YRKB
12-22-2010, 05:20 PM
She'd laughed when it came out, brushed the bleached bangs out of her face – just like Evie used to – and looked at Paul. When I managed to rip my eyes from her profile, and turned to him too, I got nervous.
He looked like he was clenching up.
The whole thing was eerie. In my hand I had the photo Michelle had just handed me - of Evie, my brother’s ex. She looked like a carbon copy.
Last time I’d caught up with them Michelle had a layered auburn bob – she’d had it for years apparently, her signature style. It stood out for me because Paul never dated anyone close to brunette before her, not once – and it seemed something landmark, after Evie. I'd thought it welcome change, a small but conscious step on my brother’s part to shake any memory of the recent past.
Now Michelle stood front of me looking the spitting image. With a desperate, terrifying pride about the whole thing. She’d handed me the photo, and I'd just let it slip out – how much like her she looked.
Just like - it seemed - she’d hoped.
‘I told him! I keep telling him. Everyone tells me that - especially now.’ The tone of her voice was off – it didn’t sound much like how I remembered at all.
She leaned towards me on the couch to snatch the picture back, holding it greedily between both hands as she re-digested it for a moment. Sporadically, she followed up with the pose identical to Evie’s in the picture.
...She held it for so long, only shaking it after I allowed a nervous laugh to punctuate the thick silence between us.
She laughed herself, hard – threw a glance in my brother’s direction, then she went.
My eyes slipped over to Paul. He wasn’t looking up. Just off, into nothing next to the armchair he was in. His grey eyes looked like glass; he looked like he was holding his breath.
And then she was back. Rounding the door in that black mini-dress, in the style Evie wore when she used to host parties at the apartment. Like a flashback.
My breath spiked in my throat. It was unreal to see.
Paul broke out of his freeze, wild eyes riding the full length of Michelle’s oncoming figure, before he broke. I watched, a cold wail wrenching up inside my chest as my brother grabbed an ashtray from the side table and punched it down endlessly into his girlfriend’s little face.
She screamed. Then was silent, a wet mound on the floor before us.
Copyright Yafeu-Khamisi Rodway-Brown
He looked like he was clenching up.
The whole thing was eerie. In my hand I had the photo Michelle had just handed me - of Evie, my brother’s ex. She looked like a carbon copy.
Last time I’d caught up with them Michelle had a layered auburn bob – she’d had it for years apparently, her signature style. It stood out for me because Paul never dated anyone close to brunette before her, not once – and it seemed something landmark, after Evie. I'd thought it welcome change, a small but conscious step on my brother’s part to shake any memory of the recent past.
Now Michelle stood front of me looking the spitting image. With a desperate, terrifying pride about the whole thing. She’d handed me the photo, and I'd just let it slip out – how much like her she looked.
Just like - it seemed - she’d hoped.
‘I told him! I keep telling him. Everyone tells me that - especially now.’ The tone of her voice was off – it didn’t sound much like how I remembered at all.
She leaned towards me on the couch to snatch the picture back, holding it greedily between both hands as she re-digested it for a moment. Sporadically, she followed up with the pose identical to Evie’s in the picture.
...She held it for so long, only shaking it after I allowed a nervous laugh to punctuate the thick silence between us.
She laughed herself, hard – threw a glance in my brother’s direction, then she went.
My eyes slipped over to Paul. He wasn’t looking up. Just off, into nothing next to the armchair he was in. His grey eyes looked like glass; he looked like he was holding his breath.
And then she was back. Rounding the door in that black mini-dress, in the style Evie wore when she used to host parties at the apartment. Like a flashback.
My breath spiked in my throat. It was unreal to see.
Paul broke out of his freeze, wild eyes riding the full length of Michelle’s oncoming figure, before he broke. I watched, a cold wail wrenching up inside my chest as my brother grabbed an ashtray from the side table and punched it down endlessly into his girlfriend’s little face.
She screamed. Then was silent, a wet mound on the floor before us.
Copyright Yafeu-Khamisi Rodway-Brown