Sandpaper

three

 When she first met him, she was eight and he was nine.

She was hung upside-down on a tree branch in the backyard, fingers reaching for the ground, shirt riding up to reveal her stomach, hair blanketing her face. Her foster mother scolded her and plucked her from the branch before she could even protest ensuring that her feet were firmly on the ground before telling her that "ladies don't climb trees missy". The eight year old grumbled under her breath about how "ladies must be boring and she sure as heck didn't want to grow up to be one" before being silenced with the threat of more chores.

"Charlotte, this is your new foster brother, Cole, I want you to show him around and make him feel at him."

"Suuusan," the little girl drawled out in a whiney voice, arms folding across her chest, "how many times I gotta tell you my name's Charlie. My mom and dad gave me away for nothing if people like you keep calling me that name for Pete's sake. Do ya want the ninja assassins to find me or something? Huh, do ya?"

The middle aged woman rolled her eyes assuring her that she wouldn't do it again before giving the blonde-haired boy a squeeze of reassurance on the shoulder and leaving to go back into the house to finish dinner.

Charlie was all elbows and knees, missing teeth, and raised eyebrows as she examined her new foster brother cautiously before deeming him worthy of a smile. He was matted blonde hair, long legs, and furrowed eyebrows. And his eyes were blue. Not the ordinary sky blue or the color of the paint flaking off the old shed in the backyard, or even the little wild flowers that sprung up in the big field near school where she spent most of her recesses. No, his eyes were blue like the sea, crystal clear blue—shimmering, crashing churning. And looking at them she could hear the waves falling against the shore, see the foam flying into the air. His eyes were blue like the sky just before the sun dips behind the horizon—dark, rich, indigo, with specks of wild colors here and there. His eyes were blue like that warm wool sweater she put on when she felt the emptiness settle in the pit of her stomach and even the sunlight felt cold on her skin—comfortable, warm, familiar. His eyes were that kind of blue. And all she could do was stare.

When she finally said something, her words came out in a string of jumbled speech without any pauses for breaths, "Hi, I'm Charlie. I'm actually a princess from outer space but I'm under cover because some ninjas are after me. But one day my parents are gonna come find me and I'm gonna marry a prince and get to rule over a whole planet, and anyone I don't like is gonna have to serve me."

He scrunched his nose up and tilted his head to the side contemplating her story. "Aren't princesses supposed to wear pink poofy dresses and tiaras?"

He shrugged, deeming it a suitable explanation.

They spent the rest of the day playing in the backyard (because Charlie didn't much care for her other foster siblings who hung out inside). She crafted carefully thought-out story lines of their adventures always ending in some sort of tragedy which Cole found mildly disturbing.

They were on their fourth adventure when he finally asked her. They had just been shipwrecked on a deserted island filled with lots of dangerous monsters trying to kill them as they tried to hunt down the buried treasure.

"Hurry up ye scalawags," she cheered, stick held high in her hand like a sword as she motioned for him to follow close behind.

"Since when are we pirates?" he asked.

Her hand clamped down on his mouth pulling him behind a bush, "since I said so Coley-bop," she smirked.

A little while later, their adventure ended with Charlie getting speared in the heart by a savage. She assured Cole that "every little thing was gonna be alright" (to borrow epic words from Bob Marley) and encouraged him to "keep fighting the good fight". He just sat there with her head in his lap until one dark eye peeked open at him trying to figure out why the heck he hadn't moved yet.