Work in Progress - Vanessa
Marianne's house. There are no grease stains or fingerprints on the sparkling appliances, no take-out containers anywhere, and even though we are cooking, only what we need is out. I stare blankly at Marianne and then at my ghost boyfriend. He's here in the kitchen too.
If this is a dream, it's the most real one I've ever experienced. I can feel my cheeks get hot. Beast looks the same as he did last December. He glances at me, I look down at the floor. Pieces of coconut and chocolate for the cookies are scattered all over the tile. This is the only mess in the kitchen. I bring up overnight trips with Marianne to check out colleges like Princeton.
Beast says, "Your grades aren't good enough to get in, why are you wasting your money?"
This doesn't feel like any memory I know. Beast wouldn't tell me not to go, he would say the trip is a motivator to do great things. I start telling Beast other stuff:
1. Marianne and George split up
2. I have conversations with imaginary friends from books
3. George is back - Marianne is planning a party for him.
"She's inviting everyone I know."
"Don't go to the party," Beast says. "Make other plans."
I tell Beast about the Keto crust for the pizza made with cauliflower. He makes a face, and I continue talking. It begins to come back, the way Beast was before, a little like my mother, picking and choosing what he wanted to hear.
"Who are you talking to?" Marianne asks. And then she hands me a pack of peas from the refrigerator as if this will cure the inflammation in my brain that must be causing the talking to myself, and it's a headache like most girls my age get caused by common reasons, stress, a period, staying up too late. She starts chatting about the guest list for the party like I'm one of these kinds of girls.
If this is a dream, it's the most real one I've ever experienced. I can feel my cheeks get hot. Beast looks the same as he did last December. He glances at me, I look down at the floor. Pieces of coconut and chocolate for the cookies are scattered all over the tile. This is the only mess in the kitchen. I bring up overnight trips with Marianne to check out colleges like Princeton.
Beast says, "Your grades aren't good enough to get in, why are you wasting your money?"
This doesn't feel like any memory I know. Beast wouldn't tell me not to go, he would say the trip is a motivator to do great things. I start telling Beast other stuff:
1. Marianne and George split up
2. I have conversations with imaginary friends from books
3. George is back - Marianne is planning a party for him.
"She's inviting everyone I know."
"Don't go to the party," Beast says. "Make other plans."
I tell Beast about the Keto crust for the pizza made with cauliflower. He makes a face, and I continue talking. It begins to come back, the way Beast was before, a little like my mother, picking and choosing what he wanted to hear.
"Who are you talking to?" Marianne asks. And then she hands me a pack of peas from the refrigerator as if this will cure the inflammation in my brain that must be causing the talking to myself, and it's a headache like most girls my age get caused by common reasons, stress, a period, staying up too late. She starts chatting about the guest list for the party like I'm one of these kinds of girls.
Comments
Post a Comment