' Gin? ' The light moved with her arm.
' What? ' This was drowsy, her breath invisible, potent.
' I'm sick of the rain. '
' So turn up...whatever this is. '
' Mozart. '
' So turn it up. '
' No, I want to hear the rain, too. '
Twilight flickered over the thick comforter. She curled her legs to her breasts, looked over. ' Gin?
' Ymmh? '
' I can't imagine what we'll do now. '
Ginny opened her eyes. The green inside was emerald, impossible to believe in until you saw it. Small children tried to reach their fingers past the thick lashes, touch the color. ' I know. But I can. That's my job to do...don't worry. '
' I am worried. ' The rain pounded it's workshop, hammer, hammer, hammer.
' Stop. Stop talking. ' She pressed her feet against Ginny's feet, her toes working. ' Stop that, you're freezing. ' But Ginny didn't move.
' Mattias is drunk. ' Silence. ' Gin? Mattias is drunk. He's completely sloshed. '
A sigh. ' I know. That's what he will do...and we will take care of him. That's what we will do. '
' But he's sleeping with that piggy slut! The one Mom said was married to her first cousin when she was 20. Gross. '
' Well.... '
' Well what? '
' Well, yes, he is. '
She turned her head but pressed her feet harder against Ginny's warm, long toes. Ginny pulled the comforter up to her chin. The rain took a step back, quieted enough to hear the long leaves of the trees being pulled downward in the wash.
' Gin, Mattias is gay. '
' I know, Sepphie. I know! ' Gin turned her body toward the window pane, away from her, pulling the covers just off the side of her arms, hips, so that goosebumps ran from nipples to ankles. ' He can sleep with who he likes, he's practically a grown man now, you are being a child, stop it- I can't stop him, and I don't want to. I have to take care of you, and I have to think, and I can't think when you are constantly talking. '
' OK. ' She pulled the covers back violently. ' OK! '
Ginny put both her long white hands in her long white hair. ' It doesn't matter who Mattias is with right now or how much he's drinking. At first, these things don't matter. Trust me. All right? ' No answer. She moved one bony hand behind her and touched her shoulder.
' I know. It's just... And that Sara, she thinks he likes her. He's punishing himself. '
' Sweetie. ' Ginny's voice was as heavy as the rain, the twilight, the covers over their bodies.' Please stop. It's not the time to say all these things out loud. '
' I'm sorry...' and then, in a flash, ' I'm NOT sorry- Ginny! I'm not sorry! ' And she suddenly turned and slapped Ginny hard on the side, through the thick comforter. ' I hate this, I hate this! ' She was crying into her pillow, talking. ' You are making it worse...'
Ginny's eyes rolled behind the translucent lids. ' I'm not. It can't be worse. The only thing worse is to lose each other. That is why Mattias has to sleep with Sara, and why I have to lie here with you and listen to this depressing fucking dreg. '
' It's not dreg, you can't say Mozart is dreg, you philistine.' But she was faintly smiling.
Ginny licked her cracked top lip. The room smelt slightly musky, like a closet filled with dresses not opened in months. ' Let me see, can I remember? ' She cleared her throat: " Old Mozart was a genius they say / from his first birthday / but Chopin is much better than this / his was an human genius. " '
' Poo. '
Now the room was completely dark and filled with these things: two sisters, the smell of musk, the sound of rain, and the abiding of grief.
' Ginnypenny. ' said she.
' Slipkins, ' said the other, and both groaned in mock disgust. Though the memory was precious.
Downstairs they could hear the thumping and moaning of their brother faking an orgasm, and the scraping mice in the boards. The rain fell on the house as if it knew what had been lost, and the steady metronome of that keening let them finally rest, the rain keeping watch for their grief.
{ It's raining here and I'm feeling restless and unable to work on my novel so I spit this out.I like to do quick shorts inspired by photos. This reminds me of teen fiction. Maybe one day :) }
Maggie May Ethridge
* image by David Hamilton
