Mirrin - the student

          Three weeks ago her roommate had floated into their apartment, as gossamer and transparent as the mood in which she performed, and presented Mirrin with a hand upon which a diamond - glorious, sparkling, set around with sapphires - rested. To say that the announcement was unexpected would be to understate the scene entirely; Mirrin was left speechless, floundering between happiness and confusion.

But Eloise would not wait for her congratulations. She began talking, musing in a dreamy, love-induced trance, about dates and weddings and courthouses and witnesses. And then had acknowledge, out of the blue, that there would be no grand celebration.

"We're having a preacher come to his apartment," she said, "because he has a bigger living room. And we're going to be wed under the double windows."

Why not wait, Mirrin had asked, been met with a scoff. Love, she was told, waited for no one. Her roommate had found a gown and flowers in short order. The date had been set at September thirtieth.After a calendar countdown, arranging a minister and witnesses, getting official papers drawn up and blood tested, significant friends invited, the time had come.

Rather than a dreaded bridesmaid dress, Mirrin had been allowed to go shopping, alone. She had taken Friday off from work and dragged Esau vintage shopping; after one hour of debate, she settled on an out-of-season sundress beset with blooming red flowers and a handkerchief hem. Standing on her tiptoes, heels sinking into the carpet, she was presently clutching a bouquet of wilted lilacs and watching Eloise cry.

Zeph's apartment was no bigger than theirs. It was the size of a shoebox and half as clean, but it possessed a pair of beautiful double windows that overlooked the Delaware River Waterfront. The water was blue and lovely against the melting backdrop of a sunset. Rays of light split the dingy carpeted floor into slices of shimmering gold. Christmas lights had been tacked up around the molding, and the furniture - a coffee table, two sofas, a double bookshelf full of medical tomes - had been pushed back against the walls. Folding chairs had been set up, tulle ribboning the rows together. Lilacs, daisies, and roses sat in glass vases that lined the makeshift aisle.

Three groomsmen and two bridesmaids - Mirrin included - made up the wedding party. Esau was among the audience, since he had come as her date, and a ragtag group of performers, teachers, and friends. From the front row Eloise's mother, who appeared to be an older rendition of her daughter, was sobbing into a tissue box.

"Dearly beloved," the officiator was intoning.

A speech followed, then reading of scripture, then an exchange of vows, through which Mirrin - usually unsentimental - felt tears gather in her eyes. She wasn't losing Eloise, she knew. Nothing as dramatic as that. The couple would live here, about ten blocks from her Old City apartment, well within walking or biking distance.

Yet she also knew that it would not be the same. Despite best wishes and promises of continued friendship marriage changed people, yoked them together and transformed them into irrevocably different people, better people, but nonetheless people standing on a different rung than people like Mirrin.

As the ceremony ended, her roommate turned and embraced her. "Thank you for coming," she said, voice thick. Her curls were stiff with hairspray and her gown was cold silk against skin.

"Of course." Mirrin pulled back, gripped her bouquet of flowers a little tighter. Tried not to remind herself that Eloise looked so happy, the kind of happy that would tear her apart, and that as much as Esau purposed to love her he was far too young to marry. "Congratulations."

Arms curved around her waist from behind; she jumped, nudged her boyfriend back. "I thought you were -"

"Congratulations," he said to her roommate over her head. "Um...good luck."

"Thank you! I'm married! I can't believe it!"

"I can't either," Mirrin said, attempting to lighten the mood, because her own tears were precariously close to falling. "Who's going to juggle the rent?"

Esau kissed the crown of her head. His breath warmed her scalp through her hair, stirring fireflies in her stomach. "Is this where I offer to help?"

"No." cursing her breathlessness, she said: "I thought you were against moving in together."

He put his chin on her shoulder; turning his head, nose almost brushing hers, he was far too close and she thought of being happy in a painful way, in a way that had the power to shatter her.

"I am," he said. "I was kidding, Mir."

"You." her roommateshook her head. "You two are so strange together, I swear."

"I didn't say that about you and Zeph."

"That's because we're perfect." Eloise's brand-new husband was smiling, teeth white through his beard. His skin was polished bronze in the light, and standing together they were illuminated, thick dark hair and liquid eyes. A matched set of chess pieces.

"Please," Esau was grunting, and Mirrin elbowed him, and then they were all laughing. They turned from the windows, friends rushed to engulf the couple. Eloise's mother kept saying, my baby, which tumbled and rang in the air above the chatter.

