Damsel

I shivered in the cold night air, cursing myself for only wearing a thin T-shirt in this unforgiving weather. But, then again, I hadn’t planned on staying here this long, as my pain was attributed more to a random change of circumstances, rather than a lack of foresight.

We were supposed to walk home right after school. When the bell rang; dying in the heat of 3 o’clock and amidst the stampede of a thousand shoes. Now, here we were: in the silent aftermath of a Friday afternoon shivering in the cold of 8 o’clock, a few stray feet clad in beat-up Converse and well-kept Mary Jane’s.

She was unrelenting. Her form swam through the darkness, flailing and embittered by unforeseen circumstances. Her face was angry, desperate, and still beautiful. Mary Jane’s clopped back down on the cement, her skirt billowing in the wind, and a single, slender, porcelain hand grasped desperately for something she couldn’t quite reach.

Another annoyed whine into the evening air. Her emerald eyes were still wide with fierce determination, but the unmistakable glint of coming tears lay underneath.

I tried to help so many times already, but every time, she shut me down. “No, I’ll do it, it‘s fine,” she first said sweetly with her trademark smile. “No, I’m fine, just wait,” she insisted at the second offer  fifteen minutes in, a venomous edge to her otherwise sweet tone and her smile fading.  At the third offer at sunset, she spat, “You wanna go home so badly, just go! I don’t need your help!”

So, for two hours, I’ve sat on these hard bricks, arms wrapped around my freezing body in hopes of some semblance of warmth. But even as I froze, I couldn’t help but worry more about my companion. Her clothing situation wasn’t much better than mine: white ankle socks (no stockings), a white summer dress (no semblance of a jacket or overshirt), and a black bow placed neatly (originally, at least) in a bed of blonde hair. The only thing keeping her warm was a burning arrogance that I worried would turn into an aneurysm if left unchecked for long enough.

Since it had been about thirty minutes since my last insistence at assistance, I figured I’d try again, if just to remind her I was still there and hadn’t given up on her yet. “Y’know, I can help.”

The already cold air seemed to freeze as the words registered in her mind. She stopped jumping and turned to me, face red and shining wet with sweat, bow about to fall out of her hair, and white dress stained.

There was an eternal stubbornness in her eyes, a constant, screaming, “NO!.” But at the same time, she seemed about to break, her modest chest heaving and her mouth agape, gasping for air. It was a common sight when I saw her on the court, where her efforts always resulted in some sort of victory. But in this context, there were no results, and no victory for that matter. It was just...sad.

“What? You don’t think I can do it?” she barked in an accusing tone, “Oh, I get it. You wanna be a knight and save the poor, helpless damsel in distress? Is that it?”

“I’m not saying that, I’m just saying that this is--”

“--stupid? Not doing anything? Pathetic?” Her eyes were swollen and tears were about to spill over her reddened cheeks. Her pink lips trembled, like she was about to emit a sound she swore long ago not to let anyone hear, and she had all but lost the will to contain it.

The silence of the night air was suffocating. Neither of us had the strength to break it: I was too scared, and she was…exhausted.

Finally, I gathered up some courage and stood up from the bricks. I approached her slowly, carefully, and she tried to stare me back down, like an animal waiting to strike at the first sudden movement. Ignoring this as best I could, I stood on the balls of my feet, stretched up toward the hanging strap, and pulled down a small yet heavy black backpack.

I offered it to her, but she wouldn’t take it. She just crossed her arms across her chest and muttered in a barely audible voice, “Didn’t need you.”

“You would’ve been here all night,” I reasoned in a hushed voice, “You needed the help--”

“I don’t need anyone’s help!” she snapped, breaking the silence around us , “Not Perry’s, not my counselor’s, and I sure as hell don’t need yours!”

She stopped for a  moment, breathing heavily, “I don’t need any saving! You think I can’t help myself? That I can’t stand on my own two feet? I’m doing just that right now, with AP tests, and tennis practices, and singing rehearsals, and you don’t see me complaining! I deal with things just fine, like I always have! Just because…my parents are--”

Her voice broke a little, and she came close to emitting the dreadful, vulnerable, pitiful sound. Hints of a croak escaped, and she stopped once more to recover herself. Her face was practically glowing red now, messy with sweat and tears and dripping mascara but not once did she motion to clean herself off. An interval of cautious quiet between us. She stared down at the backpack, strap still hanging in my hand. 

A shaky breath escaped her lips, and she meekly stretched out her arm. She spoke, quiet and broken. “Just give me my bag and let’s go home.”

I obeyed, handing over the bag. She struggled with the weight of it for a moment, but I didn‘t dare offer to take it for her. She’d just snap again. Or worse,  she’d break completely.

We walked towards the school’s exit in utter silence, the night echoing with the sound of her well-kept Mary Janes clopping down the stairs.