....written

[Jadian]

Would anyone be interested in reading a story I'm working on? Only I think it's finished but I can't figure out why it doesn't feel... done. I can post it here, no problem, but only if I think people will actually read it.

[JaceSan]

Of course we'll read it. Do you see us doing anything better with our time? Kidding. Please, show us what you've got...

[dwim]

sure we'll read it.

[Jadian]

They moved in overnight.
By the end of the first week, one had bloodied a nose in a fight. The other had gone to church.
Margery Frank saw them in the supermarket later that week and reported that they bought oranges, Shreddies and triple fudge ice cream. She watched closely to see if they?d head over to the liquor store next door but was disappointed. One of them had a black eye leftover from the fight, but Cory Mullens was nursing a cracked rib and a broken nose and no one was debating who the winner of that scuffle had been.
The one wore a leather jacket; the other had a cloud of red hair. The redhead was about a foot shorter and tended to smile back at the staring small town. She went to the big church behind the shopping mall and sat in the middle pew and seemed to be praying, and after a month it became apparent that she intended to do this every Sunday. No one spoke to her. No one saw the other one alone; but the old couple below their apartment reported there was much hammering and pipe squeaking and one day the hot water tank had been fixed without anyone having to complain to the landlord.
?Well,? remarked Jim Donald offhand, ?I hear they?re supposed to be good at things like that. Mechanics, too. Can?t figure out the church part yet.?
The preacher of the church couldn?t make sense of these developments either, but wisely stayed away from the new member of his congregation until she had settled. He then invited her to join the youth group that met each Wednesday night, and quickly noted that her knowledge of Christian theology was sound. This more than anything caused him to lapse into a puzzled silence when opportunities to speak up came and went.

School began on a cool September morning and the two left their apartment together, walked to the pale yellow building together, and enrolled in completely different classes. Kelley Frank was taking history with the redhead. Cory Mullens dropped out of biology when his conqueror walked through the classroom door. Several members of the church congregation had daughters in the music program and soon it became known that both of the new arrivals were musical. Every lunch hour the vice principal would walk past the music room en route to the staff room and hear two voices of perfect pitch, accompanied by a guitar, singing old Beatles tunes and some songs he?d never heard before. Once, scandalised, a choirgirl whispered she?d heard them singing gospel and changing the lyrics. The mothers nodded knowingly to each other and passed this titbit onto the preacher, but he failed to remember to bring it up Wednesday night after Wednesday night.
And the whole town waited.

Ruth watched the darting eyes of the students and the tight lips of the teachers and grinned as she felt her skin hardening into a thick, protective layer. Eden swore she hadn?t noticed. Ruth said she especially despised the vice principal because every time she saw him, his face contorted like a jellyfish having a seizure.
?Shh!? Eden slipped over to the door of the music room and peeked nervously outside. The hall appeared empty. Behind her Ruth barked a short, dry laugh.
?He?s gone by. I can hear his feet shuffling a mile away. I mean, come one, I know weighing in at 320 must be depressing but he could try lifting his entire foot off the ground when he walks and he?d probably lose half of it from the sheer effort and strain.?
She leaned forward and picked up a sheaf of music lying on the floor. ?I?m getting really sick of ?Come Together?. I think we?ve killed it and should let it rest in peace.? She let the sheets slip from her fingers and shush across the dirty linoleum floor.
The music room was crowded. The music teacher had seen fit to mount old gym bleachers along one wall and his favourite ritual on Monday morning was to force his bleary-eyed students to balance precariously on the metal shelves while singing show tunes. Surprisingly, no one had fallen yet. There was an old but well tuned piano in a corner, a stack of chairs piled next to it, and a series of old concert posters tacked to the walls. There were no windows. The ceilings were cracked, dirty, and about twelve feet off the ground. Eden perched on the edge of three stacked chairs and breathed up into her nose while her bangs floated above two slightly bulbous eyes.
?We could sing ?S Wonderful,? she suggested.
?No.?
?Yellow submarine??
?Hell no. Sorry.?
?We could sit here and argue about what we could be singing until lunch hour is over and we have to go back to class.?
Ruth wrinkled her nose at the poster of the cast and crew of Cats above the piano. ?You?ve got a point. What about working on our album??
?I don?t know? I haven?t been inspired lately. We?ve been working on all of this Second World War stuff in history and everything just seems depressing.?
?Hmm.? Ruth was distracted by the sound of running feet outside the door. She tensed until the herd had passed and the room was silent once more. Suddenly she was aware of Eden, gazing steadily at her. Ruth shifted and returned her stare. ?What??
Eden shook her head. ?That was just a bunch of people completely unconcerned with us, who probably don?t even know we?re here, and you start to resemble a German shepherd when the Avon lady crosses the neighbour?s yard.?
Ruth stuck out her tongue, then smiled and bared her teeth.
?Arf arf,? she added, as an afterthought.

