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Though you tell yourself that a Lalonde shouldn't envy somebody's friends, he's the only one that has persisted through the layers of curt sarcasm and lingering derision.
You first hear of her when your friend starts becoming slow to respond after a certain hour.
Your verbal sparring is something you look forward to, and deep underneath your shell of casual nonchalance you burn green with envy.
And then there is a message, fresh out of the blue. It is bright green like the imaginary venom you carry.
hi!!!
You stare at the window for a long minute, trying to decide quite how to best reply. You want to cut deep and thin like cheese wire, but don't get the chance.
you know john right? :B
You shake your head at the chat window and get up to change for bed. The chat window pings three times more and you close the lid. Your friend's name is not John.
A day later and there are more messages waiting. It isn't the walls of text that Dave leaves when left alone for five minutes while you go to pick up a drink; just a few select lines.
Her name is Jade. You don't care.
She lives on an island. You don't care.
She wants to wish you a happy birthday.
Your cursor hovers over the block button.
What do you want?
It's simple, really. Jade just wants to be friends. She forgot that you knew Dave first, is all. She didn't change her colorful reminders. Pieces of string, tied around her fingers. Better than a knot in a handkerchief. She always forgets those.
You lean back in your seat, type noncommittal noises of assent.
that is like the fifth time youve said hmm :B
She's right. You resolve to be better about that. You are not emotionally invested in this in the least, but it's an interesting distraction. Your mother calls you for dinner moments before she says she needs to go. You don't reply before you leave your workstation, and instantly feel petty.
She gently nudges you into talking about yourself. Two pieces of information given to you for every single thing you mention. Your favorite color is purple. She thinks it's pretty. She knows that dark colors look good with your hair. You have never given her a picture, never alluded to your skin. She can probably work out that you spend a lot of time indoors. New York is cold.
Did you ever mention that you lived in New York? Come to think of it, you're not sure you did. Critical of fake-outs, you reread every chat log looking for the hallmarks of a predator disguised as a girl. There's surprisingly little.
You did mention where you lived. She said you wore a scarf all the time; the way she presented it made it sound like a statement instead of a question. Yes, you rejoined on the next line, it's cold in winter. An invisible duh hovers over the phrase. Elementary, my dear Jade.
She isn't used to the cold. She lives close to the equator. The Google map link she sends is less than illuminating but you're sure that it was just a mistake. Fairly sure.
Short dark days get brighter when she messages you.
Though the patter of day to day is merry, you get the feeling she's keeping something in reserve. The emoticons at the end of her messages ebb and flow like tides.
Suspension of disbelief only works if you do not think too hard about it. You ask about her family. She mentions her grandfather in passing and switches the topic to her dog. You didn't press to ask about her parents. It would be gauche. You feel small, like somebody told you Santa didn't exist but you needed to believe. The presents won't come if you don't believe.
You've seen the wrapping paper on the kitchen table.
Your mother smiles and nods indulgently as you mention a new friend offhand. She offers an invite to dinner and is mildly surprised when you shrug. From the internet, you drawl.
What a shame, perhaps some day.
She brushes the ghost of a kiss over your scalp. You gaze into your pumpkin soup and scratch your head absently.
have you ever dreamed about flying? :)
Your dreams are generally torrid, and you are prone to nightmares. Flying? No. Falling, yes. She tells you about her dreams, walking among pale people that shimmer in golden sunlight.
Jealousy, your old friend, rises to the top again. You do not want to think about the strangled breath you draw as terror sits heavy upon your chest. You gnaw your lip and frown.
You read what she says about her inner world and consider that one pinch of salt may not be enough to take it in.
It's a very complete place. She mentions that she meets with the queen of it. You label her a Mary Sue.
In the spring, she finally introduces you to John. He thinks you're funny. It was not quite the first impression you wanted to give. He laughs readily and you capitulate, offer up your own sacrifice. Dave likes him a lot. John grows on people like amiable mold.
Dave doesn't see the problem with her evasion. Not many people have real families anymore. Sucks, Lalonde. Get used to it. You don't want to, your inner monologue pouts.
The cynical parts of you curl around and jab their barbs into the hope that remains in your heart.
It's your twelfth birthday. A green package arrives in the mail. The corners are scuffed, but the wrapping paper is folded carefully, an ironed crease.
The box thuds softly when you rattle it. Inside are a pair of mittens and some earmuffs that smell of mothballs and age. A faded dusky-pink, they match each other perfectly. The accompanying note is long and rambling and mentions that it must be cold. Because duh, it's winter! There is a smile at the end of the sentence like she's proud she didn't forget.
You want to clap your hands and make the fairy exist.
Is Jade Harley for real?
youll see me one day
i promise <3
Your mouth twists.
You believe.