conversation or the lame pick up line about being gorgeous and smart. She says their eyes met at the group and they hadn’t stopped looking at each other since.
Abigail hadn’t meant to fall in love yet. Least of all with the confident but guarded loner blonde.
But she does.
She falls in love with Blythe’s honesty. After the next group Blythe confides in Abigail her family does not approve of her ‘lifestyle’ and they get upset when she talks about it. If she doesn’t straighten out by the time she turns 18 they will kick her out, so she is going to run first.
She falls in love with Blythe’s spontaneity. One weekend they drive to Hershey, Pennsylvania so Blythe can have a fresh chocolate bar. They share the chocolate and Abigail keeps the wrapper so she can bring it up when it’s been long forgotten for a laugh.
She falls in love with Blythe’s beauty. To keep her family happy Blythe did competitive and school cheerleading. It kept her body in a near perfect shape that intimidates Abigail at first, but she soon gets over.
During winter break, Blythe lies her way out of cheerleading practice so she and Abigail can spend the entire day in Blythe’s large empty home. They lay in front of the electric fireplace under a black cashmere blanket that is soft against their bare skin.
Blythe sips her older sisters coconut rum from a pink glitter flask she got in Cancun, relaxing into Abigail and their collective afterglow.
Blythe gives Abigail control of the remote to her father’s 80 inch television and Abigail stops at a Miyizaki film. They watch until the credits role and then there is nothing but the music.
“Tell me my favorite,” Blythe said under her mildly alcoholic breath, intertwining her bare legs around Abigail’s.
Blythe had grown into Abigail’s obsession with poetry and loved to challenge Abigail to recite lines from heart.
“Which one ?,” Abigail asked.
“The Sylvia Plath one about the love song.” she whispers, turning Abigail to face her and kissing her neck. The kisses send new tingles up Abigail’s spine.
“You have to close your eyes,” Abigail tells her.
Blythe rolls her eyes, but complies. While Blythe knew she was in love for the first time after 3 months, Abigail wasn’t sure yet and wasn’t comfortable with so much emotional intimacy.
The physical she was getting used to.
“I shut my eyes and all the word drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again,” Abigail recites. “I think I made you up inside my head.”
Blythe’s hands trail down Abigail’s stomach and between her legs.
“I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed. And sung me moon struck and kissed me quite insane.” She continues, ending with a heavy breath. “I think I made you up inside my head.”
“The stars go waltzing in blue and red,” Abigail moans. “I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.”
Abigail can’t finish because Blythe’s eyes bat open.
“Abigail,” she says. “I think I made you up inside my head.”
“What ?,”
“I think I made you up inside my head…”
Abigail pulls Blythe’s face closer and holds her in an embrace. She think she knows what it meant. She think it meant I love you.
But it is also literal because the only thing that scared the Turner family more than Blythe’s sexuality were the things she made up in her head.
***
The two girls were perfect inside their own world. It was taking it outside that hurt so much.
After months of hearing about the enigmatic and talented Blythe Turner, Margaret insisted the girl come over for dinner. But no amount of coaxing from Abigail would get Blythe to come meet her parents. Blythe cried and got hysterical until the topic was dropped. She had plenty of excuses; her own family had been so cruel she wasn’t ready for another, she had nothing to give as a housewarming gift and couldn’t lie to her parents where she was.
When the Pride Center had an ice cream social for HIV Awareness, Margaret happily donated four tubs of ice cream and used the social to finally approach Blythe. With her usual anxieties about parents Abigail was shocked by Blythe’s pleasantness. Margaret greeted Blythe like a good friend and soon they were bantering back and forth over the best ice cream toppings.
Once the two girls were alone, Blythe admitted she was convinced Mrs. Winters hated her.
Abigail was Blythe’s little secret from her family and because of this they’d often go days without seeing each other.
One weekend, Abigail snuck out to Philadelphia to watch Blythe’s final cheerleading competition. She’d been to a few games at Blythe’s school but she’d never seen anything like this. The mat was a mess of pretty girls, curls and miniskirts and the competition was serious.