Well my time has come quickly,
I go lickety splitly,
Down to my old ?55?
Ruth?s voice was low and slightly ragged, suited more to blues than arias. Eden had a perfect soprano and a fondness for trills. Eden stopped and laid her palm on the strings to quiet them. ?Too bad it isn?t about a bike,? she teased.
Ruth ignored her. ?The Eagles version is a little too optimistic,? she mused as Eden started putting away the guitar they shared. ?I much prefer the original Tom Waits.?
?We should put this on the album.?
?And get sued? No thank you.?
?Ruth! No one cares what two girls in a small town do!?

Jim Donald was surprised to find the tall one outside his bookstore early one Saturday morning. He nodded to her through the glass and unlocked the door, holding it open to let her in. She smiled briefly ?Thank you.?
She was taller than the other but that wasn?t saying much. Her eyes were level and she looked steadily around the store, taking in the dust and the boxes stacked high in the back. Her hair was thick and wanted cutting but looked clean and she brought the smell of coffee and rain into the store with her. Jim was amused to find himself feeling nervous before the teenager everyone had been talking about. He slipped behind the counter and spoke a little too quickly to cover his confusion.
?Well miss, what can I help you with this morning??
?I saw your sign - I need work,? she said as her eyes wandered back to him. She let slip a quick smile again and dropped her eyes, suddenly awkward. ?I have a resume, it?s not much but I learn quickly and I like books, and I know a lot about them.?
?Who wrote The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz??
?Mordecai Richler,? she answered promptly.
?Stone Diaries??
?Carole Shields.?
?Stone Angels??
?Margaret Atwood. Margaret Lawrence,? she corrected, and met his eyes hopefully.
?Can you carry heavy boxes??
A nod.
?Know the alphabet??
?Mostly.? Jim looked at the girl again, and nodded slowly to himself. He opened a drawer and took out a pair of black handled scissors. ?Go get me that box marked Harper Collins ? with the blue X - and bring it up here.? She disappeared into the back of the store and he called after her, ?You can unpack the boxes marked with blue X?s and shelve what you find there. Leave the red X?s alone.?
?I pay minimum wage,? he continued as she returned up the aisle, carrying two boxes marked in blue. She put them down on the counter and he ran the blade of the scissors down the packing tape. ?And no bonuses or benefits or tips or anything of the kind. Got it??
She nodded. There was a silence as he jingled the change in his pocket. ?I?m going next door to grab a coffee. Anyone comes in, you don?t touch the till, I?ll be five seconds.?
She nodded again and started unpacking. Jim sauntered next door and put his money on the counter of Barb?s coffeehouse. ?You?ll never guess who I just hired.?

The school held a dance. The town tensed. Neither one appeared. The town relaxed, considered, and speculated. ?scared?, ?smart?, ?cooking up something else?.

?I can?t dance,? complained Eden, as Ruth adjusted the volume on the radio and pushed the armchair back against the wall. The apartment was cramped but tidy, the windows open to the night breeze and the dark, leafy treetops barely visible from the balcony. Ruth regarded the carpeted floor with a frown and looked across at the redhead. ?You promised.?
?I was lying.?
?You promised.?
?I was insane.?
?Come over here.?
?I don?t want??
Ruth took Eden?s hands firmly between her own and pulled her into the centre of the living room. Eden fell silent and sulked as Ruth stepped back and surveyed her critically. ?Shoulders back, head up. Loosen your goddamn ? sorry ? knees, you look like a recruit. And smile, Eden, this isn?t torture.?
?I ? can?t ? dance,? Eden gritted through her teeth.
?Now, left foot back and raise your left arm ?hang on, I?m going to dip you.?
?To this music? What is this??
?This is Louis Armstrong.?
?And you want to teach me swing dancing to this?? Eden skipped out of Ruth?s arms, over to the radio, and twiddled the tuner until the static lessened. Ruth sighed.
?The song I wished to dance to is now over.?
?Ah well??
Ruth slipped her arms around Eden?s waist and spoke into her hair. ?However, I think I can console myself with this one. Not swing, but we?ll make do.?
?No dipping??
?No dipping.?
?I can?t dance, you know.?
?Yes you can - listen...?

