Diary of a Girl

Prompt One: Your character is attracted to someone who is not normally their type.
How do they react? How does the experience differ for them?

September 8, 2015

I've been in love with Clementine since I was twelve. You know, Kate Winslet's character in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind? Loving someone for five years is a long time when you're only seventeen.

I've never thought of myself as gay. Although I've never had a boyfriend, I've been attracted to boys off and on since I was old enough to know the difference. When I was in the fifth grade, Adam Campbell wanted to see my boobs. I was the only girl in class who had any. The only girl who'd started her period, too. The boys looked at me differently after that. Adam said, "Show me yours and I'll show you mine." I said, "You first." We met in the woods behind the school. I watched, silent, while he unfastened his pants and dropped them to his knees. Then I ran like hell. Girls are just smarter about that kind of stuff.

I always thought my love for Clementine was just a girl crush--a fantasy, make believe like the movie, until today.

Today was the first day of school, and I was waiting for Mr. Billings to start AP English when she walked into the room. She was wearing a red bohemian summer dress and black combat boots that laced halfway up her calves. Her hair was burnt orange, parted down the middle and divided into two thick braids that kissed the tops of her shoulders when she moved. I could see her black bra through the lacy straps of her dress. Her short fingernails were painted black, and she had a red and black necktie around her waist.

My stomach flip-flopped, and I'm sure I stopped breathing as she walked down the aisle toward me. My heart felt like it would hammer out of my chest. I started to sweat, and I know I blushed when she smiled at me.

"Is this seat taken?" she asked, indicating the empty chair next to me.

She looked so much like Clementine that I couldn't speak. I shook my head, and I was horrified and excited at the same time when she folded herself behind the tiny desk.

"I'm Beatrix," she said. "You can call me Bee, or Trixie, or Beatrix. Doesn't much matter to me. It's such an awful name, I know, but it was my grandmother's, so there you go. It could be worse, I suppose. I should be thankful her name wasn't Beulah or something horrid like that. What's your name?"

She was so relaxed, so comfortable in her own skin, that I couldn't help but smile. Usually new kids are quiet and shy the first day of school, but not Beatrix.

"Mel. Melody. I hate my name, too. My friends just call me Mel."

"Mel. I like that. You know, that could be a boy's name, too. Unisex, I think they call it. Or is it sexually ambiguous? Androgynous? Oh hell, I don't know. Anyway, I just know you and I are going to be best friends."

And just like that I fell in love.



September 10, 2015

Beatrix asked if she could come over after school today. I knew my folks would still be at work, and the thought of being alone with her made me so nervous I almost said no.

"There's not much to do at my house. Wouldn't you rather go to the mall or a movie or something?" I asked.

"Oh God, no," she said. "I absolutely despise the mall, and I'd much rather read a book than go to the movies. I hate crowds." She shuddered. "I'm more of a skinny-dipping, snowball fighting, jumping into a pile of fall leaves kinda girl. So whad'ya say? Can I come over?"

I closed the door behind us and locked it. "I'd introduce you to my parents, but they won't be home from work for a few more hours. Are you hungry? You want something to drink?" I asked, tossing my keys on the counter. "I think we have iced tea, maybe some Pepsi."

"Water's fine."

She drank it down in three huge gulps, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Why is your hair so short?" she asked, tugging on a few strands at the crown of my head. "It can't be more than a couple inches long."

"I dunno," I said, suddenly self-conscious, flattening my hair with the palm of my hand as quickly as she pulled it up. I wasn't sure if she was making fun of me or not, but I felt awkward. Embarrassed. "I've always kept it short. Ever since I was a kid."

"Are you gay?"

I'd been about to put her glass in the dishwasher when she said it, and I stopped, my back to her. Two days ago I would have said "No. Absolutely not," but now I wasn't sure what to say. I wasn't sure what I was.

"It's okay, you know," she said. "I couldn't care less whether you're gay or not. I actually think I might be bisexual, but I'm not sure. A couple years ago I had a terrible crush on the boy next door, but I saw this female security guard once and instantly fell in love with her. She was young and small, short-haired like you."

I've never met anyone like Beatrix. There's nothing she won't talk about, nothing she's embarrassed by. She just says what she thinks. I wish I could be more like her.



September 15, 2015

Beatrix came over again after school. We lay on my bed and listened to music, talking until dark. I like Pink Floyd and Nick Drake, she likes Nirvana and Pearl Jam. No matter what we listened to it sounded good because we were together.

"Have you ever had a boyfriend?" she asked.

"No. I've liked a few boys over the years, but not enough to call them my boyfriend. Have you?"

"Nah. Boys are stupid. They're either too immature or trying to get into your pants."

I laughed. It was true. "Girlfriends?" It was the question I'd really wanted to ask, and I was thankful for the night. I didn't want her to see how anxious I was to hear her answer, didn't want her to know I was nervous.

She rolled on top of me, her hair caressing my cheeks in the darkness. She was so close. I could feel her breath on my face. I closed my eyes, breathed deeply. She smelled fruity, like oranges. I couldn't tell if it was something she wore, like perfume or lotion, or if it was just the way she smelled.

"What does that tattoo on your arm say? Is it French?" she asked, making no move to ease my suffering.

"It's Italian. It says l'essenziale e' invisibile agli occhi.--what is essential is invisible to the eye. It's from a book called The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. You didn't answer my question." Her body pressed down on me, but it wasn't an uncomfortable weight. We melted into the mattress, our bellies touching where the shirts had inched up. I wanted to touch her there, to stroke my fingers across her alabaster skin. The moonlight shone through the window just enough for me to see the swell of her breasts above my face, but I didn't turn away. I was committing every detail to memory so I could write it here later. I was suddenly grateful for Mr. Billings's AP English class.

