It Is As Though I Am a Disoriented Mouse Wriggling Through a Dark Labyrinth of Fabrics

By J.C Monroe

It is as though I am a disoriented mouse wriggling through a dark labyrinth of fabrics, bent wires extending towards me like fingers. I’ve been in here much too long. I find my way to the exit and stumble past my closet doors. Blaze, draped lazily across my bed, glances up from the Autoweek magazine she is engrossed in.

“Oh. There you are,” she says lackadaisically. “Just when I was getting worried. Let’s see what you’ve got.” I hold up a slim black suit jacket above a fancy pencil skirt, smiling proudly. Blaze’s countenance falls, her amber brown eyes meeting mine. “Via,” she sighs, closing the magazine. “We’re going to a party, not a presidential convention.”

I glance over her attire. She’s dressed in all black: skinny jeans and a loose, off-shoulder top. I silently envy how stunning it looks on her, against her radiant honey brown skin. I glance in the mirror at my own flesh, which has lost its creamy wheat color and looks as pale as a ghost’s, and my frustration suddenly flares. “Just go in that,” she quips, gesturing towards my underwear. “I mean, somebody ought to see how nice it looks.” I throw the skirt at her face, but she evades and catches it just in time.

“Seriously, Blaze. Help me.”

Blaze rolls her eyes but comes over into the closet and begins sifting through the clothes. “I thought I’d helped you by taking you shopping last week when you said you wanted to remodel your wardrobe.” I glance at the calendar tacked to the wall. Today is October the first.

“And you are the greatest best friend a girl could ask for,” I try to assure her with a convincing smile. “Just help me find something.”

Blaze lifts a brow. “Says the fashionista who is always giving me advice? Relax; we’ll find something in this cave of a closet.”

I keep quiet for a moment, hoping the tension within me would dissipate into the air. I am certain Blaze senses it, but she doesn’t show it; sometimes I swear she knows me better than I know myself.

“Do you think Damien will be there?” I regret asking the question as soon as the words slip past my lips. Blaze pauses and turns to look at me, and I can tell by her naked grin that she’s figured me out. I try looking at her long dark curls, her plump lips, the beauty mark on the side of her neck—anywhere but her percipient eyes.

“You know he was probably the first person Gage invited.”

“Yeah, maybe for her benefit; not mine.”

“Do you see the way she follows him around like a lost puppy?” Blaze’s voice fluctuates with her movements in the closet.

I nip at my lip lightly, thinking how Gage’s clinginess might affect his presence at the party. “Yeah, I do…”

“She’s a tough nut to crack,” Blaze admits, holding a leather jacket and a short lace skirt in front of my figure as she assesses me with her eyes. “But of course…you’re up to the challenge.” I look the outfit over in the mirror and respond to her poised smirk with a wavering smile. She kisses my shoulder gingerly, and for just a moment I imagine she is Damien and he is touching me gently.

A knock at my door breaks me from my phantasy. Blaze and I turn to see it opening. “Vi—Jesus Christ! Put some clothes on!”

“Damn it, Barrie!” I curse at my brother, who is cringing in the threshold, shielding his eyes. I couldn’t have looked that bad… “Way to go, Straw-Barrie,” Blaze quips sardonically.

“You mean drama princess,” I remark.

“Hey, at least give me credit for knocking this time. And that was a very traumatizing sight; I think I’ve gone blind.”

“Whatever,” I say dismissively, quickly slipping into my robe. “What do you want?”

Barrie runs his fingers through his short golden brown curls, his icy blue eyes wondering over to my bed as he talks (It’s almost needless to say that I took after my mother’s deep brown hair and chestnut eyes while he took on my father’s fairer features). “Well, Aunt Val sent me up to tell you—is that my Autoweek magazine?”

“Oh yeah,” Blaze nods casually.

“You went through my magazines?”

“Don’t worry; I didn’t go through your special collection.”

I can see Barrie’s cheeks flush with red, although I know he’s trying to hide it behind a stiff face. “Um, Vi, Val says dinner should be ready within an hour.”

I lean my head forward, looking at him expectantly. “I won’t be here.”

Barrie shrugs. “Neither will I.”

“Where are you going?”

“Football scrimmage.”

