Sapphic Voices General Fiction

An Excerpt From A Day In The Life Of June

Part 1

It’s been days since my professor assigned me this writing exercise. I’ve been procrastinating for too long. He insists it’s meant to further my observation skills and help me be able to pull essential bits and pieces from whatever I choose my subject to be. I know that once I get in the field of informative journalism that that will be an important part of my training. My goal is to spread education about matters that are usually controversial and misconstrued.

Frustratingly so, this is the worst time for me. I cannot focus. I can only think of one theme, which shows my lack of ability in determination and thought. Without discipline in any field of study, I know I won’t make it in this competitive world of writers. But it’s not my fault, you see, though that’s not an excuse. I’ve tried to convince myself that it’s all in my head, that I’m not obsessed, and when that didn’t work, I resorted to the lie that it really isn’t worth my time. But I’m wrong. She’s all I can think about. It started when….

“Stop it. I don’t like you. I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.” Her voice was harsh, and I paused in the hallway of the college where I had signed up for night school journalism 101. The domineering way she spoke froze me and even though she seemed rough around the edges, by sound, I knew there was something more. She had my attention.

I crept closer to turn the corner, trying to hear and see more. A boy was gesturing angrily, before falling back on trying to plead with her. She shook her head and turned on her heal without speaking again, and he cursed her under his breath. I’m sure she heard, but it didn’t seem to affect her like it bothered me. I found myself following her on my way, figuring that she had just broken up with the poor slob and was heading to the restroom; possibly to cry or let off steam or whatever it was that girls normally did after such an event. When she turned and walked into my assigned room, 402, I once again felt lead in my blood, weighing me down. I took a deep breath and trudged on inside.

Part 2

It was the second time I heard her speak, but the first time in class. She was already a step ahead of me, for I had yet to introduce myself, as I didn’t want any attention. She was an assertive being, but there was more to her. Her slender manicured hand was raised intuitively. Her fingers looked strong and capable, and surprisingly blistered. Something in the graceful manner that she presented herself made me grasp the sense that she was artistic. I wondered if she had a side trade, as I tended to take photographs and develop my own shots in my dark room.

I stopped my brain from wandering as the present came back to me. I was somewhat of a daydreamer. When called on, the object of my attention shot into a large depiction on her opinion of what was going on in our always changing, modern society.

“Professor Carter, I’m sorry, but I don’t see how you can rebuttal the fact that not everyone wants the American Dream. I think it’s preposterous that you think everyone agrees with us and that places, for instance, like the Middle East, wouldn’t look down on us for our western ideas, even if it was just about something as simple as fashion.” Suddenly, courage boiled inside of me, and before I could stop myself, I answered,

“If I may, though you have a point, and I agree with you for the most part, I’d like to recognize that fashion should not be thrown out like it’s nothing. Fashions of all sorts resemble different cultures and show our diversity. Maybe striving towards being classified under one group is impossible. I think it’s more beneficial to embrace others for their opinion. That’s how we became America in the first place. It’s what makes us great.”

Her mouth set in a firm scowl, yet she appeared to be smiling and bright. Still, I didn’t want her to address me in return unless she had something positive to say. Yet, I knew that either way I would accept it. Regardless, I found her fascinating. I couldn’t relax though, as her eyes had flashed with a dazzling force so much like lightning. It struck my core so fast; I couldn’t comprehend what was affecting me. My heart began to hum with the gentle power of a thousand butterfly wings.

I was usually a meek person who kept to herself, so this was the bravest thing I had done in a long time. My face flamed up with the realization that I had disrespected the Professor in my rush to answer her before I lost my nerve and that I had confronted her and displayed myself in front of the entire class. I barely managed to smile to show that, really, I didn’t mean anything by it. I tried to keep my chin up as she stared me down. I hoped that she couldn’t see through me, but somehow I felt that she did. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to swallow the moment she looked away.

