Author Games: Circle

Task Three | 1-10 Entries

1 // IVY DEVLIN

Ivy Devlin has done many things.

Of course, most every other human being on the planet can claim the same; a simple click! on the keys of a computer nowadays can still count as "doing" something, moving closer towards a goal. Ivy, though not too familiar with those computers, understands this, but also knows from years of experiencing life what a true accomplishment consists of.

Had Ivy's parents realized her plans at the tender age of twenty-two, such a fit would've erupted from the Devlin household that the entire block would've awoken. She allows herself to smile at the memories, as she's found herself unburdened by the scoldings and harsh disapproval that once flowed from her parents' mouths like water from a tap. While she understands true accomplishment, as a parent, she's recognized the pure emotion, good or bad, that comes alongside true parental concern as well. Luckily, it's been rare for her, but there have been some occasions where she's checked her daughter's bed in the morning only to find ripped-away covers, slowly rippling in the breeze - the open window's breeze. Of course, Kathleen returned home after half an hour of so, relatively sleepy due to an accidental slumber party the night before. True parental concern followed.

When all was said and done, both parties left the discussion high-strung and with a slight rasp in their tired voices. What came next was reluctant reconciliation as hugs and slightly agitated voices were traded in the kitchen.

Ivy's vanishing and reappearance, on the other hand, went much, much differently.

It all began as a simple idea, a seed in her mind-soil planted by the unknowingly reckless hand of a friend. It whispered during the day and physically manifested itself in her dreams in the earliest hours of the mornings with its promises: gleaming white, suddenly a glittering gold as the sound of the national anthem blared in her ears, muscle, and a pair of lips.

And, as Ivy likes to boast about nowadays, she kept this urge at bay for much longer than she expected at the time - four, maybe five months as the warmest September of her life slipped through her fingertips. The seed, planted during the final days of the spring, was still growing, and it was with this heat and the buzzing energy that came with it that the decision was made.

She waits in the kitchen now, dimming the lights with a few quick taps to the bulb, a defect first brought to her attention by her father a few weeks prior. Turning up the radio, Ivy curls herself into a ball on the couch, pulling a nearby blanket over her head, but not too far as to mute the voice of Tommy Makem fighting to make its presence known through the panicked voices of newspeople announcing Hitler's invasion of Poland.

The front door clicks open, the coarse bristles at the bottom of the door meant for trapping dust sweeping across the wooden floor as the whole door swings open. Ivy shuts her eyes, tight enough to avoid spastic, accidental eye twitches, yet loose enough to convey the appearance of sleep - a difficult balance to achieve, all things considered. Without time to bring the blanket closer to her lying face, she loosens her muscles and relaxes her breathing, waiting for her parents' direction to shift to the back of the house, towards the staircase leading to their bedroom.

Once the tapping of business shoes ends and the shuffling of slippers against wood begins up the stairs, Ivy's body involuntarily tenses as a wave of unexpected adrenaline rushes to her chest. She hears a door shut upstairs, and all is suddenly quiet.

Ignoring the pounding of blood in her ears, Ivy slowly sits up, putting the blanket aside. Her bare feet are soundless against the floor as she tiptoes to the kitchen light, flicking it off. She doesn't bother to put on any form of footwear; she's already dealt with the issues of packing. As her hands graze the cold doorknob, Ivy turns back around to look at the house, dark and peaceful, for the final time.