Brigit's Flame Entry - Oct. Week 1 - Instep - Pebbled
Title: Pebbled
Prompt: Instep (from brigits_flame)
Word Count: 744
Pebbled
“You don't have to,” Amy said flatly.
“Mm,” Theodore agreed. He pulled her to her feet gently, supporting her weight carefully.
“You're going to walk me back to my dorm, aren't you?”
“Mm.”
“Even if I tell you that I'm fine?”
“Mm.”
“Even if I tell you that I don't want you here?”
Theodore smiled. “Are you telling me that?”
Amy didn't say anything. She focused on moving her feet, one after another. Perhaps she shouldn't have decided to run around on the hard ground after lights out, grinding pebbles beneath calloused heels. Perhaps she shouldn't have sat down and worried worn brown school shoes off of her boxy feet and peeled off her crisp white knee-length socks before stepping out onto the dusty field. Perhaps she shouldn't have turned to Theodore from where they sat in the library late at night (breaking curfew) studying and said, “let's go play in the field.”
“Your knees are scraped,” Theodore said diplomatically into Amy's silence. “We'll just wash them in the sink before I take you back to your dorm.”
“I can hobble back on my own.”
“Mm,” Theodore agreed.
To prove her point, she hobbled to the sink on her own-lifting herself on her toes to keep the rest of her feet from touching the grimy floor-after Theodore left her at the door to the girl's restroom. Theodore wasn't there to watch her, which rather ruined the point, but she had made it on her own, and that was what truly mattered.
“You have pebbles under your feet,” Theodore had observed after she had fallen.
Amy wet a paper towel and gently dabbed at her knees.
“Amy, your feet are cut up,” Theodore had added slowly. Carefully.
“I know,” Amy said to her knees. They weren't badly scraped. She had gotten worse before. She had worse now.
She leaned against the wall, balancing herself on one foot as she carefully lifted up the other, studying the bottom. Tiny gray pebbles dotted the dusty surface. She carefully wiped away the grime, ignoring the way rocks scattered across the floor and the way the moist paper towel came away not brown, but maroon.
“I have your shoes outside,” Theodore called through the door.
Clutching another two moist paper towels-and with three dry ones stuck in the waistband of her pleated uniform skirt, Amy hobbled out.
Theodore studied Amy solemnly. He sat on the bench outside with Amy's shoes and socks beside him. He was sitting the way he sat in class: quietly attentive, hands folded and back straight, his full attention devoted to what was presented before him. “Amy?” he inquired.
Amy hobbled to the bench. “I'm fine,” she said. She dusted off her toes with a damp towel, dried them, and reached for one of her clean white knee-high socks. It was surprising that they had remained clean through Amy's dance across the dusty field (or perhaps it wasn't, since they had sat neatly rolled up in solid brown leather shoes throughout her dance). Amy would have thought that there would have been some other reminder of her brief stint of rebellion than scraped knees and cut-up feet.
Theodore placed a hand on hers. He took her foot and gently slid the sock on, paying careful attention to to the scrapes on her instep. “I'm surprised you were cut here,” he concluded softly, brushing a thumb gently across her covered foot.
“I'm surprised too,” Amy replied.
He washed her other foot with the same care and attention that he had tended to her first. He said finally, softly, “Amy, you need to be more careful.”
“I am,” Amy thought of saying, “I can take care of myself,” or “You don't need to worry about me” (or even: “Don't concern yourself with me”) But she didn't say any of those. Instead she merely nodded. “Perhaps that wasn't a very intelligent decision.”
Theodore smiled. He slid on Amy's shoes, one after the other. “Mm,” he agreed, after careful thought. He carefully tied Amy's laces in a delicate butterfly knot, pulling the laces tight but not double-knotting them. “I'll walk you back to your dorm.” He stood and offered his hand, smiling tightly.
Amy smiled back, accepting Theodore's hand and allowing him to pull her to her feet. Politely, she added, “You don't have to.”
“Mm.”
Amy glanced at Theodore. She wrapped her hand around his. “But Theodore,” she said quietly, “Thank you.”