I look at him, completely unconvinced. “Football season start’s next week.”

“Stephanie’s house.”

“You guys broke up just last week.”

“Okay, what do you care? I’m going to The Falls.”

I pause. “Oh no-no-no-no-no,”

“Oh yes-yes-yes-yes-yes,” Barrie retorts unyieldingly.

“Why?” Blaze asks, the annoyance in her tone matching my own.

“Why not?”

“Maybe because this is a mature party?” I suggest.

“I take offense to that. Plus, I’m only a year younger than you guys.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re even half as mature. I actually want to enjoy myself at this party instead of running around to make sure my little brother isn’t doing something stupid.” I can see the sudden irritation steal over Barrie’s face.

“Look, Vi, I don’t need you talking to me like I’m a kid. I’m sixteen; nothing about sex, drugs or alcohol is even slightly new to me. I can take care of myself.” I glance over his rebellious face, his words ringing in my head.

“I can take care of myself…”

Three years ago, he had told me that, and I had found him bleeding out on the side of the road after a confrontation with some girl’s boyfriend—the same girl whom he’d spent countless nights without sleep or food, pacing in fear that she might be pregnant with his child. Two years ago he’d told me that, and he’d crashed my parents’ car into the church down the street; when we found him, he smelled as though he had been bathed in alcohol, and his speech was so slurred it was as though he was speaking a foreign language. Just a few months ago he’d told me that, and I’d found him in the boy’s locker room, curled up on the tile floor; his eyes were red and his nose was powdered white, and he was trembling and sweating, and the needle was still in his arm. That was after our parents had died. After he had picked up new bad habits. After he had decided to let himself fall to complete ruin.

It has been at least four months since then— a few weeks since the beginning of school— without any symptom of regression from him. I want to trust him, but I know I probably shouldn’t... But I do anyway.

“You have this one chance, Bare,” I warn him.

He brings his face close to mine, hard and stern. “I wasn’t asking for your approval.”

Before I can think of anything in reply, Barrie snatches up his magazine and exits my room. I stare after him in blank disbelief for a moment before shutting my door.

* * *

Val is at war with the food she is trying to cook in the kitchen, armed with nothing but a spatula. By the looks of it, she isn’t fairing very well; her hair is a frizzy mess around her head, her face looks stressed, her limbs moving uneasily. There’s a pot of noodles boiling in water that is frothing over like an erupting volcano trying to smother her, a frying pan of ground beef spitting grease at her, bottles of seasoning falling from the cabinet. I can hear her chanting what sounds like a recipe to herself, although every now and then a frazzled sigh intercepts.

“Hey Val,” I greet as Blaze and I enter the smoky kitchen. It’s a wonder the smoke detector hasn’t gone off yet.

“Hey girls,” she says, her frown becoming a gentle smile. “What are you two all dressed up for?”

“This?” I try to play it off, pulling at the lacy knife pleats of my skirt. “Oh, we’re just going out to The Falls.”

Her faces falls, and now she is staring at me almost in disbelief. “But I’m making dinner! See?” She scrapes the frying pan hard with the spatula and reveals the burnt underside of the meat.

“Mm, looks tempting,” I lie, tightening my mouth hard as not to laugh. I know she is trying, and that neither Barrie nor I are making things any easier for her. We are her sister’s children. The last family she really has left. Her ultimate responsibility. She is a college student, hardly four years older than me.

“Isn’t it your favorite? Spaghetti? That’s your favorite, right?” She always gets jittery like this when she is trying to restrain her frustration or anger.

POP!

She jumps as the grease bites her skin.

“Stroganoff,” I correct her, turning down the stove burners so the food stops cooking. “But spaghetti is pretty good too.”

Blaze begins carefully wiping off the stovetop with a damp paper towel. The meat is burned pretty badly, and the noodles have been boiled to the point where they are falling apart. For a moment, we all stare at the disaster in pitiable silence.

“Maybe…you should order out, Val…”

Just then, Barrie comes up behind us all, whistling a cheery tune. He falters when he sees the food on the stove.

I pick up a soda from the counter, and it hisses as I open it. Before I can take a sip, Barrie swipes it from my hand. “Gee, thanks, Vi,” he smiles before taking a gulp from it.