Part 3

Her name was Theo. I loved the way it matched her. Her hair was a luminous platinum blonde and thick by the looks of it. She always wore it in a certain way, most days up in a tight, practical, but sleek bun. She put chopsticks in it to keep it in place. I got a kick out of that. I think she’s a perfectionist. Her eyes, the last time I got a look into them, were a greyish-blue, like a mixture of clouds and the sky on a stormy night. I later discovered when I overheard her speaking with a friend, that she played the violin and had a concert coming up. Of course, she was first chair. I wished I knew where it was. But I wasn’t a stalker, and I only meant to admire from afar.

Sadly, I knew I could make great art with her as a muse, as she had character, beautiful bone structure, decorative eyes, and succulent lips. It wasn’t just that, however. Everything about her was perfect to me. I already contemplated taking a picture of her for keepsake, maybe to try my hand at drawing, but I didn’t dare. I also discovered, to my embarrassment, due to my outburst about America our last lesson, that she was of English decent. Maybe it didn’t matter.

She didn’t seem to be easily impressed or bothered. Who could blame her though? How many people had thrown themselves at her mercy, desperately falling over themselves for her attention? I was very skeptic that she would bat an eye if she knew about me and my high regard of her. I wonder sometimes, tentatively, what she was writing about now, as she had the same assignment as I did. There was no doubt in my mind that she already had it done. She was on a different level than the rest of us. Theo. Yes, how it suited her. Like her name’s sake, she was a gift, one that I couldn’t wait to open up.

Part 4

Sometimes I wanted to be like her. I’d even tried to wear similar things to her, but they didn’t hang around my body in the same way. I started to accept that I couldn’t be like her. I found I was okay with that. She was meant to be appreciated, but not copied and I was happy being myself. Still, when I saw her after class, still sitting in the room even after it had cleared out, I wonder what had her so absorbed. And then I saw the book enfolded in her hands and it became a part of me. I imagined sometimes over the impossible that when she read those pages she would slowly come to understand me, as if running her fingers over the book would give her the blue prints to my everything: desires, thoughts, insecurities, and body.

I hunted through my book shelves, online, through the library, and finally a book store. I bought it, poems of Emily Dickinson. I felt myself smile victoriously. We had similar tastes. I brought it with me to the next lecture we had together, hoping against hope that she’d be there to see it; that she’d turn her head at just the right moment while I was engulfed in it, long enough to grasp the title, and maybe hold me in a respective light. I never discovered if she did.

I came in late, having car trouble, and when I got there, she was in my usual seat. Startled, all I could do was blink, my mouth fluttering in question. Raising a cool eyebrow, she gestured me over. I couldn’t believe it, and yet it was what I had been waiting for since day one. Gingerly, I placed myself down beside her. I left the book face-down, too shy now to show it off. Sparingly, I felt her watching my profile.

My un-kept eyebrows and crooked nose made me feel nervous. I had a shimmering blue-black blunt cut that framed my face and brushed my chiseled jaw, the same hairdo I had had since high school. My eyes were a murky green, as if the sea had been polluted with clouds of mud. Self-conscious, for all the women in my family always had premature graying, I started plucking the light sprinkle around my crown with spite. When it did not dissipate, it didn’t discourage me. What halted my movements was when a hand landed on my arm, her voice insisting,

“Don’t do that. It’s the best part of you.” I couldn’t close my mouth even when the other floated up to the front of the class, turning her back to me.

Part 5

So of course, in the great scheme of things, it was my turn to make a move. She’d reached out to me, so now it was my turn to reach out to her. With this in mind, my armpits pricked with sweat and my face grew hot as I moved listlessly to her desk. I didn’t ask if I could take the seat across from her, I just plopped down. Even in her obvious surprise, she did not look up from her book of poems, though I wasn't sure if it was for my sake. She asked instead,

“What chapter did you get to?” Speechless, I stared. She knew? My face lit up into a deep blush. Rubbing my palms on my jeans, the way I did when I was nervous, I replied,

“I actually finished the book last night.” I had had an abundance of time on my hands, and before I had known it, I’d curled up in an armchair and had finished reading well into the night. I’d done so in the hope that maybe I’d be able to unlock key, hidden information about her. I wasn’t so sure I had. She merely nodded, commenting,

“I hope you enjoyed it.” I nodded enthusiastically, hoping I didn’t appear like a bobble head, just to show that I did. Instead of asking her what her favorite poem was, or where she was in the book, I extended my hand shyly, the words spilling out over one another,

“I’m June. I just wanted to meet you.” Theo smiled, tapping my palm with two beautiful, unique fingers.