Margery Frank was all of a flutter. Her son Jimmy was coming home from college that weekend and she hadn?t seen him in nearly two months. She went grocery shopping early Thursday afternoon and cleaned the house on Friday. Her heart squeezed as she peeked into his bedroom, left exactly as he had left it last September when he went away to UBC. She had her husband wear a tie and put fresh flowers on the table.
At exactly 6 0?clock, the phone rang.
?Frank residence.?
?Hi mum. I just got into town.?
?I hope you didn?t ride that terrible machine again.?
?Mum, the Kawasaki let me take the passes faster than any greyhound. Besides, I?m home in time for dinner.?
?So you are. Everything?s ready. I?ve made your favourite.?
?I just wanted to call and ask if I can bring some one over for dinner.?
?Brian??
?No, Brian?s still in Vancouver. We?ve just met. You?ll like her.?
?Oh!? Margery blinked and then ?Oh. Of course.?
?Okay. See you in a minute.?
Margery wandered into the dining room and rearranged the flowers distractedly. Her husband looked up from his newspaper. ?Was that Jim??
?Yes.? Margery puckered her lips and look at her husband. ?He?s bringing a girl home for dinner.?
?Ah.? Her husband returned to his newspaper.
Margery realised she would just have to wait.
Whatever Margery was expecting, it wasn?t anything like the girl who swung her leg over the red motorcycle ? that she had been driving ? and shook out an untidy mane of dark hair once the red helmet had been removed.
Jimmy, who had been riding behind her, looked the same as ever. Broader in the shoulders, wider in the chest, a little thin, but with the same sandy hair and five year old grin. He picked his mother up in a hug as soon as she opened the door. ?It?s good to see you, mum. Hi Dad!?
From his armchair the man of the house nodded.
?Mum, this is Ruth.?
Ruth met Margery?s gaze gravely and shook her hand. Margery stared.
?We?ve uh, we?ve??
?We?ve seen each other around town,? Ruth clarified, as Jimmy looked perplexed.
?Oh! Well, mum, you were right about the Kawasaki. It broke down just outside of the passes and Ruth picked me up.?
?Just out for a drive,? volunteered Ruth, who seemed to have taken up the part of a Greek Chorus. ?On my bike.? She gestured to the red abomination in the driveway.
?Ah ? your bike??
?Mum, it?s fantastic! It?s a Ducati, like the one I was telling you about. Bryan got one sort of like it but it?s no where near as good, and she?s souped it up like you wouldn?t believe??
Chattering, Margery?s son led them into the dining room. ?Wow! Fantastic mum, I?ve missed home cooking.?
Bewildered as she was, Margery nevertheless noted that Jimmy took Ruth?s jacket and pulled out a chair for her. The girl seemed more amused than anything else, and rose to shake her husband?s hand across the dinner table. ?Sir.?
?George, please.?

?I think my son has become very attached to you.?
The two women were washing dishes as the men examined the bike in the twilit driveway. Ruth laughed and rinsed her hands under the tap. ?I think he?s become attached to my bike. He?s the only person I?ve met in all my travels that knows more about engines than I do.?
Margery stopped, perplexed. Here were several openings. The old woman decided she was more interested in finding out about this strange girl than pursuing her son?s potential love life.
?Do you meet many people on your ?travels??
Ruth nodded and pushed back her hair with a wet hand. She met Margery?s eyes. Green, Margery noted. Ruth seemed resigned to giving her hostess what she wanted without any further banter. ?I?ve been up and down the country a few times,? she said patiently, picking up a bowl and drying it with Margery?s blue striped cloth. ?When I stop for any length of time it?s usually in a city. I know people in most places and I?m always meeting more.? She put the last bowl in the cupboard, dried her hands on the dishtowel, and made to leave the kitchen.
?Did you meet Eden that way??
Ruth stopped, her back outlined in the light from a further room.
?No. No I didn?t,? she said lightly.
Then she was gone.

?I?m telling you, it?s creepy. Everyone knows our names.?
?Hey, it?s like Cheers.?
?Ha ha, Eden. No, this is not a friendly bar with a fat guy in the corner. This is a hostile, gossipy little town where everyone sucks information out of you and passes it around a circuit and no one wishes you well. I feel like we?re under siege.?
?Come to church with me.?
?This is no time for one of your God speeches.?
?Come to church with me and you?ll see these people differently.?
?Hey, maybe I can ask the preacher for his blessing.?
Silence.
?Eden. I?m sorry.?
Silence.
?I?m sorry. I just can?t ? I don?t know churches like you do. I don?t know religious people in any kind of good, nurturing light. I respect that you can go there and find your God. I admire that you can reconcile your life and your faith. But I can?t. It?s not for me. Don?t ask me.?
?Come to a building with me, and sit next to me on a hard wooden bench, and say nothing, and listen to singing, and relax, and breathe.?
?As easy as that, eh??
?Ruth. Please.?
?No.?

