her name was annie

answers from annie

annie left a ash tray for her cigarettes behind the school ("i'm just that environmentally aware," she'd said after i asked her why.) it was always full by the end of the week. there had been times where worried about the condition of her lungs, and her reason for smoking. i worried about her state of mind, but annie was annie, and annie was a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle that was missing every corner piece.

me drawing on her became a ritual. i'd began buying body markers, for the sake of her skin and my markers. annie would continue wearing skirts, or would change into her Batman boxers in the bushes for the occasion. the silence wasn't permanent and annie would tell me fairy tales that she'd put a twist on (instead of goldilocks and the three bears, it was little bear and the three humans. little bear ended up with a bullet in his head after the Daddy Human thought that little bear was trying to eat the smallest human. 'in reality,' she had said. 'the Daddy Human was just an asshole.') there was one day, however, that the conversation was different.

"annie, you know virtually everything about me but the collective information i have of you is little." i had confessed. "i declare we start a barter system, everyday i ask you three questions, and you have to answer without sarcasm, and in exchange i'll draw for you."

annie looked at me miserably. "fine, duncan, only because i pity your sorry ass and your annoyingly extensive vocabulary."

"you know my name, annie," (my courage towards her had built up as i spent more time with her.)

"i don't care enough, dylan."

nonetheless, the system of questioning began. her answers, for the most part, were blunt and expressionless, often leaving me cottonmouthed and dazed.

q. "why do you read the same book over and over?

a. "because it was my dead mother's favorite book, asswad."

i had swallowed roughly. this was the moment i realized that the layer of dust between annie's cracks were far denser than i had previously imagined.

q. "why do you always have a different bike?"

a. "my douche of a father owns a bike store. creative occupation, huh? anyways, i have no other way to get to school."

her responses were just always so... so annie. straight forward and strangely poetic in a way that made my heart free fall into love. but i knew annie was annie and annie was anything but lovable. if love was water, annie was fire.

the set of questions after that dove right into the nitty gritty side. sure, i had felt guilty, but a deal was a deal and i felt as though it was my personal responsibility to figure out the mysteries of annie.

q. "why do you wear bracelets all of the time?"

a. "you finally realized i don't care enough about my appearance for accessorizing?" she rolled the beads and threads off of her wrist. her wrists were lined with blotches of shiny skin, tense and wrinkled. i remember tears prinkling her eyes, as if the scars hurt. "'cause burn scars don't disappear easily."

"annie,"

she was a rubber band. resilient. "no. no sub comments. pick up the pace, sherlock."

i had cleared my throat.

q. "why?"

a. "well, danny, after almost a lifetime of numbness, the slightest bit of feeling does wonders. even if that feeling is pain."

numbness. a feeling i became familiar with, too. there was a silence after that. an important one, too, because i was able to gather my nerves and ask the last question.

q. "annie, how would react if i told you i'd fallen in love with you?"

and she replied "i'd beg you to pick your shit up and fall out of love with me, danny, because i wouldn't ever be able to love you back."