Afterwards, the audience of about twenty crowded into the kitchen for store-bought appetizers and strawberry cake with melted icing. There was a general consensus of good moods and laughter. A few stragglers danced to smoky radio blues in the ceremony space, bodies flashing shadows against the backdrop of cascading pink and orange and piercing-bright car lights. Indian chai tea and coffee was served in porcelain cups; Eloise threw her bouquet to Mirrin, who blushed white when Esau kissed her on the mouth in front of everyone.

By midnight only the newlyweds, a few close troupe friends - Hannah, a comically petit juggler; Jacob, a loud-mouthed blonde who specialized in falling during his hand-balancing routines; and Allen, an acrobat who had appeared in Cirque du Soleil - and Esau and Mirrin were left. Someone suggested going to the wharf. And so, shedding formal jackets and lacing up practical shoes, they trouped out to investigate the grand opening of an outdoor roller skating rink.

Placed among a park landscape, restaurants, and arcades, in full view of the Delaware River, the rink was a blue and white tiled oval beset with people. The whir and hum of skates upon uneven ground breezed through the air, mingling with the smells of grilled food and salt water. Esau insisted in purchasing her skates. He knelt before her in the rental area and tugged the laces taut, making sure her socks were pulled above her ankles.

Gliding along the rink was easier than Mirrin remembered. Her years spent training as an acrobat had strengthened her sense of balance and body in motion, and she settled into the motion of drifting, one foot skimming the ground before the other, knees tucking back, spine straight. Her roommate was equally poised - her and her husband spun, hand in hand, at the center of the rink. Esau was the lone variable in this sea of acrobats and aerialists, a wobbler among studies of grace.

"Here," she said, coming up beside him. "Hold my elbow."

Grumbling, he puttered forward. His motions were jerky and his arms were locked at his sides. He was slow and unsteady, and she could tell he was uncomfortable.

"I've got it."

"Still." Mirrin reached out and snagged his hand, slipping her fingers in the crevices between his. Public contact wasn't something she was good at, not quite yet, but she knew her reaction to his kiss had been stiff. And he was pouting, childish, and she hated hurting him.

"You just wanted an excuse to touch me."

"That would be you, earlier." she smiled up at him. "'I've got to kiss you, its bad luck not to', wasn't that what you said? How strategic."

He grinned. "What," he said, "you hadn't heard of that? It's an American custom."

"Of course, it is. Do you want to know about a custom we have in Canada? When roller skating?"

"Mir -" he warned.

"You must," she let go of his hand, "push over rookie skaters at least once. Seven years of bad luck, if you don't."

"Screw customs," Esau said. "You made that up."

"I did not."

"Mir!" as she turned and began to skate, backwards, in front of him, his face flushed. She was waving her arms, taunting him, and every other step she shot out one hand as if to mimic tipping him over. Needless, Esau was not pleased; his mouth was open in protest. One more she tried to trip him, only instead of batting her arm away he grabbed it, stabilizing himself and causing her to stumble.

But she did not fall - he caught her by the waist, pulled her up, skates just brushing the ground. Mirrin clacked her heels, frowning. "Let me down."

"Kiss me."

"Needy tonight, aren't you?"

He smiled again, his face going soft. Glancing over at the married couple, he said: "Only at weddings."

"Is that so?"

"Yes," he mumbled, and scotched sideways to lean against the wall of the rink. She slid her hands into his sweatshirt pockets to gripped the fabric with her thumbs. Heedless of staring, or laughter, Esau brushed her cheeks, the back of her neck, with his fingertips, breathed her in. he kissed her neck, beneath her ear, and pulled away with a laugh as she gasped and pushed at his chest.

"You," she said, "are also insolent tonight."

"I try. And when I succeed -"

She stepped back, and this time she was laughing, because his pout was exaggerated and his eyebrows were arching in admonishment and he was so wonderfully light-hearted for once, in a way he hadn't been in weeks. Not since his visit back home.

"No more." she said.

"Keeping up appearances?"

"Keeping you in check."

He pushed himself up from against the wall, followed her to the center of the rink. There they joined an evolving circles of acquaintances, vivid and different and joyful, even at such a late hour, running on emotions and little else.

"Mir," he mouthed above the bobbing heads, "you're beautiful."