Prompt: Instep (from brigits_flame)
Word Count: 744
Pebbled
“You don't have to,” Amy said flatly.
“Mm,” Theodore agreed. He pulled her to her feet gently, supporting her weight carefully.
“You're going to walk me back to my dorm, aren't you?”
“Mm.”
“Even if I tell you that I'm fine?”
“Mm.”
“Even if I tell you that I don't want you here?”
Theodore smiled. “Are you telling me that?”
Amy didn't say anything. She focused on moving her feet, one after another. Perhaps she shouldn't have decided to run around on the hard ground after lights out, grinding pebbles beneath calloused heels. Perhaps she shouldn't have sat down and worried worn brown school shoes off of her boxy feet and peeled off her crisp white knee-length socks before stepping out onto the dusty field. Perhaps she shouldn't have turned to Theodore from where they sat in the library late at night (breaking curfew) studying and said, “let's go play in the field.”
“Your knees are scraped,” Theodore said diplomatically into Amy's silence. “We'll just wash them in the sink before I take you back to your dorm.”
“I can hobble back on my own.”
“Mm,” Theodore agreed.
To prove her point, she hobbled to the sink on her own-lifting herself on her toes to keep the rest of her feet from touching the grimy floor-after Theodore left her at the door to the girl's restroom. Theodore wasn't there to watch her, which rather ruined the point, but she had made it on her own, and that was what truly mattered.
“You have pebbles under your feet,” Theodore had observed after she had fallen.
Amy wet a paper towel and gently dabbed at her knees.
“Amy, your feet are cut up,” Theodore had added slowly. Carefully.
“I know,” Amy said to her knees. They weren't badly scraped. She had gotten worse before. She had worse now.
She leaned against the wall, balancing herself on one foot as she carefully lifted up the other, studying the bottom. Tiny gray pebbles dotted the dusty surface. She carefully wiped away the grime, ignoring the way rocks scattered across the floor and the way the moist paper towel came away not brown, but maroon.
“I have your shoes outside,” Theodore called through the door.
Clutching another two moist paper towels-and with three dry ones stuck in the waistband of her pleated uniform skirt, Amy hobbled out.
Theodore studied Amy solemnly. He sat on the bench outside with Amy's shoes and socks beside him. He was sitting the way he sat in class: quietly attentive, hands folded and back straight, his full attention devoted to what was presented before him. “Amy?” he inquired.
Amy hobbled to the bench. “I'm fine,” she said. She dusted off her toes with a damp towel, dried them, and reached for one of her clean white knee-high socks. It was surprising that they had remained clean through Amy's dance across the dusty field (or perhaps it wasn't, since they had sat neatly rolled up in solid brown leather shoes throughout her dance). Amy would have thought that there would have been some other reminder of her brief stint of rebellion than scraped knees and cut-up feet.
Theodore placed a hand on hers. He took her foot and gently slid the sock on, paying careful attention to to the scrapes on her instep. “I'm surprised you were cut here,” he concluded softly, brushing a thumb gently across her covered foot.
“I'm surprised too,” Amy replied.
He washed her other foot with the same care and attention that he had tended to her first. He said finally, softly, “Amy, you need to be more careful.”
“I am,” Amy thought of saying, “I can take care of myself,” or “You don't need to worry about me” (or even: “Don't concern yourself with me”) But she didn't say any of those. Instead she merely nodded. “Perhaps that wasn't a very intelligent decision.”
Theodore smiled. He slid on Amy's shoes, one after the other. “Mm,” he agreed, after careful thought. He carefully tied Amy's laces in a delicate butterfly knot, pulling the laces tight but not double-knotting them. “I'll walk you back to your dorm.” He stood and offered his hand, smiling tightly.
Amy smiled back, accepting Theodore's hand and allowing him to pull her to her feet. Politely, she added, “You don't have to.”
“Mm.”
Amy glanced at Theodore. She wrapped her hand around his. “But Theodore,” she said quietly, “Thank you.”