“Moron,” I roll my eyes at him.

“And where are you going?” Val asks him, eyeing him up and down. He’s dressed in his favorite ripped jeans, a jean jacket over a graphic tee, and his chucks.

“Out.”

“Gage’s,” I correct.

“Barrist—” Val’s voice catches in her throat. She can’t call him that. No one has called him that. Not since our parents died. I can’t even bring myself to call him that when I’m reprimanding him. An unsettling silence pervades the room. Blaze is staring down at her boots. After a few beats of silence, my Aunt corrects herself. Barrie’s face remains taut.

“What’s happening at Gage’s tonight then?”

“Just a little get-together,” Blaze responds instantly, feigning lifted spirits in an attempt to move past the emotional moment. “Which we—” she looks at the watch on her wrist. “—should actually get going to. Like now. Like NOW.” She taps my shoulder, and I pull my purse up on my shoulder, hastening after her.

“See you later, Val,” I say, kissing her cheek as I pass her. “Love you!”

We race out of the kitchen—Me, Barrie and Blaze, leaving my Aunt Val with a frying pan of seared ground beef and a pot of frayed noodles.

We’re in a wooded park. Gleaming lanterns, delicate flames flickering within, seem to float beneath the tree limbs they’re suspended from. They cast a soft golden light in the clearing, although deeper into the wood the trees contort into dark, convoluted creatures. The sky is a monochromic palisade of hematic carmine. So many smells intermingle in the air that it smothers the natural, verdurous scent of the forest and leaves a nauseating taste on my tongue: pheromones, alcohol and cigarettes. The smell of teenagers.

There are many people here, people from school, so I’m familiar with a good number of them. The jocks of the football team are like a pack of wolves around the concession table, laughing in deep, boisterous timbres as they pile their plates like they’re at a buffet. The cheerleaders strut by, flipping their hair and turning their noses up at the boys that cat-call to them. The stoners are leaning along the grand oak tree, their faces shrouded by wispy clouds of smoke. Some of them are gathered around what we call “the happy truck”, owned by Danny the Drug Dealer. I can only imagine the types of transactions they are making. My eyes scan over them all, but I soon relax. Barrie isn’t with them. I feel Blaze squeeze my arm gently. I turn to see that she’s smiling at me comfortingly.

“Come on, lighten up, Vi,” she says. “He’ll be fine. And so will you. Just relax. We’re here to have a good time, so that is what we are going to do.”

I feel a genuine smile break through my diffident expression. I honestly love Blaze, and the fact that she can make me smile even when I’m trying not to. A soft mix of alternative music dances through the trees from hidden speakers. A mild autumn breeze sweeps past, causing leaves of bright vermillion and gold to skip idly along the grass and leaving chilly kisses on my skin.

While glancing around at the guests, I notice Lonnie, Barrie’s best friend. He’s swaggering over to us with an annoying grin plastered across his thin face. Blaze swears under her breath and pretends not to see him, urging to walk in the opposite direction. But it’s too late. Just as we turn, Lonnie’s voice is right behind us.

“Buh-laaaze, you are on fire tonight!”

Blaze rolls her eyes and turns back to him with an irritated expression. “What do you want, Torres?”

“Easy there, hot stuff. I just came to tell you that you are smokin’.”

“Thanks,” Blaze says stiffly, and we move to pass him. We soon stop again.

“Have either of you seen my man Stan?”

“No, Lonnie.”

“Okay then. I guess I’ll just find him on my own.” By then, we have already moved on. “Call me!”

Blaze shudders, her face wrinkled in disgust. “As if! He’s like twelve!” He has the maturity level of one.

We meet Gage by the pond, the waters glistening from the reflection of the surrounding lights. “There you two are!” she beams, handing us both red plastic cups she must have been holding for an eternity. “I was looking for you all over the place. I needed help with setting up the lights earlier.”

“Obviously, you managed,” Blaze replies, looking down into her cup.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Gage tells her. “It’s just soda.” She begins to prate mindlessly about things that happened before we arrived: of party favors, decorations, and people. I don’t pay her words half as much attention as I give her outfit. It looks almost identical to my own. Gage notices it only seconds after I do.

“Well, you look nice tonight.” Her facetious tone is obvious.