“Haven’t you already?” It was the first time I’d seen her teeth, and they were stunning. They melted my heart, which I had been steeling for impact, for what, I don’t know. I stuttered, trying to move the attention of our conversation back to her,

“So, what are you here for?” She turned back to her book,

“Journalism, same as you. I just want to travel, report on cultural issues. See the world.” I smiled, only slightly at ease as I retorted,

“Not something I’d like to get into. Seems admirable though.” Whatever I had said intrigued her, for she sat the book down again. I explained why I was taking our shared class. She asked me, interested in something else,

“What do you like doing?” I scratched my head, for I hadn’t seen this one coming.

“Taking and developing photographs. It’s my window.” She nodded, turning into her chair to bring me in. I asked her the same question in return, and she answered with what I already knew, modestly,

“I play the violin.” I could imagine her on dark, dreary nights playing something ominous but beautiful. I took a mental picture of her basking in sunlight, a sweet melody flowing from her skilled pastime. She asked suddenly,

“Would you consider going to my concert? The photographer the company had hired bailed out. If you want money, of course, we’d pay you as a professional. We need photographs to advertise. Do you think you have the right equipment and can deal with variations of lighting? If it’s too difficult or strenuous, just say so. It’s not a big deal.”

The fact that she was giving me an opportunity brightened my soul. Lighting was no matter. I could deal with anything. I told her this, and I watched in amazement as a dimple poked out of her smile to wink at me. I forced myself to stop staring at her mouth when she extended her hand, confidently giving me the details of time and place as she concluded,

“Fantastic.” Before I knew it, she’d hustled away.

Part 6

I went to the concert twenty minutes early, but being the photographer it was strategically late. I made myself scarce by setting up my equipment, appearing busy, though I merely needed my camera. Not that the other things were for show, it was just that I was sure I could accomplish this without them, due to my eagerness to get the shots done perfectly. Theo and the other performers were already on stage as swarms of people crammed into the stadium.

Her willowy figure was displayed in a silk dress the color of midnight. Its slightly blue simmer kept her visible from the backdrop. She most often tried to blend in for her own comfort and to avoid recognition. After pushing my way through the people, I made it to the stage. I had to show my pass that I had been given to the guard, and then again to the director before I could step up to her. I twirled a tidy white rose nervously, one that had been carefully snipped and chosen with precision.

“I wanted to give this to you before you went on.” Theo blinked, as if confused or puzzled. She started tentatively,

“Thank you. Is it for luck? Or…?” The guarded state of her appreciation made me uncomfortable. I quickly corrected, falsely,

“It’s just because-… Because I want you to wear it pinned to your dress’ sash. It would really look good with taking the photos.” Theo nodded, but before she could further comment, I was being ushered off the stage. The music that began to play after everyone was situated hypnotized me. Theo played so eloquently, with strict perfection, and complete dedication. It was as if everything left her and her violin was her tool to express her soul.

The rose showed like a beacon, highlighting the slit in her dress that exposed a thigh slightly. The contrast went well with everything else, which was good for my photography. Inspired, I couldn’t stay in one place for long as I tried to capture the brilliance of the image in front of me with my camera. My different angled shots created my best abstract works. I knew without a doubt that I would make copies for myself to keep.

I couldn’t stop clicking as a spotlight hit Theo having a solo, illuminating her in a ghostly light. I was glad I didn’t have the flash on and that my high-tech camera could deal with this difficult setup. Once again, after the show, I made my way to her. After finding her, I managed professionally,

“Here’s an update. I’ll email your director and your publicity agent electronic copies of everything I shot, and I’ll give you a hard copy our next lesson.” I chose to be clear with this as to remind ourselves that we’d see each other again after this night was over. Then, just as Theo was about to reply, the boy from before ran up to us and kissed her right on the mouth. He rushed,

“This was such a hit!” As if I were nothing more than a personal assistant, I ducked to free the flower from her expensive dress, which I discovered then was backless. Breathe, I reminded myself strictly. Be normal. In my clumsiness I brushed our arms as I stood. The boy had disappeared, as apparently Theo had sent him off, telling him to get lost. To my surprise, we were alone. We both silently watched him run off and nurse his wounds in a deep glass of brandy. Chump, I thought ruefully.