Christmas. Eden sat at her desk and wrote, a steaming mug of cider beside her.
?What are you doing??
?Christmas cards. And you?re going to mass with me on Christmas Eve.?
?Eden, December 25th is the old birthday of the Roman gods. I hardly think-?
Ruth was silenced by a kiss. ?Happy Christmas, heathen.?
?Well, aren?t we spunky today.?
?I am. I am indeed spunky today.?
?You look beautiful.?
She did. Eden wore a yellow shirt and a delicate gold cross on a chain around her neck. Her hair was done up in a tortoise shell clip and tendrils left hanging brushed her cheeks. Her eyes, lighter green than Ruth?s, sparked when she blushed. Ruth was wearing a dark sweater over dark jeans, and improbably, a Santa hat over her brown hair. Her sleeves were rolled up and her arms were covered in flour and soft dough. She nodded at the Christmas cards ?I thought your whole family disowned you.?
?Mom did. Dad didn?t. My sister thinks it?s gross and my cousins aren?t old enough to know what a lesbian is.? Eden leaned back in her chair and looked at the neat stack of red envelopes on the desk. ?I?m writing letters to my old high school teachers and to Mrs Kennedy ? my art teacher ? I used to cat-sit for her.?
?Return address??
?No,? Eden was chattering. ?I don?t know how long we?ll be here, I mean in this apartment, and there?s no point in giving an address if return mail might not get to you.?
Ruth went back into the kitchen. ?This recipe makes way too much. I don?t know who?s going to eat all of these.?
?Give some to your boyfriend.?
?Jimmy is a horrible lover. He doesn?t get cookies.?
Eden choked on her cider. ?Ruth!?
Eden could hear Ruth snickering from the kitchen. She sighed and put down the mug, picked up the cards and looked at them. She raised her voice a little too loudly. ?Is there garbage to put out??
?Yup. By the door.?
Eden grabbed her jacket and the lumpy plastic bag. ?Back in a sec.?
Outside, she stepped quickly across the parking lot and lobbed the bag into the oversized green bin. The envelopes, each addressed and stamped, followed. In the dark Eden looked a little like an angel, but maybe that was just the glow from the streetlamps above. She stared around at the lot for a moment, then shook herself and went back inside where it was warm. Ruth gave her a kiss. ?Cookies are in the oven.?

Eden came home one afternoon, from church, and sighed. Ruth eyed her from the armchair and put down The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz. She observed Eden for a moment and then suggested, ?Hey, it?s gorgeous out- let?s go hiking!?
?No.?
?How about a movie??
?No Ruth, I?m ? tired.?
Ruth narrowed her eyes as she watched Eden not look at her. Finally she swore. ?It?s Levictus again, isn?t it??
Eden stared. ?You know Levictus??
?Eden, honey, every queer knows Levictus.? Ruth let the book fall from her lap as she rose from the chair to wrap Eden in her arms. She spoke into the curls that smelled of sunlight. ?It?s a God of Love, right??
Eden stirred. ?You don?t believe in Him.?
?Right. But that?s beside my point. Although come to think of it,? she added, trying to pry a smile out of the redhead, ?I might be wrong ? he spent an awful lot of time smiting people. I must be thinking of another God.?
?There?s only one-?
?That you know of-?
?-and yes, He is a God of Love. He is Love.? She amended, sounding gloomy, and stepped past Ruth to sink into the armchair. She put her head in her hands and sighed again. Sweaty snakes of red hair stuck to her neck but Ruth resisted the urge to brush them away. She put her hands in her pockets and waited, gazing levelly at the distraught woman in the chair.
?It?s just-? began Eden.
?Don?t start.? Ruth?s voice was quiet and very cold. Shocked, Eden looked up and met the furious eyes. There was a tense silence. Ruth spoke again. ?When we met I said I wasn?t interested in anyone who wasn?t out. You said you were. You promised me.?
?I am!? Eden protested, lowering her hands to her sides. She looked earnestly at Ruth. ?Everyone knows! Since I met you I?ve never tried to hide it or deny it-?
?But you?re not out to him.? Ruth?s hand escaped from her pocket and her thumb jerked toward the ceiling. ?You won?t admit me to your God. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel??
?Ruth??
?No.? Ruth held up both her hands and silenced her. ?No trying to explain or justify or minimise it. I see you pray before meals, kneel at your beside, go to the church twice a week. I want to know why I?m not included.?
?I?ve asked you to come with me.?
Ruth shook her head. ?Don?t you make this about me. You don?t get to make this about me. This is not because I?m not a Christian. This is because I?m not a man.?
?Well, maybe it would be easier if you were.?
Ruth stepped forward so Eden had to lift her chin to look at her. Then Ruth laughed, her short, dry laugh. There was no humour in it. ?Honey, either one is very unlikely. I?ll be a man before I?ll be a sheep.?
Neither one of them expected Eden?s left hand to fly up at that moment and cut Ruth across the face. And neither one believed it when Eden screamed ?Out! Get out!?

Ruth rubbed her eyes and winced as she caught her reflection in the window. She looked like hell. Four days of sleeping on Jim?s floor ? (?Don?t tell mum?) and waking up at five to get out of the house before his parents woke up, not to mention wearing the same jeans and t-shirt? thank god she?d figured out the local pool had showers and free soap. She?d left her wallet in the apartment and had been living off of coffee and stale danishes from the fridge in the back of the bookshop. She?d also been reading a lot, bibles and essays and verses and psalms. Once, stricken, her gaze hovered over a picture of a woman with red hair, wearing flowing robes. She closed her eyes, turned the page, and kept looking.

