Evolution (excerpt, and under construction)
“Hey, listen.”
Lisette, 14, and Magda, 18, were in Lisette's room, reading. Lisette sat leaning against the headboard and Magda sat by her legs, hunched cross-legged over The Fountainhead. At some point Magda had looked up from her book and had stared at Lisette for a few seconds, but Lisette had ignored her. Now Lisette looked up from Pride and Prejudice and saw an incomprehensible look in her sister’s eyes.
“What?”
Magda pushed down Lisette’s book. “What,” she asked again.
“OK, I’m gonna do something.” Magda was looking at her, but not at her. Looking but not seeing.
“What are yo-“
“Shhh! I have an idea!” Magda leaned on her arm and brought her face to Lisette’s. Her breathing shallowed. “Don’t move. I want to flutter my eyelashes against yours,” she said in all seriousness.
Lisette pulled back, giggled. “What!”
“Just do it!” Magda shifted closer.
“Fine!” Lisette had to admit she was intrigued. Besides, Magda had not stopped inching closer. Lisette had no choice. “Don’t close your eyes!” Magda said. Lisette sat still.
Magda leaned her forehead forward and shifted her face so that her left eye was against Lisette’s left eye. She shifted her head a little to her right so her nose wouldn’t get in the way. Their foreheads bumped each other slightly and Lisette held her breath. Her sister was so close that to look was pointless, for at this distance all she could see was the blurred black and white of her sister's eyeball. So Lisette unfocused her vision and stopped trying to see. She expected a soft paintbrush feel, a butterfly on her lids. But the effect was nothing like that. Against Lisette’s eye was a heavy, belabored movement: the opening and closing of another person’s eyelids. Magda’s lashes were neither long nor curly enough to have the paintbrush effect. It was not so much a flutter as a beat, an awkward one, and it was over in a second.
Magda moved away and both girls released their breaths in laughter. “Did it tickle you?”
Lisette kept laughing, then said, “You’re weird!” She went back to Austen and Magda went back to Rand.
That night lying on her bed Lisette remembered the scene. It didn’t feel like a tickle, she decided. No. Definitely not. What it felt like was the weight of a person, a body that, by any rights, should not be that close.
Lisette, 14, and Magda, 18, were in Lisette's room, reading. Lisette sat leaning against the headboard and Magda sat by her legs, hunched cross-legged over The Fountainhead. At some point Magda had looked up from her book and had stared at Lisette for a few seconds, but Lisette had ignored her. Now Lisette looked up from Pride and Prejudice and saw an incomprehensible look in her sister’s eyes.
“What?”
Magda pushed down Lisette’s book. “What,” she asked again.
“OK, I’m gonna do something.” Magda was looking at her, but not at her. Looking but not seeing.
“What are yo-“
“Shhh! I have an idea!” Magda leaned on her arm and brought her face to Lisette’s. Her breathing shallowed. “Don’t move. I want to flutter my eyelashes against yours,” she said in all seriousness.
Lisette pulled back, giggled. “What!”
“Just do it!” Magda shifted closer.
“Fine!” Lisette had to admit she was intrigued. Besides, Magda had not stopped inching closer. Lisette had no choice. “Don’t close your eyes!” Magda said. Lisette sat still.
Magda leaned her forehead forward and shifted her face so that her left eye was against Lisette’s left eye. She shifted her head a little to her right so her nose wouldn’t get in the way. Their foreheads bumped each other slightly and Lisette held her breath. Her sister was so close that to look was pointless, for at this distance all she could see was the blurred black and white of her sister's eyeball. So Lisette unfocused her vision and stopped trying to see. She expected a soft paintbrush feel, a butterfly on her lids. But the effect was nothing like that. Against Lisette’s eye was a heavy, belabored movement: the opening and closing of another person’s eyelids. Magda’s lashes were neither long nor curly enough to have the paintbrush effect. It was not so much a flutter as a beat, an awkward one, and it was over in a second.
Magda moved away and both girls released their breaths in laughter. “Did it tickle you?”
Lisette kept laughing, then said, “You’re weird!” She went back to Austen and Magda went back to Rand.
That night lying on her bed Lisette remembered the scene. It didn’t feel like a tickle, she decided. No. Definitely not. What it felt like was the weight of a person, a body that, by any rights, should not be that close.