The Pink Glove
The pink glove lays on the ground as the sky begins to rain down white, sparkling snow. She wished her soul was as pure as freshly fallen flakes; untouched by any human hands, especially untouched by some boy, whose every intention was to distort, pollute, burden, and harm her mind, body, and soul with toxic words disguised so beautifully as promises laced with pink ribbon and red roses.
"I swear I'll never love another girl as long as I love you."
"Pinky promise?"
"I do."
Each individual flake, void of both color and dirt, was to be admired by humans. She wanted to believe she could admire the snow the same way she admired that boy, just two months ago.
It wasn't possible. Nothing could ever amount to the feeling of admiration she got that night when he had shown up at her home, with s'mores and firewood, asking for a special night alone with her, in her safe haven, with her loved ones; or how he wouldn't become embarrassed and turn away when she poured her affections upon him in public. He wanted to become a part of her permanent life.
"I have the best surprise for you."
"You know I don't like surprises."
"It has to do with our eternal love."
Mom and dad had loved him as he brought smiles and warmth to their only daughter; her parents had loved them together, as they created art work in the snow, radiating love and laughter where ever they went.
Secretly, he had brought a ring along with him that night. Not just any ring, but his mother's ring, he had told her; a ring meant for her.
His dark leather jacket stood out amazingly in the bright winter scene around them. Her soft, pale hands were being protected from the bitter cold by her fuzzy pink gloves, but he had grabbed her left hand and removed the glove as he knelt on one knee, in front of her, and her parents.
"You know I love you, but do you know that I'm willing to promise to love you forever?"
"I didn't know."
"I do."
His mother's ring was their promise, and in her new and bold excitement for their future together, she had kissed him and wept while he carried her inside; her solitary pink glove left behind them; abandoned as a symbol of her isolated life before she had met him.
The snow that has partially covered the pink glove flies away as wind blows through and turns the glove over. The glove had sat in the snow, away from the hand it was supposed to protect from the false touches of untrue boys, during their last affectionate moments with each other, before she had known about the other girl.
"It was only once, I swear."
"You're lying; she came here and told me everything."
"I never made a promise to her..."
It sat alone without its partnering glove while she screamed, while he gathered his things, while she threw his broken promise back at him, shoving and hitting him out of her sanctuary. After he had left, she had noticed the glove once, she remembered, but just like herself, she felt the glove should be left alone.
At least once a day she would sit by her bedroom window and watch beautiful bright red birds gather around her faded glove, pecking with curious beaks, while the only thing she allowed her body to consume was the bitter taste of alcohol from bottles, the only thing she looked forward o were those days she didn't wake up at four in the afternoon with a pounding headache.
