Snow Angels

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MarciaRH
MarciaRH
388 Followers

"What about you?" I asked, not cruelly, but in an attempt to keep her talking. "Anybody special?"

She rolled her eyes. "Right. That's gonna happen here."

"What about before you got here?" I asked. She was only a year or so longer a resident of Minnesota than I was. If Agnes had stood a chance of scoring a boyfriend anywhere, it had to be Florida.

She shrugged. "It was better there than here. At least there, I had some friends. Here I'm the only Jewish girl in the whole damned school."

I cocked an eyebrow at her. "You really think that's the reason? I've never heard anyone mention your religion before at all. I didn't even know you were Jewish. Not that it matters. It's not like you're black or Hispanic or anything." I grinned. There were no blacks in our class, and only one or two Hispanics. In my old school in Atlanta, whites had been the minority.

"So what do they talk about then?" she asked wryly. "My big nose?"

"No. About you being a lesbo."

She was shocked wide-eyed, her mouth opening in protestation . . . until I laughed.

"Ellen! I can't believe you said that. It's not true, is it?"

Continuing to laugh, I shook my head. "Your secret is safe with me. Cross my heart and hope to die."

She was red to the roots of her hair. "I am not a lesbo. I've never been with a girl before. I don't like girls."

"You like me," I pointed out.

"That's different," she said, frowning. "I just thought you'd be a nice person to talk to."

"I'm not?" I wondered.

Her face redden even more. She mumbled, "I don't know. I've never talked to you before."

"We're talking now," I reminded her.

"Only because."

"Only because, is as good a reason as any. Why not take advantage of it?"

She hunched under the blanket and leaned away from me. I took my hands out of my pockets, grabbed the overlapped ends of the blanket and pulled them tighter together. It forced her back against me.

"Maybe I like talking to you," I said. "Have you considered that?"

She hunched her shoulders even more. "You didn't seem to earlier."

"I kinda got taken by surprise," I said. "I never for a minute suspected you had any interest in me."

Her face was now scarlet. I could actually—or imagined I could—feel the heat radiating off it. Slowly, I moved my left hand in search of her right, found it and forced my fingers between hers, entwining them.

"I think maybe I like you having an interest in me, Agnes."

Startled, she inched her head around. "What?"

I told her about my revelation of earlier, of discovering that I had suppressed my own interest, had experienced jealousy and insecurity, even about the battle of the voices.

She blinked at me slowly, guardedly.

"Do you think I'd lie about something like that? Under the present circumstances?" I scooted in tighter against her, found her other hand in the folds of blanket and gripped it also, though through a layer of blanket. I drew my legs up beneath me and sat on my feet; Agnes did likewise.

"These seats are really cold. Let's tuck the blankets under us." Though difficult, with only one hand each to accomplish the task, we somehow managed.

"Better," I muttered. I dreaded when the flare burned out again and I'd have to get up and replace it. It couldn't be more than twenty degrees in the bus. The cold was glacial. Breath billowed out whitely with each exhalation, looking almost crystalline. My teeth refused to stop chattering. Agnes was shaking like a tree in an earthquake.

"Maybe we should put our heads under the blanket," she suggested.

"Good idea," I agreed, shouldering the blankets up and over my ears. We hunkered over almost double, but the blankets were just large enough to enshroud us like a cocoon. Right away I could feel a difference in my cheeks and nose, which embarrassingly, wouldn't stop dripping. I sniffed loudly.

"God, I hope we don't get frostbite."

Agnes shook her head. "We should be okay as long as we have these blankets around us. The warmth of our breathing should bring the temperature up. I already feel warmer, don't you?"

I hadn't noticed any lessening of my shakes. It was like every muscle in my body had a needle stuck in it with an electric wire attached. I imagined this was what being electrocuted felt like. I found her hands again and gripped them tightly. "If we get out of this," I said. "From now on, you and I are eating lunch together every day."

She laughed. "That'll go over big with your friends."

"Fuck my friends. They're not trapped with me on this bus." I turned to look at her in the darkness. "I'd like you to send me those emails, Agnes. I want to read every one of them. I don't know if I'll reply to any of them--there were so many--but I'd like to know what you wrote."

Agnes groaned.

"What?"

"It's embarrassing."

