Frozen

Chapter 8: Only Human

[Dani]

I tap my nails one by one on the scratched oak wood surface, every nail cranberry red except the pinky which glints, different from the rest, saffron yellow, in the light of a softly spinning ceiling fan. They are that color on purpose. Every time I paint my nails, I paint one of the five a different color, left out from the rest, that nail is Nathan. Well, the nail itself is not Nat, but it represents him. Every time I see my calloused writers hands I am reminded of him, the constant ache sending out another sharp stab of pain at my heart. It hurts, but I don't want to forget. I don't want to forget the feelings, or the memories I've tried desparately to preserve. I realize that the pencil that lay perched between my fingertips has begun to twirl uncontrollably in my hands, when I am focused I can keep my compulsive energy controlled. When I am thinking of Nat I am less focused than I could possibly be. That was what it was like being with him, too. I could just...forget.

Tugging my brown knit hat with sewn on pink flowers on to hide my haphazard brown hair I push the wooden chair back and wince as it scrapes squeakily against the floorboards and stand up. I run down the equally creaky stairs with a stack of books and loose papers clutched to my chest. A sketch on crumpled white paper falls to the ground, scattered with light dashes to form a boy's face. I glance back for a second on the picture, slightly unproportional because I usually draw manga, but genuine and meaningful. With hesistation I shuffle away in socks that have holes where three out of ten toes poke through the threadbare fabric, I step into scandavian-esque black clogs and swing my secondhand red and yellow bag over my shoulder. Dad is already up, singing embarassingly as he makes toaster waffles that are covered in way too much fake syrup. Yuki, my cat, named after a character from a manga series, Fruits Basket, that I was obsessed with as a thirteen year old manga fangirl, brushes up against my legs that dangle from the stool I am perched on. Clearly the sickly sweet syrup is good enough for him as he mewls loudly, begging for the still partially-frozen meal that sits in a mushy, daunting lump on my plate. Not wanting to eat it myself, I push the bite that sat untouched on my fork to the ground where it lands on the floor with a plop on the floor which Yuki then attacks, he never was a fan of mice, and seems to enjoy attacking poorly-cooked meals more than small furry animals. I do not argue with this, because I have been a vegetarian since I was twelve and protest the murder of any species of animal. I rescued Yuki from a kill-shelter when he was a kitten.

Just then Jeremiah comes pounding down the stairs, my only younger sibling, and makes a mad dash for the waffles. At least he is excited.

"Daaani, where's the syrup?"

"Right in front of you, you little twerp." I fuss with his hair and laugh as he annihilates breakfast then sits in his dinosaur pajamas watching Spongebob in the living room. I remember when those pajamas used to be mine, mom says that I used to complain that they were boy's pajamas, and that dad would say that dinosaurs can be girls and boys, and that the flannel ones on my pjs were definately girls. Mom is already at work, and dad is getting ready to go too, Jeremiah is in first grade, and Lilah who is just beginning to come down the stairs is in twelfth, two grades above me.  Lilah sits down at the counter but doesn't touch her food, insisting something about calories as she flicks back an out-of-line piece of her brown bob, tha bangs low enough that they brush the purple eyeshadow that is coated on in a "smoky" effect around her eyes. Her black t-shirt shouts the name of some indie band and she has on a long brown maxi skirt and deep blue boots that will probably be mine when she moves out next year.

Just then I hear a tire screech from outside along with the muted sound of high school kids shouting and I slam open the front door and burst out, my new clogs splashing in a puddle of melted snow.  As I get on the slush-and-muck-coated bus a frame of the picture that I let slip through my fingers is still frozen in my mind.