When Ruth was eleven years old, she got sent home from school because she?d been composing poetry for one of the other little girls and singing it out loud on the playground. The girl, who came from a Mormon family, didn?t appreciate the hint of artistic value in the verses and called Ruth a ?lezzy? for fear of becoming one herself. Ruth was struck dumb by this new word, and didn?t help matters in the principal?s office when she asked what it meant.
Ruth?s mother was not impressed.
Ruth learned to keep quiet about that word and quiet about the new stirrings in her heart and her stomach when pretty girls walked by. She learned to drawl and to be sarcastic; she learned how to swear effectively and how to keep a blank polite face when adults were around. By the time she was fifteen she could have taught an etiquette class to the boys on shore leave. When she turned sixteen she told her mother she was leaving. Her mother had no idea what she was on about and told her they would talk about it in the morning. That night Ruth packed one suitcase and her backpack full of clothes, food, and The Hitchhiker?s Guide to the Galaxy and left her hometown forever.
The plan was to travel and keep travelling. She got a fake ID and a crash course in street fighting, survived two rapes and twice as many beatings, and earned enough money washing dishes and stealing car radios to buy a broken down Ducati.
One day she was riding past a schoolyard and saw a beautiful young thing with a lonely look she recognised.
It took about four weeks to persuade Eden she wanted to see the rest of Canada before she would consent to sit on the back of the bike and wrap her arms around Ruth.

The tall one was out in the rain, singing. The congregation stared out the glass door windows and watched the rain pummel her grey shirt until it was soaked, slick her brown hair until it was black, and drown her voice until it gargled. She had her head thrown back, her arms spread wide, and her feet planted wide apart on the wet pavement. She kept singing. Some one went to fetch Eden from her roost on the back pew. She wouldn?t come. She wouldn?t signal that she?d heard. She stayed, as she had all day, with her hands folded in prayer, head slightly bent, lips moving. Being holy people, the congregation judged her rendezvous with God more important than a crazy girl singing in the rain. And they left her alone.
Eventually the girl in the rain sank to her knees, and bent her head. She rested one moment, and just as the preacher pushed open the door her head raised up once again and she launched into another song. Rain spiked off her face, hard rain, unforgiving rain. Her eyes were closed. The preacher froze, his body propping the door so they could all hear her. Those who had heard her singing in the music room wouldn?t have recognised her voice now. It was a high soprano, a language they couldn?t understand.
Eden was out in the rain so suddenly the preacher couldn?t quite recall her sliding past him. She didn?t touch the singing girl, she didn?t sing with her, she didn?t smile or frown. She watched. And as the repeated verse in the strange language ended, Ruth opened her eyes.
Time stopped.
And began again.
And Ruth stood up, met Eden?s eyes, and didn?t speak.
Eden said nothing.
The rain fell harder.
Then Ruth sighed, and the wind threw rain at the church with such force that the preacher automatically backed up, allowing the door to close. The sudden numbing of sound seemed to make the people aware of each other and they shifted, not meeting each other?s eyes. Some drifted off, looking for coats and umbrellas. Others began stilted, forced conversation. The preacher ignored his flock and watched the two strays out in the tempest. He saw they were talking now, and he offered up a silent prayer to his God.

Later, in a coffee shop over double maple dip doughnuts. ?I didn?t know you knew Hebrew,? giggled Eden, as Ruth sneezed for the seventh time.
Ruth wiped her nose on a paper napkin. ?I don?t.? she admitted. ?I looked it up in this dictionary we have at the store. I spent all afternoon practising the pronunciation. I didn?t know if you?d know which passage I was quoting.?
?Ruth, honey, every queer knows the story of Naomi and Ruth,? said Eden, in a passable imitation. Ruth snickered, then sneezed again. Eden continued. ?The singing was a nice touch. Way to rip off a Brian Adams song, there. We should get you home-?
?Eden-?
?And out of those clothes.? She finished.
Ruth shut up.
?And then tomorrow, I?m taking you to church.?
Ruth groaned and put her head on the table.

<font color="#a62a2a" size="1">[ July 09, 2003 09:38 PM: Message edited by: Jadian ]</font>

[Jadian]

