Damp and Dismal
Soaking wet and miserable, we slog around in a muddy field; water seeping into our sweats, into our shoes and permeating our socks. Cold, damp clothing chills the skin and makes you shiver. I am among these, doing something I am terrible at, muscles and joints protesting.
Boy does his best to intimidate me. Gets in my face, kindly threatens me. It is a joke, but I am not laughing nearly as loudly as I should be. His eyes are green… or are they brown? They are smiling at me. I say to Boy, “I’m not used to anyone being this close to me for so long without gagging.”
Boy looks at me for a second. “Why? You’re not a bad looking girl at all.”
I laugh.
“No, really.” Boy is serious. I can see it in his brown eyes. Or are they green? “You have a pretty heart, a pretty face,” I scoff, but he goes on, “And a pretty mind.” Boy touches my face. “Really, Girl, you’re pretty. I don’t mind being this close to you at all. You’re prettier than you think you are.” His hands are warm, despite the cold and the wet.
“Boy,” I say sweetly, “It’s bad to lie.” I feel the desperate want for his words to be true. But of course they are lies. No one has the heart to tell the ugly Girl the truth.
“It’s bad to lie, and it’s bad to do crack. I don’t do either one.” I am the only one that hears him.
In the locker room, dry and cold, I do the unspeakable and approach IT. I look at my reflection, get up close to IT, try to see what Boy was seeing when he said these things. I could see green eyes. I could see unruly hair, skin problems, but worse than that, I could feel this permeating ugliness. It is inescapable. I look harder. My guts writhe with nausea and I sit on the bench, staring at my feet.
What did he see?
I am still cold, and I can feel a dampness chilling over my heart.