She wished that he could occupy this space, this safe pocket of existence and being, for a time longer than either were allowed. Because it was perfect. And because reality gnawed in from the inside-out, reminding them of mixed priorities and uncertain futures; she knew, to spite the real world, only this: for all the things that were less than perfect, these few moments would be tucked between her collarbone and her heart for her and Esau's short eternity.

***

On the commute to work the next morning, her phone rang. The name said Unknown but Mirrin in fact did know the number, knew it quite well, and almost didn't pick it up. But then the call ended and the ringing stopped only to start again. To stave off future calls, and an irate rant at a later date, she slid the green icon for answer.

"Hello."

"Mirrin! Mirrin! It is so good to hear your voice, darling. How are you?"

"Good. Busy. I'm on my way to work, actually..."

"Oh! Should I call back? I can always call back."

"No," she said. "No, don't call back. I mean, I can talk now. I'm just walking."

Her step-sister heaved a breathy sigh of relief. At best, she was melodramatic, at worst, she was impossible. Despite her four year advantage, she was much less collected than Mirrin prided herself on being. "Good, because my goodness, I haven't been able to reach you. How busy are you, anyway? New job, or something? The last time we talked..."

"Was a while ago."

"Ages! It's been months, I think." Lisa's voice dipped further into the phone, as if she was holding the receiver far too close to her mouth. "Are you...okay?"

Taking a left on Market Street, Mirrin hurried past a waking shop fronts and workout-clad pedestrians walking dogs. Yellow buses half-full of children idled in traffic. "I'm fine. Perfectly fine. Why?"

"Well, you know, Daniel's stirring the pot again - came by my mom's house the other day asking for money. Asked about you, too."

At the mention of her father, her heart jumped.

"I don't have money."

"No about money or any of that, about where you were. He had no idea you came to America, can you imagine? I told him -"

"Please," Mirrin said, "don't say you told him where I was. Please, Lisa."

Silence.

"Lisa?"

"Well...I mean, I might have said...that you went to university down in Pennsylvania or New York or something? And he said: that's pretty far, and I said - you can thank me for this - I said: far enough from you."

Preoccupied, she swept into the street with only fifteen minutes left in the crosswalk. A horn glared at her; startled, she ran to the curb and almost collided with another dog walker. Apologizing, holding her phone away from her ear, Mirrin felt her pulse rise.

Her father. He was in Canada, trolling his other wife's children, picking up information - like a leech, she thought, a sour taste in her mouth - as to her whereabouts. She was past eighteen now. She had a college degree and student loans and a job, all to prove that she was an adult, that she was capable, and that she needed no interference into the life she had carved out for herself. It had been a long, hard, partially homeless road to where she stood now. And even though she had left her father behind when she had decided to move in with Key, her old boyfriend, the one who broke her heart, he had refused to leave her behind. Phone calls. Missed messages. Rambling, slurred voicemails. Now this: nailing down a location, preparing to show up unannounced.

Mirrin tripped over the lagging leash of a Great Dane; its owner cursed her out, and she swore back, into the phone, as she stumbled away.

"Um, are you there? Was that for me? I'm sorry, you know. But he wouldn't...he wouldn't leave. He like wanted to know."

"Lisa," she said, "I have to go."

"Oh! Okay! Just call me later, because I need to talk to you, I mean, a real talk, not a quick commute conversation. Oops, the baby's waking up - dearest, quiet down, will you? - I've got to go as well."

Lisa could never let things lie idle. She had to have an answer, she had to have a better excuse,, and she had to end the conversation in her favor. Her crooning, Mirrin knew, was not entirely because the baby had awoken.

Thinking this, she said, "Okay, I'll call you," and hung up, with no intention of calling back.

The doors of the YMCA parted like pearled gates. She stepped into the lobby, inhaling the scent of pool chlorine and sweating bodies, and sent up a fierce and desperate prayer that her father would not show up in Philadelphia. Because she had left for a reason, a very good reason. Reconnection was not - not then, not ever - a viable option.

***

Having not expected her first night alone in the apartment to be a challenge, Mirrin was taken aback by her insomnia. It was two in the morning. Most people, working people, were asleep by now. But Eloise had left that afternoon - her life taped up in cardboard boxes, bidding goodbye with an airy wave and an adoring look at her new husband - and the rooms were full of unreached spaces.

