Another journal

Written during my month of writing.  You can find all the sections here.

“Y’know, I’ll go along with anything here, you guys are the experts.” Emily perched on the edge of the hammock, body tensed against falling back into the fabric. She pulled on her cigarette, eyes flicking to her aunt. “But this is weird. I mean, it is and it isn’t.”

Janice sighed and leaned against the porch railing, cradling a glass of tea. “You’re so dang wired, I should have dosed you with cough syrup last night so you’d get some sleep.” She pushed herself standing and looked down at her niece. Palming her forehead, Janice shoved Emily into the hammock. “Lay the hell back and tell me what you’re bringing.” She resumed her slouch against the railing. “And don’t set my damn hammock on fire.”

An arm flopped out of the cocoon of fabric, disappearing again briefly for a moment before dangling back down, accompanied by a plume of smoke. Emily began listing the contents of her pack, clothing and food, the camera, writing desk and knife. When she finished Janice prompted her on Sidhe policy, where to drink, what to call people. After a while the cigarette had burned to the filter and she took it from her niece’s hands, stubbing it into a nearby ashtray. She kept drilling and lecturing until she was pretty certain Emily was asleep. As she softly opened the screen door, Emily’s voice scratched from the hammock.

“It’ll be fine, right?”

Janice knew her niece couldn’t see her, so she let herself frown. “It’ll be fine.” She waited a moment, door open. When nothing more came, she went inside.

Emily woke sweating, the fabric of the hammock sticking to the back of her knees. She blinked away the sleepiness hazing the jewelled early evening sunlight. The nap had helped some, but she still felt like there was so much to do, even though everything had been ready to go the day before. Stretching her arms against the hammock’s sides to let in the faint breeze, she wondered again if she was forgetting something. Was there anybody she needed to say goodbye to?

She sat up slowly, swinging her legs out. The sated content of sleep shifted uneasily against the pit of nerves burning in her stomach. The whole point of this endeavour was that there wasn’t. Just like at graduation there hadn’t been anyone she’d promised to write as they went their separate ways.

“I am a rock, I am an island.” She heard the porch creak behind her and a glass of iced tea was slipped into her hand.

“Have you no need for friendship?”

“Friendship causes pain.” Emily laughed and took a sip. “God, listen to that sappy junk enough and the lyrics seep in. She turned, expecting her aunt. Becky stood, hand on hip, smoke trailing from the cigarette she held with her glass. With a start that slopped tea down her fingers, Emily swore. “Shit, I thought you were my aunt.”

Ducking under the rope, Becky moved to sit next to Emily, pushing the hammock to sway lightly. “Well, I hope I didn’t disappoint you. Janice is helping the others build the arbor, but she gave me this to hand over to you.” She slid an envelope onto Emily’s lap.

Emily set her glass on the porch, balancing against the hammock’s swing. The envelope was unsealed and she slid the bulky card out awkwardly. Thick with construction paper flowers and shedding glitter, it had a simple heart on the front that showed the line from folding to cut it out. Inside, in a clear adult’s print was written “We’ll miss you, good luck!” Children’s careful signatures crowded the space around, she’d been coaching the youngest ones on printing and all of them were more or less discernible. One of the older kids had even attempted cursive, written with such deliberate slowness that the marker bled wide into the paper at each stopping point.

Feeling her eyes tearing, Emily cleared her throat as she reached back down for her glass. She concentrated on the tea’s sweetness and forced the needles of tears back down her throat. Becky laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Moreso than for any of us, you’re doing this for them. The ceremony is past their bedtime, so they wanted to make you a card.”

Composed now, Emily smiled faintly. “I’ll make sure to add it to my pack. Even with all this glitter it shouldn’t affect the weight.” Becky chuckled. Extending her leg she hooked one of the little porch tables with her foot and slid it closer so she could crush her cigarette into an ashtray.

“Now, I know your aunt won’t approve of this, but I thought of something you probably didn’t pack.” She held out a soft leather pouch, offering it to Emily. who took it with hesitation. Unwinding the ribbon that held it closed, Emily recognised the contents by the scent as it mingled perfectly with the leather.

“No shit, tobacco.” She fished the packet of papers from the soft, fragrant shreds. “I really would not have been in good shape chucked into the Sidhe withdrawing from nicotine.”

Becky shifted in the hammock to face Emily, leaning back against the side drawn taut by their double weight. “Do you know how to roll smokes? It’s just like joints, but easier.”

Emily blushed. “I don’t smoke weed.” Becky laughed.

“Okay then, give me a paper and watch how I do it. I’m sure you’ll be a pro in no time.” The sun settled like golden syrup on the court as the two women rolled cigarettes, heads bowed together.

Mirrored from Journal of a Something or Other.