Ruth closed her eyes and remembered.
The alley
The rain
The heaps of trash with the garbage bags glinting green in the streetlight
The bitch
Fucking dyke-
And the low sound torn out of her when she felt her wrists wrenched behind her and realised what was happening was going to happen and not she nor god nor anybody could stop it from happening. The blonde boy she could see was sneering, he was ugly and young and vicious and snot was dripping out of his nose as rain pelted them both and his hands were dirty. She kicked and shrieked when her wrist snapped. She kicked again and almost threw her opponent. She would have won ? could have won ? should have ? but there were two of them and while she was lunging for one the other hit her above the ear with something
Black.
When she woke up she knew.
Neither of them were anywhere to be seen.
She wanted to cry and pride kicked in.
She wanted to scream and fear kicked in.
She stood up and tripped, retched, vomiting all over the dirty alley cement, bile splashing onto her soaked sneakers. She felt numbly for the belt loops on her jeans and somehow pulled them up. As she straightened to fumble with the buttons she felt something slick slide down her leg and was sick all over again with disgust and shame and anger. She knelt down, palms out to stop herself from toppling right over, and watched the rain smack against her hands. She looked up and saw the streetlight at the mouth of the alley, half expecting some one to be there ? are you all right? My god, what?s happened to you? Come with me, we?ll get you somewhere warm ?
But there was no one there.
She staggered to her feet, ignored the burning pain, and ran out of the alley onto the deserted street. Somehow, miraculously, her bike was untouched and there, shining faintly from the neon glow of the bar. She tried to swing her leg over and realised it hurt too much. She tried to imagine riding out of the town as fast as her bike would go and still couldn?t bring herself to try and lift her aching limbs again.
She kicked the kickstand in and began walking her bike, away from the bar and the alley and the vomit washing down into the drain. Her reflected face looked calm. She had bitten through her lip to keep from screaming without realising she?d done it. Blood ran down her chin. Her clothes were soaked, the shirt torn, the jeans bloody and spreading. She didn?t look back. A car passed and her heart spiralled in rapid, threatening beats, then slowed as the red taillights glowed past.
She found a church. It was dark and locked and empty. She dragged her bike up the three broad chipped stairs and crouched behind it, pressed against the wall and sheltered not a bit by the narrow awning.
She waited for seven hours until the minister showed up, and when he did, Ruth, scared and shivering and in pain, told him everything.
?And why were you near the bar??
?And what did the young men call you??
?Had you been hitting on their girlfriends??
?Why aren?t you at home, going to school??
?How did you afford that motorcycle??

?Eden, I can?t.?
?What??
?I can?t go to that church.?
?After that big show last week, singing in Hebrew, church offends you??
?I can?t explain it to you-?
?You?d better try!?
?I can?t. I can?t. Can?t.?
?How about, won?t??
?No. Really, I can?t. I can?t go in there. I?ll never go into a church again.?
?Again?? Eden turned around and raised one eyebrow. Ruth closed her eyes.
?Don?t ask,? she pleaded.
?What happened to you, in a church??
?Don?t ask me. I can?t.? Desperate.
?Was it a revelation? Did it frighten you??
??..?
??...?
?Yes. Something like that.? Mumbled.
?Honey, if God was talking to you, you have to listen.?
?You don?t understand. That?s not it.?

Stalemate.
?Where did you learn to fight??
?The street.?
?Who taught you??
?I never got their names.?

Things fall apart.

Ruth moved out, started sleeping in the store nights, and read. A lot. She read the entire Anne Rice series. She read the complete works of Mordeci Richler. She attempted and abandoned Margaret Atwood. She didn?t comment when Jim started leaving sandwiches and little cartons of milk in the mini fridge in the back. She ate, was grateful. Didn?t speak. Did her job. And tried not to think too much.
The pastor walked into the bookstore one morning.
She walked out. Fuck this job, I can find another job, I can get on my bike and be long gone, I don?t need this, I?ll get my pay from Jim and buy enough gas to get me to Calgary, I need a city right now.
She went back an hour later and neither she nor Jim said anything. If Jim?s eyes followed her a little bit more she didn?t notice. She knew she wasn?t going anywhere.
There was a Bible on the counter, and she didn?t touch it.

Eden spent her time cleaning. The carpet was mottled with ancient spills but had been sucked clean of every speck of lint and hint of dirt. The walls had been wiped down, even behind the bookshelf and the ratty sofa. The dishes were spotless and stacked neatly in the crooked cupboard, the linoleum shone. She had cleared a desk in the corner of the room and stacked her letter-stuffing materials in three neat piles: envelopes, letters, letters-in-envelopes, next to a calculator and a paper covered in numbers. She made a hundred and seventy two a week. It seemed Ruth was still paying her half of the rent, or Eden would have had to move. Back.
She read her Bible, a lot. After school, which Ruth was no longer attending, she would come home and make tea and curl up on the sofa to read. Sometimes she wrote thoughts in the margins. Sometimes she cried. But she kept reading.
Alone.
She didn?t have a phone. Twice she opened the door because she?d mistaken the neighbour?s heavy tread for Ruth?s silent footsteps.

Fuck it, thought Ruth, and lit a cigarette. Behind her Jimmy shifted uncomfortably. ?I wish you wouldn?t smoke,? he said, stepping past her to open his bedroom window. The cold March air blew in and wreathed the smoke into a halo around Ruth?s bent head.
?I?m leaving her,? said Ruth. ?And it?s for a really stupid reason.?
She inhaled. It was her first cigarette.
?Mum?s on my case about my marks,? said Jimmy. ?Says I?ll never get into law school with a B average. Never mind that I made the Delta Phi fraternity, or that I?m captain of the rowing team. Let?s go back to the city.?
?She doesn?t understand,? muttered Ruth.
?Mum never understands.? Jimmy leaned out the window and looked across his neighbour?s rooftops to the mountains beyond. When he turned around Ruth had gone.