"What is essential is invisible to the eye," she repeated. "You're practically invisible right now; I can hardly see you. Would you like to kiss me?"

I was breathing heavily, unable to control my respirations. Our bodies rose and fell, rose and fell, the rhythm quickening with each exchange of breath. "Yes," I whispered.

She leaned closer, her lips barely touching mine. I could feel her smiling against my mouth. I waited, clenching the bedding in my fists.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes," I whispered again. It was torture, the waiting.

The tip of her tongue, warm and wet, parted my lips gently. "Open your mouth a little," she said. Her breath danced across my cheeks, and I did as she asked. She sucked my bottom lip, teasing it into her mouth. I could tell she was experienced--that she'd done this before. I wondered if it was the neighbor boy she mentioned or the female security guard. I felt lightheaded, dizzy, and I thought I might pass out. I raised my hands to her sides, the backs of my fingers caressing the smooth flesh there. I crossed my arms around her lower back and pulled her closer.

She sighed, her breath filling my mouth as her lips covered my own. Her tongue tasted sweet, her body felt soft and inviting, warm on top of me, and I thought, If I died right here, right now, I would die happy. There's nowhere on earth I'd rather be. 



September 20, 2015

"Do you write about me in that thing?" she asked, indicating you, dear journal. You happened to be on my bed when Beatrix came over this afternoon.

"Wouldn't you like to know," I said, snatching you up and tossing you inside my top dresser drawer.

"What do you say about me? Do you say I'm beautiful?"

I bounced onto the bed beside her and draped my arm across her belly. "And funny and smart and kind and ... what?" She had this funny look on her face, like she was thinking about something, and I wanted to know what it was.

"Nothing," she said, smiling. "I have a secret is all."

She raked her fingers through my hair and kissed my forehead. It was such an intimate gesture, almost maternal, and I closed my eyes when she touched me. "Tell me," I whispered. "I want to know everything about you."

"If I did then it wouldn't be a secret, would it?"

I rested my head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. It was steady and strong, pumping the blood through her lungs and limbs and brain that kept her alive, kept her with me. "I have a secret, too," I said. "If you tell me yours I'll tell you mine."

"You first," she said. I remembered Adam Campbell and smiled.

"Okay, but don't laugh. Promise?"

"Of course."

"I've never kissed anyone before you. I always thought when I did it would be a boy, you know? Until I met you I was only attracted to boys. Well, boys and Clementine, but she doesn't count. She's not real."

Beatrix laughed. "You mean Kate Winslet from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind?" she asked. "I think everyone's attracted to her."

"You promised not to laugh," I said, burying my face in her hair. "It's embarrassing. And not Kate Winslet, Clementine. I love her energy, the way she looks and dresses, the way she sprints toward life with open arms. You remind me so much of her. I fell for you the minute I saw you."

Beatrix stroked my back with her fingertips. "You want to know my secret?" she asked, and I nodded against her shoulder. "I love you," she whispered, and I vanished in her embrace.



October 1, 2015

A lot has happened since we last spoke.

Last night I took Beatrix out to dinner for her birthday. She turned eighteen yesterday. I let her pick the place, and of course she chose some hippie joint downtown.

It felt like we were walking into some weird jungle-garage sale combo thing. We sat outside, the place was surrounded by trees and shrubs, and there was no meat to be found on the menu, which was scrawled on a chalkboard the size of my car. There was this elaborate hydroponics setup where they grow their own herbs, and of course everything was organic and environmentally friendly.

Beatrix ordered some sort of black bean wrap with quinoa and hummus. She let me try a bite, and it was actually pretty good. I got a veggie burger with fries.

"What're your plans after graduation?" she asked, sipping on her strawberry-ginger smoothie.

"College. I haven't decided whether I want to start school right away or take a year off. I have the rest of my life to be an adult, right? I should take a year to do something fun. I might not get the chance later on once there are bills and mortgages and stuff."

"We could go on a long-distance hike," she suggested. "I've been looking into it. Nothing too crazy, like maybe the John Muir Trail. It's just over two hundred miles long. I think we could easily manage that, don't you? Or should we go to Europe?"

"So you think we should take a year off?" I asked, scooting the tofu around on my tongue--anything to avoid actually swallowing it. I'm not a fan, but it makes Beatrix happy when I try new things.

"Of course! We've got lots of time to decide what we want to do, but we should start saving now. That way we'll have plenty of money when we graduate to do whatever we choose. I'm sure we'll get some cash from our families, so that'll help, too. Oh! We could volunteer abroad. I read this article about an opportunity to help renovate a temple in Sri Lanka next year. We'd be doing some of the construction work and painting. It's a little over sixteen hundred dollars per person for twelve weeks, but we could stay a week or a month. There are lots of other places to choose from, too: Guatemala, Africa, Morocco, Greece, even Fiji."

I laughed. "Where do you hear about this stuff?" I asked, downing the last of my veggie burger and washing the aftertaste from my mouth with a gulp of soy milk, which wasn't much better.

"I read. You know, those little rectangular things with words in them?" she said, teasing me. "Oh, Mel, it'll be so much fun!" she squealed, hopping from her chair and plopping into my lap. She wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me. "It doesn't matter what we do as long as we're together."

I brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and kissed her. Hungarian Paprika, she said the color was. It suited her.

"Always," I said.

First Place winner: June 2016's "CLOSED - Tales of Seduction"  [18+]