Her roommate had never been affectionate or sisterly. She had taken up as little space as possible, kept strange hours, and had eaten and talked to Mirrin infrequently. This truth did not lessen the fact that the unoccupied apartment felt fuller with one less person. Darkness pervaded the absence of furniture, the bare closet and cabinets. The quiet was thorny with subtle suggestions and anxieties.

All though independent, self-assured, and quite confident in her lack of fear during night or day, she hadn't realized how much Eloise had easier the flightier parts of her personality. Her roommate's mellow presence, the very thought of it, calmed her. And now, it was missing.

Sheets sweating, windows cracked open, cool air on her toes, she stared through the ceiling. Her bedroom was beautiful in the light - exposed brick walls, industrial white and steel accents, gauzy curtains, lanterns and birdcages hanging from the open beams above. But at night, on this particular night, the ceiling seemed to be populated by the trees of a sinister forest, creaking with the faintest hint of wind. Modern shapes became shrouds that rose around her.

Rolling onto her side, Mirrin grabbed for her phone. She missed by an inch; her palm grazed the sharp edge of her nightstand. With an exclamation, she sat up. Her shirt was glued to her back. Reaching for her phone again, she caught it, and the screen bruised the blackness purple. Esau's number sat at the top of her contact list.

To call, Mirrin thought, or not to call. Her boyfriend would be awake, she was certain - college forced one to remain perpetually nocturnal - but she was uncertain as to whether or not he would come over if she asked him to.

Esau did not like being used. And he was holding a previous event against her, the afternoon she had called him and then proceeded to try to make things up to him, in her own way driving him back. He had been so gentle at the wedding, though, still so eager to make amends.

She bit her lip. Ghosting her finger over the number, she waited for it to ring.

"Mir." His voice was sleep-rough. Low. "What is it?"

"Can you come over?" she blurted it out before she could stop herself, before she could populate her words with ellipses and indecision.

"I can't," he said. "If this is another..."

"No! No. Eloise left today; I can't sleep. The apartment feels..." looking around, she echoed the first thing that came to mind. "Scary."

"You want me to chase away the monsters, is that it?"

He was laughing at her. Cheeks simmering, she said, "Fine. Don't, then. I just thought, maybe, I'd call. And, maybe. Because. I'm, um. I'm scared."

"Okay, Mir."

"Okay, really?"

"Really really. If you hear a knock in fifteen minutes, you aren't being robbed - it's me."

"Thank you," she said, but he hung up before he could hear it.

She got out of bed and put on pants. Then, patting her hair into place, she settled against her headboard to wait. It was not fifteen minutes, but twenty. By the time the knock came her heart was quivering, and she was more scared than she would have cared to admit to him. The door opened on a shadowed figure; he stepped inside wearing sweatpants and crumpled hair.

He rubbed his eyes. "Hey, Mir." One kiss, soft and gentle.

"Hi," she said, almost shy.

Lamplight surrounded them as he slipped off his sweatshirt. He climbed into bed beside her, body careful not to touch her own. Mirrin faced him and tried to smile. It shook on her face, she could feel it slipping, and Esau brushed the corner of her mouth lightly, as it giving her permission to crumble.

Tears felt closer, closer than at the wedding, but she fought them back. She linked their hands atop the comforter, let their shoulders brush just the slightest bit. Whatever hung between them, it felt charged with expectation. She was determined not to let it get the best of her - these boundary lines, they had yet to be established, and tonight was a terrible night to start. Better by the light and clarity of day. And she didn't want something, something else, that he could hold as a grudge against her and their relationship.

More than anything, she did not want him to give up. Mirrin had been faced with a lifetime of people giving up and leaving - her mother, her father, Key. Esau could not fall prey to the same category. He tugged at her neck until her forehead fell against his chest. Then, one arm tucked behind his head, he whispered: "I shouldn't be here."

"But you are," she said.

"I know." His thumb arched along the inside of her wrist. "And I shouldn't be. Don't -"

"What?" he had stopped himself; she wanted to know why.

Mouth to her forehead, he said, "Don't be my downfall, Mirrin Postue."

"I won't."

"I know."

Companionable, mutually broken, equally exhausted, holding hearts in hands and promises between cupped fingers, one fell into sleep and the other stayed awake holding his girlfriend, thinking that he couldn't ask her to not undo him, to not tear him apart inside, because - without knowledge - she already had.

***

View in picture above is one upon which guests of the wedding would have overlooked.