They came into the bar soaking. The first one rose up on his toes and peered around the dim room. The blond one pushed his hair out of his face and sulked. ?I can?t believe this, Alex.?
?C?mon, you needed to get out.?
?No, I needed to finish studying for my final tomorrow.?
?How much do you need to know about the Roman Empire? Conquest conquest conquest defeat. End of story. Let?s grab a table.? Alex looked around and pointed.
?Just because you finished today doesn?t mean-?
?There?s one by the window. Grab it and I?ll get us a beer.?
?I hate you.?
The blond sauntered over to the table and slid into the narrow booth. He pulled off his grey sweatshirt and wiped the sticky table with it. Rain smacked the window and the cars outside in the parking lot. The ghost light of several streetlamps did little to illuminate the little table on the other side of the glass. The effect was strangely beautiful.
?Okay, Guinness or Corona??
The two clicked bottles and drank.
?So did you hear about that bird Jim?s seeing??
?The one with the bike??
?Yeah. He?s back in town and she?s visiting him ? I think she?s staying with us. I heard she knows more about that bike than he does.?
?Probably a dyke.? The blond leaned back in his seat and drew an obscene picture with his finger on the misted glass. Across from him Alex cleared his throat.
?Oh. Yeah. That?s okay. I mean-? he shifted around in his seat. ?My sister, you know, she?s??
?No shit.? He stopped drawing to look across the table.
?Yeah. But anyway, I don?t think so, ?cause she picked him up, you know what I mean? He was broken down in one of the passes, on his way home, and she picked him up then-?
?I can?t believe your sister?s gay.?
?Jesus! Shut up about it, okay??
?Sorry. Okay.?
They drank. Looked out the window.
?I don?t believe it.?
?That?s him. And her.?
?They?re coming in.?

?Ruth, this is my buddy Morgan and this is my roommate Alex.?
?Hey.?
?Hey.?
?Hey.?
?We were just having a beer ? wanna join us? Morgan is skipping out on studying.? Alex had green eyes and a harelip, which made his smile instantly sincere.
?You total asshole ? you made me come here!?
?Sounds good.? Jimmy was relaxed, his voice catching a slight drawl.
?Hey Ruth, nice bike.? Alex looked admiringly over her shoulder at the red Ducati parked directly underneath the streetlight.
?Thanks. Do you have a seat by the window?? Ruth could feel her skin thickening where Morgan looked at her, his expression unreadable.
They went inside. As they sat down, Jimmy hastily leaned over and wiped the window with his sleeve. Ruth slid into the seat beside him and glanced out the window. ?Great. I can see my bike from here. What are you drinking??
?Anything with alcohol in it.?
?Works for me.?
?So Ruth,? said Morgan. He leaned forward, peering at her. ?Where?d you get that bike??
?Calgary. Little dealership just outside of it, actually,? Ruth said easily. There was a humming in her head, like a phone line that just wouldn?t come clear. She squinted at Morgan ?You ride??
For some reason Morgan laughed. ?No. I don?t ride.?
?Morgan,? said Alex.
?Is there a problem?? Ruth asked warily. She glanced again at her bike, a still life in the parking lot, and began feeling the corners of her pockets for her keys. Her eyes moved back to Morgan. Jimmy looked confused, but Alex was flushed and angry. Ruth raised an eyebrow at the silence, met Morgan?s gaze.
?Right.? She said. ?Okay.?
The distance between the table and the exit looked like a tunnel of smoke and neon. Leaving the restaurant, Ruth vowed she would be on the highway before the sun rose. Her head was spinning and her heart was jumping against her ribcage, and she was not entirely sure why. The drive, she knew, would clear her thoughts.

It?s true that Ruth was driving fast, that it was raining, that it was dark. But as Ruth shifted gears to take a left onto the highway she suddenly remembered where she had seen Morgan before.
Whatever she was thinking, it wasn?t about the road ahead.
And so when the emergency crew arrived to pull the bike and the mangled body out of the ditch, none of them could figure out why it looked, to all appearances, as though the girl had opted to drive straight into the cliff wall.