"Why?"

"You have no idea what I wrote in some of those emails. I really poured out my heart to you. Even if we were best friends forever," she said anxiously, "there is no way I would have sent more than one in five of those emails. Mostly, they were my electronic diary."

"So?" I objected. "I'd let you read my diary."

"No, you wouldn't. Diaries are private. Too private."

I was quiet a moment. I wondered if I could even imagine the things she had written, or whether I wanted to. Maybe I was better off not knowing. On the other hand, I had never done anything worthwhile enough to start my own diary. An indicator of my shallowness?

"Can I tell you something?" I said.

"Sure."

"I've never had a real girlfriend before. Someone I could share secrets with. Most of the people I hang around with are more interested in their nails or the skirt they bought last weekend or their hairdos than they are in listening to a friend's problems...or even in being friends. The people I hang around with—including myself—are more plastic than Barbie. Barbie is Mother Teresa compared to some of us," I added, snorting.

It was Agnes's turn to be silent. I felt her obvious embarrassment, her unsureness of how to respond to a confession like that.

"Forget what I said. It's not important," I told her.

She was quiet a moment longer, and then asked in a hesitant voice: "Would you want to see the latest ones, or see them in order?"

I grinned in the darkness. "From the beginning, please. I'd like to see how your infatuation with me has progressed over the last five months." I laughed, to make sure she knew I was joking. She laughed back and squeezed my hands.

"Okay. That sounds cool."

I could hear the continued embarrassment in her voice, the uncertainty, but also a tinge of hope.

Responding to a command disguised as an impulse, I leaned sideways and attempted to find her mouth. The reality of what I was doing hit her and she jerked away, but then, very slowly, came back to me again. Clumsy in the darkness, our mouths finally found each other and joined. I closed my eyes and held my breath.

Her lips were so soft, their touch so timid. My shoulders reacted to a shiver and I drew her closer while I bent my head farther sideways and increased the pressure on her lips. I knew with certainty that she had never been kissed before, not like this, not by someone attracted to her. My heart pounded. I felt squirmy, as though my body might at any moment wrest control from my mind and attack the object of its desire. As many boys as I'd kissed, never had one lit a match to my insides like Agnes was doing right now. It felt like a flare had erupted.

"Oops," I said breathlessly, breaking the kiss. My lips screamed at me in protest. "I forgot about the flare. I need to check it."

I could feel Agnes' rapid breath on my cheek; practically hear her heart beat. She had begun to shake again, but in a different manner than she had previously. The way I was now shaking,

"Thank you," she whispered, and not about the flare.

I kissed her quickly and pulled the blanket down so that I could check outside. Sure enough, the flare had gone out. I was startled how frigid the air had become outside our little cocoon. Digging in my pocket, I extracted the third and final flare from the open package, shrugged out of the blanket, stumbled to me feet and dropped down into the well. Agnes grabbed the lever through the folds of blanket and worked the doors open even as I freed the plastic cap and struck it across the chemical button. It took two tries. This time, instead of pitching the flare out into the snow, I held it above my head and scanned the nightmarish landscape. Despite Mr. Sanford's assurances otherwise, it looked like the backside of the moon.

"Mr. Sanford!"

I heard nothing but the shriek of wind and the hissing, popping flare. The wind had not diminished since the last time I'd looked outside but, though I wasn't positive, it appeared that most of the snow in the air was being torn from the tops of snowdrifts and from the bare branches of trees. I gauged the visibility at twenty yards, roughly twice what it had been before. Encouraged, I yelled again, waved the flare back and forth over my head and, after listening carefully and squinting against the wind, pitched it forward into the crater. I was surprised when Agnes joined me in the well.

"Do you see him?" she asked.

"No," I had to admit, dully. "The snow is letting up, though."

"How deep is it, do you think?"

I liked having her standing there with me; the cramped floor space put us in contact. To my surprise—and pleasure—she wrapped the blanket around me and held it closed with her arms around my lower rib cage. Even through the thickness of her parka and mine, I could feel the pressure of her small breasts against my back. That, and a smile I couldn't restrain, made my face redden.

"Three feet, maybe," I mumbled. Reaching up, I located her hands in the folds of blanket and drew her to me. She nuzzled her cheek against mine, her chin on my shoulder and I shuddered. I shivered again, much harder this time, when she kissed the side of my neck just below the jaw.

