dressin' · writin'

Love drop | short story


{What I am wearing: second hand jumper, Topshop Jamie jeans, Colibris glasses}

She woke up as the sun was starting to warm the tip of her nose. Opening one eye and peering out of the window beside her she sensed a beautiful, crisp Sunday, a Sunday, where she would have every opportunity, where she could do anything. Quickly, she closed her eye again, but did she want a beautiful, crisp day? Why is everyone so in love with these days, days where everything seems possible and hopeful and just – bright. Everyone would think so, she thought and well maybe that was one reason why she didn’t think like that. There would be a hundred more beautiful days coming and she mustn’t go outside, even when everyone told her she had to. She mustn’t, because it was her time, every day. And so sensing the warmth on her face, slowly creeping along her jawbone and illuminating her sleepy face, lightening the whole bedroom into a bright white and yellow, she decided to do nothing on that day. In any case, her brain was hers and today she didn’t want it to make an undoable list of things, only to be doing it all, getting stressed, getting tired, getting sad – and a backache. “I’ll put a stop to that today and I’ll for once trie and just lie down and think and when I have enough of lying I might look out of the window and when I have got enough of that I might go onto the balcony and look down onto the street…”, and then she feel asleep again. There isn’t something more disturbing than waking up on the same day you’ve already woken up and by looking out the window, you see that the weather has changed from on extreme to the next. It was a gloomy midday, this Saturday, suddenly the whole skin was grey, almost black. Big, wet clouds hang in the skin and it felt like everything just stood still. People weren’t rushing about anymore, they were trying to be home the fastest way possible, kicking everyone out of their way, not looking for cars when traversing the streets and certainly not caring for a little worm who had fought his way up from the ground as the storm had begun. She felt hopeful now, she had enough of sleeping, she had enough of watching the people hating the weather and so she hurried out of her room to finally eat something and then go outside. The kitchen was warm still from the sun, but the window seemed as tough there was a shower pouring onto it. It was a good feeling, the feeling of home and so she heated up some milk in the microwave, added muesli and frozen berries and ate it all still hot and steaming. It warmed her from the inside and they say, a warm breakfast is good for the soul. Slowly drinking up a mug of tea and it seemed as tough every issue she had thought of early in the morning jus vanished. Dancing back to her room, she put on a red pair of tights, a blue 50s dress and her big yellow raincoat in which she always feels like paddington, arriving at, well paddington station, ready for a new life in the incredible city of London. Just that she wasn’t a bear and well, she didn’t live in London, not yet, she taught. One day there will be my story, my story in London and Paris and New York and in the whole world. Her low doc martens were old and as she was always too lacy to tie them, the back of the shoes started ti crumble from always trying to slip into them without a shoehorn. Only packing her keys and some spare money, she went down the stairs and into the spring thunderstorm. She needed to get away from the main, big streets, where cars kept flighting from one traffic light to another and one didn’t see anything but people and more people. Wandering into much lesser lived streets, she sensed the air. It smelled like rain, that specific smell, when the streets get wet and they cool down, that smell one over when feeling infinite, when just thinking and making something by oneself. Even tough it was purring down, it didn’t bother her, most of the rain was drawn away from her skin anyways, because of the raincoat – the bright yellow paddington raincoat with the big hat where one can’t see who is underneath. Suddenly she felt like sitting down and when she went by a buy stop, which would bring her, god knows where, she took the opportunity. There was only one boy sitting there and as she drew back her hat, she recognized him, and he seemed like he recognized her. A big smile was suddenly on her face.

“Hey”, she said. And miraculously, the boy started to smirk as well and responded with a “Hey”. “Aren’t we on the same school? I am Cassiopeia”. “Yes I think we are, I am Emil, what are you doing in this shitweather?”, he asked, his hand outstretched. She shook it while answering sarcastically: “Because I am actually a worm and need to get out when it’s raining”, her eyebrows raised and a smirk on her face, “well, I just thought it was actually a good weather and I just wanted not to think about anything for a little while”.He laughed as she said this and said “Well while that would be my explanation for being at this bus stop right now, too, I really have to go food shopping for my family, which will return home this evening. My favorite kind of hobby, of course, but at least the people i the shop are all too busy to look at me while I have my thinking-face on, as well.””Can I join you favorite hobby, as it is my very least favorite hobby, I hate food shopping, but maybe with you”, she looks asking-ly.”Well with my it’s a whole other level, I just pick everything I would like to eat for a thousand years time and then I am struggling with too many bags full of food, but you can of course help me reduce myself in that department and I’ll take your fear of food shopping with my…fearlessness?”, he raises one eyebrow and I stand up, turn up my collar and say: “Alors, on y va!”.

We run the wet way to the supermarket and laugh as we are probably more soaked then we would have been without the fast running. We had been trying to spare out every puddle, but that might not have worked out that well and I am wondering, why on earth I am this open with a boy I ave just met, when I am never that open with people, at least not when I first meet them. It seems surreal to laugh with him and run with him and not think twice about what I am saying or doing. It all feels so weird, but for once I forget about it and lay my eyes on what he is looking at: Cereal. There are at least 20 different cereals to choose from and I could ever know which one really to get. So, my brain automatically does tis thing where it sorts out all the cereals it thinks is unhealthy. Full of fat. Sugar. Dunno things one never knew existed but are apparently very important for this cereal. “That’s the reason I can’t go food shopping”, I say, it’s because there is too much of everything, I couldn’t ever decide like a normal person, so my brain does this thing, this….”. I stop and my sentence just fades into nothing, a unspoken information for him, or what did I actually say? He looks at me for a long while and I feel like every person on earth could see right into my brain and see every feeling or though I have. That I am readable like a novel or something. Me for dummies. He seems to get something. “Well, it’s not that difficult, I filter away all the things that look boring and look out for the things with the brightest colors and which look the most unhealthy. Who knows what my mom will buy the next time she goes food shopping, hopefully not some good-for-your-brain oats, which taste like, like what do they taste like, actually? Nothing? Plain nothing? Go for the unhealthy that would be wanted by every 4-year-old child.”





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