Tears

By Amethyst Turner

Like scraps from a table

Like rocks from the sky

Tears fall and fall

And fall and fly

XXX

Libby dug through the fridge as quietly as she could manage, trying not to let wrappers crinkle and snap amongst each other. She could barely see -- her left eye was swollen shut from last night and the other was just barely hanging on to sight, the eyelid twitching and drooping if she didn't pay enough attention to it.

Finally, she came across a pleasant surprise: an entire head of lettuce, ruffly layers slightly brown at the edges. When was the last time she'd tasted fresh lettuce? Libby was too ravenous to care. She let the fridge swing shut behind her and tore into the head of lettuce.

But that was her mistake. The fridge whooshed shut, closing with a loud clapping sound. Libby cringed and went still.

She heard the couch creak, then the floor. "Hello?" said a timid voice from the living room. "Who's there?"

Libby dropped the lettuce on the floor and tried to run for the stairs, but her stomach weighted her down, made her dizzy. She felt herself falling and then, quiet again.

XXX

The swelling had gone down by the time Richard left for work, so Owl decided to send Amethyst to school, even though the little girl resisted. "What if she does it again?" she kept asking. Owl kept telling her that Miss Briggs would make sure that it didn't.

Besides, she had another issue to deal with that Amethyst didn't need to be around to see.

When she first fell, Owl dragged the woman from the kitchen to the couch, just so that Richard wouldn't see her when he came downstairs. When he kissed her goodbye and closed the door behind him, the woman was still either passed out or pretending to be. Owl dressed Amethyst for school, but she didn't have time to feed her breakfast or pack a lunch for her before the bus came.

Now, she knelt beside the pregnant woman, in awe at her face. This had to be Amethyst's mother. Who else could have a nose with that exact same curve, the same worried forehead, and dark, curly eyelashes? Who else could have collected so many small pieces of a person and yet neglect to be them, except for a mother?

Owl remembered how her own mother had looked, how when they stood side by side it was just Diana and Diana in miniature. She remembered standing above the casket at the funeral, looking back at her own face, frozen with rigor mortis.

The woman had two awful bruises smeared over her face like jam, one over each eye. Owl knew those marks could be from the fall she'd had just now. They must have come from somewhere else, someone else.

She sighed and stood up to get the ice pack she had put on Amethyst's forehead last night, but when she got back to the living room, the woman had vanished.

XXX

Amethyst wouldn't talk to anyone for more than a second. She kept to herself in her own corner, at her own table, in her own space. Whenever her silence was invaded, she responded politely but firmly and send away the intruders.

This change concerned Melissa, but she couldn't say she blamed the little girl. She knew how the withdrawing period went: you got hurt and then, to avoid it happening again, isolated yourself. She'd done it herself many times, but never when she was as young as Aimee. She hadn't known such a little person could be so self-contained.

At recess, she didn't play with her friends, but she didn't sit beside Melissa, either. She found her own bench, one even farther away from the playground than Melissa's, and began to read to herself.

Melissa knew she should just let her be, but she couldn't. She went over to the other bench, taking in the way the girl ignored her when she sat down. "Amethyst?" she said.

Aimee looked up. "Yes?"

"Are you okay, honey?"

"Yes." She turned back to her book, signifying that the conversation was over.

"What are you reading?" Melissa asked. She remembered how much she hated it when people asked her that question as a kid. She'd usually just close the book over her thumb and flash the cover in their direction as if to say What does it look like I'm reading?

Amethyst did the same thing, only she read the title instead of throwing it toward Melissa. "My First Kafka," she sounded out.

Melissa laughed, then frowned, then laughed again. My First Kafka? That was almost as good as last year when she caught a boy reading The Man Behind The Mustache: A Hitler Biography For Kids. She took in the cover which showed a terrifying illustration of a giant, dancing bug. "Wow," she said. "What story is it."

Amethyst shrugged and opened to the page. "I don't know how to say it."

"The Metamorphosis," Melissa read for her, trying not to laugh again. "That's a good story. Do you know what metamorphosis is?"

"No."

"It's when something changes."

"Well. That makes sense." Amethyst's lip twitched into a smile. The bruise on her forehead was no longer the agitated purple it had been yesterday, but now it was a sickly greenish-yellow. "Because Gregor turns into a bug."

"He does, in fact." Melissa watched her turn to the next page. It was an abridged version of The Metamorphosis, obviously, written in blunt little sentences. The illustrations were the most brutal part, though. Each depicted an image more disturbing than the last of the giant bug, first trying to stumble out of bed, then looking through the keyhole at his family, then spewing milk out of its face. "Are you sure this isn't going to give you nightmares?" Melissa asked.

Aimee shook her head. "I'm not scared of him," she said. "He's still just Gregor, but now he's a bug."

Melissa shook her head and smiled. Amethyst would be just fine in life, she decided. She didn't need to worry too much.

XXX

"You again?" Amaya shook her head and looked back to the toothpaste boxes she was stacking, hoping Owl didn't see the happy flush in her cheeks.

"I know, I know," Owl said. "You'd think I'd tire myself out after a while." She stopped to watch Amaya perch another row of boxes atop each other. "I know I'm not allowed to hug you, but can I at least shake your hand or something? I just feel like I need you to acknowledge that you know me." She gave Amaya a sideways grin and held out her hand.

Amaya had never liked handshakes. Too much expectation there, clenched between two palms. Besides, handshakes were for men and strangers, not for her and Owl. "You can hug me if you announce yourself first," she offered. "It's just that you startled me the last time."

"Oh. Well, hello, I'm here." Owl held out her hands like an exotic bird showing off her wingspan. Amaya grimaced and let herself be enveloped in the other woman's bony body. It wasn't as bad as she'd been bracing herself for. Owl smelled like something between vanilla and tangerine.

She pulled away and went back to her stacking, the lingering warmth from Owl's body making her face feel redder by the second. "So, what do you need now?"

"Just some dried fruit, actually," said Owl. She looked lost for a second after she said it, like she was only just now realizing the strangeness of her request.

"Who goes to a drugstore to buy fruit?" Amaya asked. But on the inside, she was buzzing with the knowledge that Owl had come here just to see her.

XXX

"So, did you get rid of him yet?"

Melissa dragged her fork across her plate, face turning sour at Ashley's question. She lifted the salad to her mouth but didn't eat it. "No. I can't seem to get up the courage."

Ashley shook her head at her own food. "Doesn't take courage. Just common sense."

"Ash. Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think you would understand."

Don't take this the wrong way. If she hadn't said that, maybe she wouldn't have. But now, all she could think about was the gaping hole in her life where everyone expected love to be. The empty space in her bed that always stayed open, no matter how many different bedmates joined Melissa under the sheets. She chewed, determined not to say anything.

Melissa watched her, frowning. "I just meant that you're different than I am. When you want to do something you just . . . do it and see what happens. But me, I just get all wishy washy and I never end up doing anything."

That isn't true, Ashley almost said. And it wasn't, was it? When did Ashley ever actually go out and do things? Take risks? Seize what she wanted? She didn't, really. Maybe Melissa was recalling childhood Ashley, teenage Ashley, who was never short of a smart response or a sharp word for anyone. But that girl was gone now, replaced by a woman who didn't actually want to talk to anyone.

She didn't say that to Melissa, though. She just stabbed another wad of lettuce onto her fork and said, "You're strong. You can do it."

XXX

Chances thrown
Nothing's free
Longing for what used to be
Still, it's hard
Hard to see
Fragile lives, shattered dreams

-The Kids Aren't Alright by The Offspring