Abigail found a section of Penn High students and parents and took a seat with them. She spotted Blythe’s family in the front row and was sure to steer clear. Blythe’s team was one of the last and amidst all of the near identical blonde girls, Abigail spotted Blythe in the front holding up the foot of tiny flyer as she flew into the air.
Abigail now knew her name was Jane Cunningham and she’d major in Spanish one day.
At the end of the routine, Blythe stepped in front of the other girls and did a standing triple back handspring and then she added a half twist back flip. The crowd exploded . She made it look easy and Abigail started clapping uncontrollably. She’d known Blythe had never gotten that tumbling skill right and her coach had specifically told her to do something easier in the competition.
“I hoped she’d fall on her face,” Abigail overhears the girl behind her giggle to her friend.
“God, she’s so fake. What a bitch,” the other girl added.
Abigail wanted to snap at the girls, but she knew she wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t understand what would make them say those kinds of things about the girl she cared so deeply for. Sure Blythe was insecure, anxious and impulsive but she wasn’t a bitch.
They won the competition and Blythe won an award best tumbling, which also meant a one-on-one session with the U of Mass cheerleading coach. After the results Abigail stuck around and watched Blythe run into her father’s open arms and he picked her up like she weighed nothing.
A group of football players who’d been forced to come to cheer on the girls also came into give her hugs, her parents seemed to know some of the boys and they were inviting her to parties. It hurt Abigail not to be a part of this, but she wasn’t bold enough to just insert herself into the moment.
Abigail tried to sneak away unnoticed , but Blythe broke away and caught up to her in the hallway. She ran her fingers behind Abigail’s neck and pulling her slightly kissed her deeply, Abigail’s mouth parted almost immediately and she tasted peppermint and whiskey. There were a few whistles and groans from onlookers.
Blythe whispered thank you and embraced her before quickly disappearing. In that moment Abigail knew she had fallen hard.
***
Both girls knew they’d met a bit too late and time wasn’t on their side. By late January, their teen group leader had made balloon cut outs and strung them all over the Pride Center with the names of all the seniors. As acceptance letters came in they added all the places they might go to their balloons.
Abigail loved her parents and friends, she hadn’t quite been ready to wander too far from the nest and happily wrote in Emory, Eastham College and Boston University on her balloon.
Blythe had to get out of the East Coast or she would suffocate. Her cousin lived in California and agreed to let her crash as soon as she got her acceptance letter. But her cheerleading scholarship for UCLA fell through, then she was rejected by USC and waitlisted for Pepperdine. The only place that would have her was the state school, University of Massachusetts.
Blythe put it in as many late applications as she could afford, but she’s only been a C student and kept seeing her opportunities vanish. She was inconsolable and for weeks and it was Abigail’s job to make sure she was going to be okay.
“You can just stay with my family.” Abigail re-assured her as they shared a New Year’s Day breakfast after the PCC New Year’s Eve Lock in.
Blythe has been cheerful all night and even sneaked champagne from her now infamous flask into the sparking grape juice. She’d lead all the games, did flips on command and was the first one on the dance floor. But as the party died down and it turned into conversations about graduation, college and the future Blythe has become withdrawn.
“ I don’t want your god damn family!,” she shouted throwing her fork down. “I want to go away, I want my own life.”
“Stop being so selfish,” Abigail whispered.
“Easy for you to say, you get everything you want--”
“I do not.”
“Really ? Name one thing that hasn’t gone your way ? Name one thing that’s hard for you ?,” she says with a raised manicured eyebrow
“I don’t know…losing you to California would be hard,” she admitted aloud
“Now who’s the little selfish bitch ?,” Blythe said. “Looks like you’ll get that too.”
Abigail had never been spoken to like that before. She got up and left.
She walked out and walked away from the relationship for weeks.
----
-5-
It was a week before Valentine’s Day that Blythe showed up to the Winter house with 2 dozen pink roses, the biggest chocolate bar she could find and a mix CD she’d written quotes from her favorite poems on.
Margaret Winters was hesitant to let the girl in, but Blythe handed her one of the dozens of roses, apologized for not coming to meet the family sooner and promised if Abigail asked her to leave she would, no questions asked.
