Softer sounds

Jennifer Lawrence

Bare feet, pink wallpaper, an army of stuffed animals and cherry flavored lip gloss. Matching pajamas and skin care set. Homemade pizza and the first Hunger games movie. The full day of pure girlhood together at the mall. They went shopping, to spend the money they had been saving up from their weekly allowance. They held hands and went to Starbucks to get strawberry frappes, no coffee. They went to the nail salon and got matching nails. Now their bodies were pressed together and they shared one blanket. Runo yawned and rested her head on Saara’s shoulder. Saara looked at her best friend from the reflection and her pink tinted lips curled into a soft smile.

“Would you marry Peeta?” she asked teasingly. She knew the answer, Runo had been obsessed with Peeta since the books came out.

“I mean he’s cute. I like the puppy eyes. And I think he’s romantic”, Runo answered and wrapped her hands around Saara’s bare arm. Saara smelled like satsuma soap from the Body shop.

“I guess.”

Runo knew that her room was in need of a renovation. She had changed nothing in years. Saara said she found it cozy that Runo still had a girly bedroom. A room where you’d find Barbies under the bed and where each stuffed animal is hugged every night before bedtime. Where you would find colorful friendship bracelets in the vanity drawer. Jennifer Lawrence looked at the camera, teary eyed and exhausted. Saara sighed longingly and fixed her posture a bit.

“I like her”, she said and scratched her nose “she looks a bit like you.”

“I look like the goddess Jennifer Lawrence?” Runo laughed at the thought.

“Yes you do!” Saara giggled and brushed her fingers over Runo’s forearm. She swayed from side to side but Runo was still recovering from the shivers Saara’s touch had created. They had run up from her arm, down from her spine and stuck to her heart. A wave of embarrassment washed over her. She was suddenly very aware how they had been sitting like this, side by side since 1st grade. They had changed, grown up, and yet the same teddy bear still watched over their girl’s nights. She was ashamed how her skin felt rough against Saara’s milky soft scent and how her hair looked like a sad brown shadow of Saara’s blonde and bouncy curls. She didn’t want to admit it, but she liked when they tried on clothes and Saara gave her her undivided attention and how Saara’s loving gaze stayed on her and her alone. She did it right now. Saara looked at her and the time slowed down.

“You really look like Jennifer Lawrence”, she whispered and their fingers crossed together.

The pink room was dim, yellow light from the bedside table casted soft shadows. Bare feet, matching pajamas and nailpolish. Cherry flavored lip gloss.

Background picture @Anna Shevets under CC0

Light soil

Henri’s father’s funeral. I looked at young Henri, whose suit was too big on the shoulders. They went to look for new suits, but with the funeral costs and all, the suits ended up being too costly. Henri had stood in front of the closet and he had stared at his fathers suit for a small eternity. When he finally got himself to put on the jacket, the empty, gnawing feeling he had had inside of him since last summer grew bigger. Maybe he would never reach the size of his father’s shoes. Maybe he would stay forever fifteen, eyes buried deep behind the dark shadows and body that never felt quite right. His hair had been combed to the side, tamed from their usual state of playful mess. His face was blank for the whole ceremony. He stood there, in front of the whole world at the altar, next to his mother, listening to the people crying and weeping and sniffing around. He kept his eyes on the oak casket, and didn't even blink. The nosegay was given to his hands, mom couldn’t read it. It was really pretty. The lady at the flower shop had been nice and she had looked at Henri, when he explained their budget and what kind of person his father had been. Poor boy she had probably thought. Her pity had felt almost insulting to him. Yes, this was an unfortunate situation and yes, maybe this should’ve been his mother’s job to do, but it was not in his hands. The funeral had to be arranged by someone, and if mom was unable to get up from her widow slumber the eldest son was the next best option. Henri turned the little card to him, his eyes gliding on the words. “When the sun sets, I’ll always think about you. With grief-stricken love, to father and husband.” He read it out loud, but didn’t even hear his own voice. The thorns had been shaved off from the dark red roses, but something was still scraping the palms of his hands. Maybe it was just the weight that he had to be carrying. Expectations of their relatives, his mother and his sisters, his own. He wished that his own blood wouldn’t stain the white lilies that crowned the red middle. He heard his mother break down completely, she was shattered into pieces when the love of her life wasn’t holding her anymore. He kneeled to put the nosegay down and then walked his mother down from the altar, back into the first row. There, when his mother wasn’t looking, Henri wiped his own eyes to the sleeve of his jacket.

He was one of the coffin bearers, he had insisted on being one. The sling dug deep into his shoulder as he walked out into the graveyard first. As he lowered the coffin, he looked up, stared at the clouds swimming in the sky. He wanted to be one of those, far far away from here. If he turned into a cloud now, the coffin would drop. Maybe as a cloud he wouldn’t care so much. He could stop thinking and float away. But he was held down here, a bruise forming on his shoulder. He held on to the sling when he should have let go. The other bearers, dad’s brothers and closest friends had already dropped the cloths in the coffin. The youngest uncle patted Henri on the shoulder and waited as he bravely swallowed down his tears. He had decided not to cry in front of his mom. Or anyone else, for that matter. It was a beautiful day outside. Henri's hand was shaking, and it felt like a downright miracle that he was even standing, because he felt weightless. His body felt cold from top to the bottom and he wished for a miracle that let him escape from this moment. But if he wasn’t doing this, who else would? He couldn’t stop now, so he just had to wish that his legs would hold him up for now. He didn't want to say stupid clichés that people would thank him for later. “Light soil”, he finally murmured quietly as he let the cloth fall from his fingers. In his mind, he asked his father to be proud of him.

Later in the evening, when the guests at the parish hall were packing into their cars, Henri sneaked back to the graveyard and walked to the fresh mound. He crouched next to it, and finally sat down. Dad was buried in a grove with a view of the river flowing through the orange leaves of the trees. The last rays of the sun filtered through the leaves. Henri read the obituaries and thought about his dad's colleague, the one who had tried to revive him in the construction site they were working in. He would have liked to ask how dad died. In Henri’s mind, the scenery was quite brutal. A circle of blue-collar workers gathered around like a flock of crows to watch how one of them was pounding his father’s chest, crushing his ribs and pleading for him to stay. 

Had he looked ready? Had he resisted, or did knew it was time for him to go? Had dad thought of them when he realized he was going to die? Henri wondered how long it would take for him to start forgetting what his voice sounded like.

Backgroung picture by me