Meteoroids

Chain of Craters

"Your sorry eyes cut through bone. They make it hard to leave you alone. Leave you wearing your wounds, waving your guns at somebody new." -Lost Cause by Beck

~

"I'm sorry," The girl says, turning a full 180 to face me. Her warm brown skin glows in the late summer sun. "Is this your spot?"

I took notice of the way she said "spot" and not "land." Like she knew this was a special place.

"It doesn't belong to me, no." I say, my throat drying up.

"But you seem like you come here often," She says, stepping closer to me. There's a cluster of freckles on her cheeks, connected by a bridge of them across her nose.

She has dark brown pencil-straight hair reaching just past her shoulders.

"I do." I say. I often have trouble making eye contact with people, but I found myself easily able to gaze into the dark gold abyss of her eyes.

"I'm Catena," She said, waving her hand carelessly, like she knew she was meant to do it, but had no interest in performing the act. Like it was meaningless to her. "Sistine." I say. "Catena. I've never heard that name before." I say aloud.

She smiles. "I get that a lot. It's an astrology term. It means a series or chains of craters."

"Unique. I like it."

"You are named after a chapel."

"I am."

"Are you new in town?" I ask, tossing a curl over my shoulder.

"Yes. My brother and father and I just moved here."

Suddenly I remember Rosalyn's story. "Are you... Indian?"

Catena crinkles her nose. "No, I'm Native American."

"That's what I thought. Sorry. Racist old lady said 'Indians moved into town.'"

Catena glances down and laughs a little.

She's not wearing any make-up. Her eyelashes must naturally be that long and dark.

Suddenly voice of a man echoes across the field. "CATENA!"

She turns quickly toward the direction of the shout. "Coming!" She shouts.

"I have to go," She says to me. "I hope to see you again sometime, Sistine."

And just like that she runs off.

And thus concludes my first encounter with the mysterious girl in the field. I hope there are more to come.

As I walk home, I do what I do best. I try to figure things out about people based on how they are dressed.

She was wearing a yellow sundress with a white flower print and a worn old jean jacket splattered with paint. For shoes she was wearing beat-up combat boots.

A very acceptable outfit, maybe a little warm for summer, but fashionable none the less.

I get back home and change back into my heels. I walk a good 15 minutes to the mall, which is located on the edge of town right near a highway that connects us to other towns.

The whole walk she occupies my thoughts.

I listen to the pleasant sound of my heels clicking on the glossy floor as I walk through the wide hallways of the mall. As I pass the food court, I glance in. I see Lillian and her boyfriend cuddled up at a corner table eating pizza. She tosses her long blonde hair over her shoulder playfully.