The ChapStick Chronicles
By Amy Soscia Paloski
A guy and a girl, high school seniors, sit in a coffee shop, bantering loudly about the things in life that suck ….
Stray locks of long auburn hair drape across her face. “My family only goes camping at places where you can buy ChapStick,” she says.
He shifts around in his seat and then looks down at the mug of coffee he’s pressing between his hands.
“Do you have any ChapStick? I think I forgot mine at school,” she asks, her voice rich and sweet as the sugar and cream that flavor her coffee.
He searches through his pockets until he locates a barely used cherry flavored ChapStick. His long fingers reach out to her in a gesture that if left unguided, would touch the delicate features of her face. Sorrow engulfs him as he surrenders the lip balm without connection. She takes the ChapStick and all that he has to offer, before returning to her teenage world of philosophy laced with prickly self deprecation. He retracts his hand as if he’s touched a brightly burning flame once again.
“You are such a great friend. You feed me. You give me money. And you give me your ChapStick,” she croons.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to see you suffer. Can you imagine life without ChapStick? You’d be lying in the gutter dying from chapped lips,” he adds as he shelters his humor.
“Oh you’re so right. You saved my life. ChapStick to the rescue. I’m a total mess. Where would I be without you to rescue me? You make sure I’m okay. You even offer your new ChapStick.”
He moves as far back into his chair as he can. Her references to their friendship paint his discomfort. Perhaps he wants more than to rescue her. Perhaps he wants to prevent life’s cracks from causing her pain. Perhaps he wants to soften the harshness of the world around her. Perhaps life only sucks if you are the one who offers your ChapStick, but never gets to feel the softness of the lips of the girl who owns your heart.
She swirls her coffee. The spoon clinks against the rim of the thick white mug. The tension walls itself between them until she can’t stand it.
“I heard from everyone that last year’s Sadie Hawkins dance sucked. I may still go though. When will I have another opportunity to ask someone out to the Sadie Hawkins dance?”
He straightens up and dons a serious façade before offering her unsolicited and veiled advice.
“Two points. Don’t wait until the last minute and don’t sit on your ass all night.”
“I might even wear a tuxedo,” she says, ignoring his availability.
He gathers a deep breath and holds it. Perhaps he’s wondering if she’ll ask him to the dance.
“That could be cool. Where else but at Sadie Hawkins can you wear a tux and not look like a complete freak?” He exhales.
She powers up her iphone, reaches across the table to show him a photo.
“That’s me and my little brother. He loved wearing his suits. He was like the little kid that gets made fun of because he was forced to dress up, but he didn’t care. He just loved those suits.”
He glances at the picture of the two of them and then focuses on her image.
“I think I look kinda weird in that picture.”
“I think you look pretty,” he reassures her.
To be continued…….
© Amy Soscia Paloski 2012
All rights reserved. Reprints with author’s permission only.
WOW! Please continue, soon. You certainly haven't lost your touch during this hiatus. This is a beautifully unfolding story. The mention of the tuxedo had me thinking that perhaps she is gay. (You can edit this part out before you approve the post: Got a little confused by the "I think I look kinda weird" line -- felt like he was the speaker, as the line immediately before referenced him.) I am anxious to read more.
ReplyDelete