Blythe was amazed at how warm the Winters household was--it looked like something out of a sitcom. She climbed the stairs and saw Abigail’s door has a bright pink A and magazine cut outs of quotes on it.
She knocked and Abigail, still in her pajamas with headphones in, opened the door.
“I’m sorry,” Blythe blurted out.
Abigail made to close the door, but Blythe put her hand on the door stopping her
“I’ve spent the last few weeks just alone. You are the only good thing in my life right now and I need you back. You make it all bearable, and I am so sorry if what I said alienated you, I didn’t mean it.” she said. “Please. We love each other right ?”
Abigail nodded and it was alright.
They hugged and she showed Blythe around her bedroom for the first time. Margaret called Blythe’s parents to explain she was having dinner at a friend’s house because it pained Blythe to refer to Abigail as just her friend.
Before Blythe went home that night she passed Abigail the CD she’d spent all night making and instructed her to listen to it after she had gone home. She said the CD would say everything about their relationship.
The moment the car squealed away, Abigail popped the CD in her computer. The first song was Don’t Stop Believin by Journey
So was the second song
And the third
All 10 songs were the same.
Desperate to unlock the puzzle, Abigail called her immediately.
“I listened to the playlist. It’s kind of optimistic of you, but I get it.,” Abigail said. “I never stopped believing in us. I know no matter what happens we will be together. ”
“What are you talking about?” Blythe said
“The song, Don’t Stop Believing’. That’s what is means right ? Why you made it all the tracks--”
“Ugh, fuck.” Blythe laughed. “That’s the stupid song my Dad had on there I was trying to write over. Okay, I’m sending you the playlist--”
“Don’t. I prefer this one” Abigail said. “It’s our song now.”
***
-6-
The PCC youth groups had been planning the Hearts and Breaker’s dance as their big project and Abigail was secretly thankful everything had been resolved in time for the dance. It was only a semi-formal , but Margaret was beyond excited for her daughter. They spent all weekend shopping and Abigail has her makeup and nails done professionally for the first time. Her dress was black and slightly tighter and shorter than she’d ever worn before.
It had been a long day, but seeing Blythe’s reaction made it worth it. Margaret took a score of photos and the girls drove off in Blythe’s white Mercedes, now painted with red hearts.
Once in the car, Blythe handed her the pink flask.
“You have to try this, I found it in Mom’s cabinet,” she squealed.
Abigail didn’t usually drink, but tonight was special. She took a small sip and at first all she felt was the sting and heat but then a familiar sugary sweet.
“It’s cotton candy vodka. Trippy, right ?”
“Mmm,” Abigail responded as the alcohol dissipated leaving her warm and her mouth sugary.
“I think I see your future home, girly !,” Blythe sang as they drove on to the Eastham campus. She unrolled the windows.
“Go Pioneers!,” Abigail shouted and Blythe laughed hard.
She pulled into the Student Union and followed the signs to the room PCC had rented. It was filled with all of their friends, staff and even a few parents who’d never had a prom and wanted one dance. It was for everybody.
Before they could get trapped in a conversation that might upset Blythe, Abigail pulled her to the dance floor. A slow song was playing and the girls laughed at their initial clumsiness.
“Should you lead ?,” Abigail asked
“I don’t know,” Blythe giggled.
Since she was taller, Blythe took the lead, she put her fingers against Abigail’s waist and Abigail reached up to put her arms on Blythe’s shoulder. They moved within a small circle of each other, eventually pressing their foreheads together and looking right into each other’s eyes. They both had the same thought; no matter where Fall took them they could always come back to this moment.
They shared a few small kisses and it took an enormous amount of strength for the girls to stick to the no PDA rule.
“I think I made you up in my head,” Blythe whispered to her through wet eyes. “I think I made you up in my head in my head Abigail Winters.”
When the song ended, the chicken dance started up and they were broken apart as all the wallflowers and staff joined in. Blythe took the distraction to slip sips of her flask and share it with some of the other students who spotted her with it.
Abigail weaved her way to the DJ in the corner. She was one of the assistant counselors at PCC and Abigail was hoping to get a similar job while she was in school next year. Abigail admired how effortlessly cool the girl was; she had a short buzz cut and had an equality sign tattooed on her neck.