"Stop that!" I protested. "Someone will see us."

She laughed at my embarrassment, spun me inside her arms and wrapped my arms around my waist. I looked directly into her chocolate-brown eyes. It hadn't occurred to me before that we were the same height. She leaned forward and kissed me again. I kissed her back.

"Mr. Sanford'd die if he came back to this," she said, mischievously.

"More like, he'd die to see this," I countered. "Men get off on girls kissing girls."

Purposefully or not, Agnes knew how to make me squirm. I wondered just where this would end up. As much as I'd like to believe myself a courageous person, I couldn't see us walking along the school corridors, hand in hand, smiling contentedly. She read my thoughts—or my expression.

"Were you serious about being friends? I don't expect you to suddenly declare yourself to the world as being in love with me." My face heated again. "I'll be happy just to be talked to," she went on, smiling shyly, "maybe invited to your table once in a while for lunch. I don't expect you to humiliate yourself. I've seen too many movies to expect everything to just fall in place. Considering, that you want things to fall in place."

Despite my embarrassment, I maintained a connection between brain and tongue. "I wouldn't be standing here with my arms around your waist unless I was genuinely attracted to you, Agnes. It took something like tonight to make me step back and take a hard look at myself. I've never been happy with guys. I've known that for a long time, but never allowed myself to see past the disgruntlement to figure out where it was coming from. I'm not even sure that's a word, but I can't think of one better to describe how I've been the last six years. Ever since I growed boobies. Ever since guys started pestering me. You know how girls talk about nothing but guys and sex?" I grinned at her dour expression. "Well, I've never been into guys like my girlfriends are. My enthusiasm was always a little bit made up. I just wouldn't let myself admit what I really was interested in."

I bit my lip. Had I just told a lie? The truth was, I seemed no more attracted to girls, than I was to guys. If I was being honest with myself, could I remember a single instance looking at a girl and being sexually attracted to her? I didn't think so. Except for Agnes.

"Maybe," I said haltingly. "Maybe what I am is not a lesbian, but someone who responds to only one certain person. That person could be a guy, or someone of my own sex. It wouldn't really matter, as long as the response is genuine. I've never responded to anyone until now. I think maybe you're my person, Agnes. I don't know how it feels to you."

I didn't know what her response would be, but it couldn't have been better than Agnes closing her eyes, leaning in and kissing me like I was a princess. The air evacuated my lungs without me breathing out, my knees turned to Jell-O and everything inside me melted, like chocolate. It honestly felt as though Agnes was holding me up. I was beyond pliable.

"Mmmmm," I moaned weakly. Agnes ran her left hand up my spine and cradled the back of my neck. I moaned again, trembling. On their own authority, my hands moved up her sides and located and took possession of her small, firm breasts. Now Agnes began to moan. The flare had reignited in my gut and I swear I had the horrible, maddening desire to be naked inside that blanket with her, for her to be naked with me. I fought my hands to keep them on the outside of her coat, rather than unzipping it as they wanted to do. Never before in my life had I wanted hands touching my bare breasts like I did now. When our mouths opened and allowed the joining of our tongues, it was the most wonderful moment I had ever experienced. I stopped breathing and I swear my heart stopped beating. How long we remained with own mouths locked and our tongues dancing, I don't know. The passage of time had no meaning to me. When finally we did break, we both stood panting, foreheads together, our breathing ragged and irregular. It was a long time before I opened my eyes.

"Don't you ever kiss anybody else like that," I rasped. "Don't you ever."

She laughed weakly. "I don't know how to kiss. At least, I didn't know I did. I've only kissed one boy before, and that was so he wouldn't have to embarrass me by shaking my hand. I didn't know anything could be like that," she said, laughing. "I think I had an orgasm."

I laughed, she joined me and we didn't stop laughing for a full minute. I glanced briefly over my shoulder, both to check the flare, and to make sure we didn't have an unexpected audience. The truth was, I was so wet that I might as well have had an orgasm. It was embarrassing. I'd be supremely embarrassed to have her know she'd done that to me. I told her anyway.

Blinking, she turned red. "Obviously, I never have," she muttered.

