Ocean Eyes

Poetry

"Hun, no ones gonna want to buy a tent from someone who looks like their puppy just died."

Ryder groaned a response, flopping her head down on the counter. It smelled like artificial lemon and she wrinkled her nose. The girl had been mopey for a week now and it had become apparent to everyone that something wasn't right. Normally around her family and friends, Ryder was full of energy and always willing to smile, if not for herself then for others. Yet she had barely smiled all week, a nearly constant expression and frustration and unhappiness on her face.

"Just go stack some of those 2 by 4s" Sarah was almost pleading now. She didn't like seeing Ryder so down and so drained. The girl refused to talk about it but she knew something had happened.

"Msphl" Ryder's response was muffled by the table. Sarah sighed heavily, leaning her weight against the counter. Luckily, the store was dead. Jim had taken his break for his daily nap and Ryder was just about useless.

"I could fire you for your insubordination, you know that." Sarah clucked her tongue, a fond smile on her face.

"We both know you wouldn't." Ryder sat up, blinking her eyes blearily. Her hair was stuck to her face, lines from her hand marked on her cheek. She was clothed in an oversized sweatshirt and pants, obviously an outfit she had thrown on with a seconds notice. Her eyes were red from a lack of sleep.

"Ryder you look like hell." Sarah shook her head disapprovingly. "You've got to take better care of yourself."

"Jackson was sick. Now Violet is." Ryder sighed, propping her elbow on her book as her eyes drooped. "Mom went out with Sue and I didn't want to bother them."

"Well, by the looks of it, you may be coming down with what they have." Sarah placed her hand on Ryder's forehead.

Sometimes Ryder couldn't believe that she not only had Caroline, who had recovered almost fully, but Sue and Sarah in her life. In place of a father figure, she had three mothers. Maybe that was life's weird way of making it up to her.

"Let me go make you some soup." Sarah stood up, pulling her grey hair back into a bun. "Chicken noodle, your favorite."

She bustled away and Ryder allowed her face to fall back onto the counter. She had been out of it all week and Ryder hated that. Since Halloween she hadn't slept, torn between her mental battle. And as much as she hated o think it, she regretted running away from Paul. But she knew he wouldn't want her after he found out. And maybe she was selfish, but staying away from him would save her the heartbreak of him leaving.

Her fingers caressed the soft binding of the book laying next to her. It was a poetry book Leah had bought her a few years ago, well read and annotated by Ryder. The cover was a beautiful water color scene of a woman, with plants growing around her. Her eyes held unshed tears but her lips quirked into a smile. Ryder loved the book.

She found so much beauty in words. They fascinated her. To Ryder, words were things of beauty, parts of a potion that could take the most powerful of men to their knees. They offered an alternative reality, one of love and acceptance and whimsical dreams.

She opened the book, breathing in the smell of weathered paper. Each power was annotated in her dark scrawl, her thoughts and memories written in the margins. The book was her.

The door bell jingled and she put the book down, ready to greet the newest customer with false enthusiasm. Her eyes met those of Paul Lahotes and her heart jumped.