May [H.S]

04

Tw: Brief mentions of sexual assault.

Magnolia

•••

Mon petit doigt m'a dit.

Soft sultry tunes loom in the area, avast the trickling rays of sun shown through the ajar garage door. Diluted, warm streams of cloud-interrupted glory. Humming tones cascade from below, rising and diverging into the air. Just beside me, a crackling radio dusts the ambiance in supple mitigation, burning this setting into my memories.

Oldies, songs I loosely jot down in my head. The smell of fresh, rubber tires, and masked perfume crumpled in the air, cigarette smoke titillation. Crisping my lungs, soothing the back of my throat in a husky burn while red gloss decorates the filter. Hand Rolled cigarettes with rose, just from her.

Painted red nails rolling them under the moonlight, just to be gifted in a tin with a bow. Her sorry for not being able to show up last night.

Something about receiving gifts wasn't nourishing to the want inside me, people had always done that. Use money or favors to make up for something, my father did that when I was little and Harry had done that. I didn't need that again.

I nudge closer when I see her shuffle from under the Fuschia car, holding her delicate hand out, it's a cue to move to the toolbox. Finding what I already know she needs at this point, I was used to the ritual, reading her mind. A soft murmured 'thank you' comes from under the bulk of the car, muffled by hundreds of pounds. I kick back, this time in her company rather than the radios. Staring at her two different, grease-stained converse, I wonder what color they were before all the grime. From the looks of it, one held a navy blue tint and the other orange under the area's grimy influence. I'm certain there is a pair of perfectly clean orange and blue converse sitting in her closet.

Stripey socks under the high tops scream in her personality, so do the baggy light wash overalls, and the silhouette of her leather jacket hanging on the chair beside us.

The sound of a bubble pops from under the car, followed up by mint gum-smacking lips, "How was last night?" I pipe up, darting my stare to the belly of the car as I hear her roll from under it, perking her knees. She looks at me blankly, placing the tool I gave her beside as she speaks, "Dead, normal." Joey hums, wiping her hand on the stained rag off to the side.

I drop my head, "Comforting to hear..." Almost more spiteful than I intend, the words floor the calming feeling in the air. My stomach turns knowing I might have ruined the elated mood. Picking at the edge of my lip, I fixate on the mangled laces of her shoes, moving firmly as she rolls from under the car. Turning her head to look at me.

Delicate brunette strands fall from her wrecked bun, a full set of wispy bangs frame the divinity of her face. Full, slate blue eyes peep at me entirely, something of importance in the silence surrounding her chartered stare. Her eyes trace a triangle before she speaks,  "Look sweet pea, Fitz flaked on me, I couldn't just leave the shop open? We went over this." Her soft-spoken voice murmurs under the music. Throaty and full of heart.

"I know, just— last night was shit," My lips purse as an instinct, stuck to the action of her fixing the hair tie around the mounds of mousey hair, reverting it to the previous state of a perfectly groomed bun.

She bites a bobby pin between her teeth, ensuring she's careful with her oil-laced hands, "I thought preppy went with you..."

A sheer smile dings over my face at the nickname, soon it's washed away as the meaning of her words wipe over me. Leaving a stoic, cold expression in its absence, "He left early. My ex showed up, ruined the mood." I state.