"Never have what?" I asked, momentarily confused.

"Had an orgasm," she admitted in embarrassment.

"Not even by yourself?" I asked.

Intimidated, she shook her head.

"Well, I haven't either. Obviously, I've been saving that for you."

Now she really did turn red.

The flare burned out during our next kiss. Reluctantly, I surrendered her breasts (she had yet to touch mine), dug in my pocket for the unopened package of flares, and struggled ineffectually to get it open. Finally, knowing I had no choice, I turned around, freed my hands of the blankets and wrestled the package open, at the expense of two nails.

"Motherfucker," I mumbled irritably. Then I gasped and started a bit as Agnes found my breasts, cupping them through the thickness of my coat. My face reddened at the unexpected pleasure of it. It felt so natural, having them held.

"I like that," I said haltingly.

She whispered in my ear. "I liked it when you held mine. I definitely got the better part of this exchange. Sorry about that."

"Stop it," I muttered. After the scalding it had taken in the last few hours, I was surprised I had any face left to burn.

With Agnes meticulously exploring my chest, I removed a flare from the pack, returned the others to my pocket, broke loose the plastic cap without bothering with the banding and struck the button. I made myself search the snowscape for any sign of Mr. Sanford, call his name twice into the emptiness, and listen for any response over the persistent wind. I was really becoming concerned, as was Agnes.

Where the hell was he? Why hadn't he come back? Should we go out looking for him? I voiced this last question to Agnes, who bit her lip.

"Do you think we should?"

"I think, we'd end up just like he did," I admitted, sorrowfully. I was back to blocking visions of him lost in the snow. I didn't know how anyone could last five minutes out there, much less forty-four minutes. I was beginning to loose whatever hope I'd had. Depressed, I pitched the flare into the ever-widening crater.

* * *

Back in our little cocoon, we passed the time kissing and making romantic small talk. I told her about my pathetic love life; she told me about her non-existent one.

"I don't understand something," she said in a troubled voice. "Why are you even on the bus? Paul has a car, doesn't he?"

It had to come up sometime, I thought resignedly. I told her about my accident three years ago, my inability to get behind the wheel without hyperventilating, and the aversion I had to anything small and confining. I felt her shiver in response to the admission that I had killed two of my best friends. "It's not something I talk about much."

"I can understand," she said compassionately, finding my hand and holding it. "How long were you in the coma?"

I squeezed her hand tightly. "Three months. In a way, I was lucky. My injuries were healed by the time I woke up, and I never suffered the pain I would have gone through the first couple of weeks. I had to learn how to walk again, of course—"

"I always wondered about your limp," she admitted.

"—and I don't see very well out my right eye, and there's always this..." I directed her fingertips to the jagged scars on my scalp and the slight depression marking the location of the plate. "I can never shave me head like Britney Spears. Not that I'd ever want to, you know?"

She was understandably troubled. "Did you...?"

"See anything when I died?" I laughed. "Nothing. No life-changing religious experiences for this girl. I'm still the same old messed up Ellen Olson."

She laughed uncomfortably. "That makes you what...19?"

"Almost." I counted the days mentally to my birthday. "In 21 days I will no longer be an 18-year-old. I'll be the same age as Bella Swan, forever 19." I frowned. "Do I have that right? Or did Bella not make it to her 19th birthday? Anyway, I'm your older and wiser girlfriend, so you will defer to me on all important decisions," I said grinning.

She grinned back at me, shaking her head.

"I know you're not older than me," I said.

"Guess again."

I blinked in surprise. "No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"You are not. Show me your license."

Still grinning, she retrieved her backpack from under the seat and dug through it for one of the biggest and ugliest wallets I'd ever seen. It had never occurred to me that I might be the younger partner in our duet, that I might not be the only overage senior at school. Much as I hated it, being the oldest student came with a certain perverse pride; now that was in jeopardy. And the truth was, I liked and wanted to be older. So, confronted with the birth date printed on her license, I grumbled: "No way. It's not fair. You can't be 19 already."

"I am." The smugness in her voice was unmistakable, and insufferable. "I'm almost 20. You're my junior, missy. You have to listen to me."

"That'll be the day," I muttered peevishly. "Explain yourself."

MarciaRH
MarciaRH
388 Followers