The disappearing girl

The disappearing girl

Everyone had loved her at some point. Girls, guys, it didn’t matter; she was that type of person. It didn’t make you a lesbian and it didn’t make you straight, going with her was like nothing else. She was the light of every gathering and the tallest burning flame.

When someone asks you to describe her you shake your head and try to spit out the lumps forming in your throat. You mutter something about the drugs, the dimmed lights and the fact everyone’s different at a party.

I remember when I first saw her. It was Christmas time; school was homework waiting by my desk and a couple of fading Polaroid’s. She was a girl with a body cut from marble and black feathers for hair. I was drunk on red wine and knew that the stains made my lips look bruised and oversized; I didn’t care.
I walked straight up to her and shouted over the music, “Hey!”
She was dancing and her eyes fluttered. My heart beat one, two, three times and then her lashes flicked open. Suddenly her eyes were locked into mine and her pupils-big as dinner plates-sucked me in. She didn’t say a thing but a ghost smile pulled at the corners of her mouth.
I said “I haven’t seen you before.”
She said “Same.”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“I don’t know, can you?”
I stood and swayed with the crowd. I couldn’t tell if they were looking at us but I knew they’d be looking at her. I knew that all the other guys were listening to me make a fool of myself and I didn’t care, even then she seemed worth it, she seemed different.
“You like vodka, right?”
“I like lots of things.”
I held up my wine, raised my eyebrow. She smiled and took it from me. One greedy swig of the bottle later and there was a scarlet ribbon running down her chin.
She shook her head and rubbed her face while dancing; behind bony fingers she shouted “thanks.”
I smiled and said “It’s loud, do you want to go somewhere where we can talk?” She grinned at me and her teeth were whiter than her complexion, I was star stuck.
She told me “I like to dance.”
I stood and watched guys try to dance alongside her. I thought about dancing and stayed still. She shook herself apart to the beat of a kick drum and I finished my wine. I thought about dancing some more and my feet started taking root. After a while I stumbled away.

I didn’t see her again that night, though I heard she was the last one standing to greet the dawn; I wasn’t surprised.
The holidays shuffled by and I spent my time walking in the snow. She stuck in my mind and every night I’d see her dancing in the shadows of my room. Whenever I saw a crow in flight I thought of her hair, spindly in the rain.

The next time I saw her the year changed; we all became older and a little better at lying about our resolutions. I was standing with a glass of red wine as the clock struck twelve, telling the world that this year I would obsess over the unobtainable a little less. A second after I said it she walked past with a gaggle of slack mouthed boys trailing at her heels. I followed her, what else could I do?
I called out to her “What was your resolution?”
She spun on her heel, “That would be telling.”
“Do you practise that?”
Her eyebrow shot up “what?”
“Being so enigmatic.”
She laughed. I couldn’t read her expression but her pupils were a normal size. I stepped forward smelling poppies and smoke. She carried on looking at me, a smile crept upon her. She didn’t seem to notice.
Clocks ticked, she leaned forward. I held my breath and her lips grazed against mine for less than a heartbeat.
She whispered, “Happy new year, stranger” and faded into the party.

I didn’t bother following her; some memories are already too perfect.

So of course I found her later throwing up in a chessboard tiled bathroom. I leaned in the doorway; for once she was alone. My watch said five am but it could have been any time before the sun and after the moon.
I didn’t say anything, not then. She hung over the toilet bowl and everything smelled of bleach. I opened my mouth to say something but she started puking, again. I closed my mouth and swayed out of the house into the early dawning snowfall.

I didn’t see her for a week, yet I smelt poppies wherever I went. I heard things about her; the way she danced, who she kissed, the amount of wine she drank, little things, but signs she was there. She chased the corners of my life and I didn’t go hunting.

The clocks ticked on and my pile of homework lessened. I took fewer walks and threw away the Polaroid’s from the previous term. Eventually the last days of the holiday were upon me; I picked up my phone and cast about for a party.
It took me hours, in the end I had a choice of two. They were roughly the same; suburban houses and the promise of loud music, no parents.
I shrugged, tossed a coin and picked a party. These days I try not to wonder about the other side and where it could have led me.

The moment I walked in the door I knew I’d find her. I can’t explain how, I still smelt poppies and there was a bottle of wine in my hand. Maybe it was the smiles on everyone’s faces that told me I’d find her, maybe not, who knows.
My gut was telling me to check the grimiest room in the house. I followed the fumes till I found a basement full of epileptic strobes. She was there, silhouetted in the black and white shudders.
This time I didn’t shout out, I didn’t say a word. I faded into the room until I found myself at her side. I put a hand to her hip; it was like stroking air. She danced so fast that I knew her by her tempo. She didn’t notice me, not then. I had to lean close to her and kiss her neck before she looked at me. There was fire in her eyes and outside it began to snow. White drifted up against the basement window, I stared and took her by the hands. She wasn’t speaking, she wasn’t smiling. Together we left the room and not a word passed between us.

Her touch was electric, I remember that much.

I took her outside and she lit a cigarette. The snow drifted down, I rubbed my hands together. Eventually I coughed and said, “So, who are you?”
“The girl everyone wants to get to know.”
“No, seriously.”
“I am serious.”
I looked at her and for the first time I saw her as she really was; scared. She exhaled, a smoke plume found its way into the night. When she looked at me her expression was serious, older, wiser. I thought of my school books, my nineteen years, my wine, it all seemed like nothing at all.
She looked away from me and said, “Admit it; you talk to me because you don’t know a thing about me.”
I swallowed, my throat clicked, I didn’t know what to say. She was right and we both knew it, the silence hung between us and she spat into the snow.
She spoke to the ground in a whisper “maybe there’s nothing to know.”
I was drunk enough to reach out and pinch her arm, drunk enough to say “there’s something.”
A thin smile appeared, “that’s not what I meant.” She finished her cigarette and sent it arcing into the white. I watched the coal fade, caught the hiss on the wind and by the time I turned back to her she was gone. The door was swinging closed and I ran to it. I caught sight of her going back to the basement; her walk was a sign saying don’t follow me.

The party ended and for once I stayed on into the hangover. I fried eggs in the kitchen and scrambled them with a plastic fork. I was still drunk, the plastic melted, the eggs ruined. There were shreds of black smoke and I opened a window, then left.
On my way out of the house I checked the basement and saw her slumped in a corner, a pretty boy draped across her abdomen. There were tins of paint everywhere and I smelt glue and poison. I opened a window then turned away. She stirred as I climbed the stairs and I caught her looking at me.
She put a finger to her lip, whispered “empty” in a sigh that broke my heart.