Eden returned to the schoolyard where they had first met. The wind was wet but mild; the late April air smelt of wood smoke and melting snow. She stood wearing Ruth?s old leather jacket, her guitar strapped to her back. Feeling in the pockets out of habit, she looked without seeing over the muddy field. The crunch of snow behind her made her turn before anyone spoke.
?Hey,? Ruth said. She looked younger, more vulnerable. Her brown hair was still long but she was wearing the same jacket and her grin was just as cagey as Eden remembered. Eden smiled, keeping her hands in her pockets.
?I miss you,? she said, but Ruth didn?t appear to have heard.
She stepped up to Eden and the wind caught her hair, spraying it across her face. She tucked it behind one ear and looked Eden in the eye and Eden shivered. ?Want to see the world with me?? Ruth asked, but she was already fading. Eden could see the brown houses across the street coming clear through her.
?I don?t even know your name,? Eden whispered.
The edges of her were barely visible now, but she could still make out the quick, grin from her memories. A car drove by.
?Ruth,? Eden heard, under the engine. ?Call me Ruth.?
She was gone. Eden pulled the jacket closer around her and began to walk home.
Her mother was washing out a teapot, round and blue, leaning over the sink with a look of concentration on her face. Eden saw her through the screen door, and turned into the back yard. Her father was sitting in a deck chair, smoking. She sat down on the blue stained boards of the patio in front of him. His eyes, pale green, wandered over to her. He made a sudden motion and the cigarette fell from his hand. She leaned forward and caught it from between two planks, held it up between her fingers and looked at it, watched it smoke. Then she stubbed it out, marking the paint with dirty ash.
She found there was nothing to say.
?Christ Jesus,? her father whispered. ?I never though I?d see you here again.?
?I?m not staying.?
?Does your mother-?
?Not yet. I saw her, in the kitchen. She didn?t see me.?
He sat back, staring. After a moment he smiled weakly. ?You look good. You?re happy? Are you happy??
?I was. I will be.?
He seemed to soften, relax. ?That?s good, Eden. You deserve to be happy.?
Eden discovered she could have predicted this conversation. She looked through the patio door, into the kitchen where another predictable conversation was waiting. ?Where?s Lily??
?At school.?
?I should go see her.?
?You?ll find her in the band room.?
Eden smiled suddenly ?What does she play??
?Guitar.? His eyes misted over and her leaned forward, patting Eden on the shoulder. ?Just like her sister.?
Eden experienced the bizarre feeling that she was dead but visible. She looked at the house where she had grown up, the high fence and the low flowerbeds, the blank windows and the yellow siding. She stood up. Her father seemed old, but comfortable. Eden realised she could leave him sitting there, and so she did. She also left her mother blissfully unaware in the kitchen. At the end of the driveway she paused, then turned towards her old school.
Lily had the same red hair, but it was cut short and she had none of Eden?s grace. Through the music room window Eden watched her sister frown over music notes and pick out a tune on her borrowed school guitar. She was alone, and Eden recalled the quiet dusty room where no one would disturb an awkward girl playing simple music. Slipping through the school door was easy; deciding what to do once she stood outside the music room was not. Biting her lip, Eden eventually came to a decision.
She pulled the strap of her guitar over her head and leaned the instrument against the lockers opposite the music room door. She knew her sister would recognise it. Taking a deep breath, Eden knocked once on the music room door and then ducked into the boy?s bathroom, her heart pounding. She heard a door open. After a long moment she heard it close and saw her sister stride past the bathroom, guitar in hand, her eyes flickering down the hallway. When she had gone past Eden slid out and exited through a back door. The sunshine in the parking lot was blinding after the dim school building.
When her eyes came clear, Eden saw a Ducati, sitting somewhat apologetically, twenty feet in front of her. It was the only vehicle in the lot. Eden hadn?t seen it on her way in, and now she stepped up, frowning slightly. Crazy ideas flew through her head.
Some one had left the keys in the ignition.
For the first time in weeks, Eden laughed.

<font color="#a62a2a" size="1">[ July 09, 2003 09:41 PM: Message edited by: Jadian ]</font>

[dwim]

I am now printing it out and I'll let you know in the next couple of days...

geez, 21 pages.... [img]graemlins/gulp.gif[/img]

[Jadian]

Haha, it is all a plot to use up your printer ink!

[dwim]

I've already read it. turned on some miles davis and read it. I got so into it, Ruth's troubles and Eden steadfastness to go to church despite the fact that she loves this woman. I love the story and you really love your characters, it's so detailed. However, I feel this is more of a beginning of the novel. THe description of Ruth's plaight makes me want to know more. I wished there was more of Ruth's conflict with her mom in detail rather than just keeping quiet about it then all of a sudden she left town. At one point, it says that she was banned from the family or something like that (I'm trying to recall everything) and it left me wanting to know more. Then the ending, the motorcycle crash mangled body all seem so cliche, that started with Romeo and Juliet and I hated that ending too. I did the same in my novel and I put it up, unsure of what I'm going to do with it. Basically, I want more from this story. Questions: Where did Ruth remembered Morgan from before she went straight into a cliff wall? Was Morgan that mormon girl from youth who didn't want to be a lezzy?
There's more I want to say about it but I'm going to give it a second look.

[JaceSan]

Morgan's one of the guys that raped Ruth. The minister's the other rapist. Ruth said she'd survived two rapes.

I liked the story. It's very sad. I'd also like to read more about the characters. I'm not sure why you feel it isn't done though. Maybe because Eden hasn't really resolved anything with her mother? I don't know.

I especially liked the part where they're dancing. Reminded me of a pair of other people that I haven't seen in a while.

*wanders off to visit Katchoo and Francine*

<font color="#a62a2a" size="1">[ July 10, 2003 11:39 AM: Message edited by: JaceSan ]</font>

[Branflakes]

Oooo, thanks for posting this. I will read it in detail later.

Good to see people posting their writings again.