After small talk, Abigail requested she play Don’t Stop Believin’ and dedicate it to Blythe.
They never had the chance to hear it.
Slightly buzzed, Blythe pulled Abigail outside into the chilly New England winter air.
“Come on, we have to do something,” Blythe said.
“What ?”
“It’ssa surprise.”
Hand in hand Blythe pulled Abigail to the Eastham School Store. She looked around before ambling to the supplies aisle and purchasing a bright pink padlock and taking Abigail back out.
“It’s freezing!,” Abigail shrieked as they walked toward Strauss Bridge.
“Drink this,” Blythe said handing back the flask.
It was near empty as Blythe has been sipping on it all night, but Abigail took a few sips and it warmed her insides. The closer they got to the bridge the more serious Blythe became.
The bridge was near empty as the new part of campus hadn’t opened yet. The girls walked to the center of the bridge and Blythe tore into the lock, using her teeth and nails to rip it from the plastic.
“I read about the Pont Des Arts in this magazine,” Blythe says. “It’s this bridge in Paris that lovers put padlocks and then throw the key into the ocean as symbols of their unbreakable love. They’re called lovelocks.”
“Isn’t that vandalism ?,” Abigail asks as Blythe produces as Sharpie.
“It’s a symbol.” she says and writes A.W on the lock.
She gives the pen to Abigail to do the same and she does with a coy smile. Blythe puts the padlock on the railing and hands Abigail the key. In frost bitten hands she hurls the keys into the icy Plymouth Bay and they stand on the lip to look over the edge as the keys are engulfed by the sea.
Abigail turns to leave, but Blythe hoists herself up on the bridge railing, her feet dangling over the perilous waters
“Blythe--”
“I just wanna take a picture,” she says solemnly. “Then we will go.”
Sighing, Abigail hoists herself up next to Blythe and she takes a photo of them with her phone.
“A symbol of our love is going to be here forever,” Blythe whispers.
“Unless someone gets bolt cutters,” Abigail jokes and Blythe looks distraught.
“We have to jump,” Blythe says urgently grabbing Abigail’s hand.
“What ?,” Abigail says alarmed. “Stop-”
“We’re going to jump!,” Blythe shouts. “Does anyone give a fuck--”
Distantly she hears someone say shut the hell up.
“No one cares, Abigail. No one,” Blythe tells her urgently. “ Everything is fucked up except for us,”
“Blythe--”
“I can’t do this anymore,” she cries. “I just can’t, I can’t lose you. Don’t make me lose you.”
Taking a deep breath, Blythe prays that something tells her not to, but nothing does. She pushes the girl she loves over the edge before she feels herself pulled out of equilibrium and tumbles over.
***
Corinne
I use my fingernail to pry the photo of Abigail that Jonah chooses off the Plymouth Pride Center’s “In Our Prayer’s Board.”
I flip it over and I see there is a handwritten poem in tiny handwriting on the back.
I shut my eyes and
all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)”
“Do you think Blythe wrote that for her ?,” Jonah asks.
“It’s Sylvia Plath,” I hear myself say, because apparently all this damn studying paid off.
“I’m not familiar,” he admits.
“Mad Girl’s Love Song.”
Being careful not to bend it, I put the photo in my back pocket.
“What the fuck are you two doing ?,” A stinging voice accuses us.
“We’re just-,” I turn around and I’m stopped short by the girl looking at us.
It’s the blonde girl from the pictures with Abigail.
Blythe.
“What are you doing with that ?,” she asks threateningly, her hands on her hips.
For a moment I think she’s a ghost too, but she marches up to me and snatches the photo from my pocket and starts calling out for security.
“We are so sorry, we were just borrowing it,” Jonah says, but it doesn’t soften her.
“You can’t just take stuff,” she spits at us. “ Who are you? Did you even know Abigail ?”
“Kind of,” I said. “I mean, before she died obviously--”
“What the fuck are you talking about ?,” she hisses. “Abigail’s not dead.”
------
A/N
Dun, dun, dun....
Anyone catch the Lile reference ? It's subtle.
Muse: You mean other than the *here is the tragic love story from the past* you took from LL ?
Me:....Yes. Other than that.