Gravely, Theo watched me make way to toss the rose. As fast as she was able to go in her dress, she gripped my wrist hard, demanding,

“Wait! Don’t throw it away. I mean, I want to keep it. It was for me, wasn’t it?” I tried to keep from choking,

“Yes!” I went to offer it back, but thought better of it. Theo appeared disappointed a moment, before her face became expressionless, like stone. Her hand fell flat. I lifted the flower favorably to my nose for an appreciative sniff, before giving Theo the same courtesy.

Was it my eyes deceiving me, or had Theo just smiled? The rose, in my fog, had dipped, due to my self-consciousness and doubt. Accidental, or not, it brushed Theo’s lips for a brief moment of contact. Snapping back to reality, I tucked the rose into Theo’s tightly wound hair, incorporating it into its artful mass. My smile wobbled. I managed,

“Want to get a drink?” Theo smiled again.

Part 7

I finished my second whiskey sour, convinced that a little alcohol would mellow me out. Theo was patiently wetting her mouth with her second gin and tonic, sampling the olives she had ordered on the side, while ignoring the lime floating in her glass. I tried not to watch how Theo circled her snaky tongue around the sphere and drew it in with acceptance and hunger. My gut grew hard, and my breathing grew hollow. I felt more impaired by Theo then by the alcohol I had consumed. I told her, trying to be honest but humorous,

“You didn’t tell me how great you were before. I didn’t have any time to prepare myself.” Theo’s smile was incredulous as she murmured back,

“I’m glad you managed.” Realizing I wasn’t sounding like myself, but an imitation of the kid we had ditched, a blush started to form from my neck up. She was watching me through the corner of her eye. I expressed,

“Barely. When you play, it’s like, everything else stops. Like everyone has no choice but to listen. Figuratively, I knew it was coming from the real you, so don’t just brush it off. It was like you could make that instrument sing. Why so sadly though, I keep wondering.” Theo merely stared; her eyebrows raised speculatively, her eyes softening, though she did not give in further to answer what tormented me. I continued, looking for acceptance,

“I just couldn’t stop taking pictures. It was so beautiful.” Her voice was only slightly louder than a whisper,

“What was, exactly?” In my haphazard, intoxicated state, I found the urge to trace the outline of her dress with my fingertips, which I allowed myself,

“You know, everything. Your dress. The backdrop. Your violin. The music. The atmosphere. How you could captivate an entire room so easily and make people believe that magic had just touched them.” Was it just me, or had Theo leaned in closer? On impulse, I did too, despite the fact that I could have imagined it. I added quietly,

“But more importantly, you were. Just you.” Theo’s majestic neck stiffened, though she didn’t recoil yet.

“You don’t know me,” she maintained, her voice unconvinced. I rushed, feeling like if I didn’t say it now, I never would, especially without this opportunity again,

“I don’t think I need to in order to tell you what I saw.” Theo’s breath brushed my cheeks, tickling my ear,

“And what is it that you thought you saw?” I clarified, not minding repeating myself,

“I saw beauty in the form of a person. I never thought that was possible before. That’s why I only liked photographing landscapes and nature. I don’t think I’ll be able to do that anymore now that I’ve experienced the real thing.” Amused, she licked her lips,

“Oh, you have now, have you? Maybe I’ll just have to stick around then. I have a feeling you’re going to keep running out of film.” I answered, insistent and persistent,

“I’ll buy more. Tons of it.” She seemed bothered by this, as if I was really affecting her. Was I? Jittery, I waited as she spoke, shooting herself down in her snarky way,

“Besides, luckily for your hobby, pictures will keep better than I will. Beauty is only skin deep, and we both know that doesn’t last.” I didn’t know how to tell her she was wrong. And so I didn’t. Instead, I leaned in and kissed her.

Part 8

I didn’t know how it all happened, all I know is that it had. But was this really me, or had the alcohol influenced me? Was I simply just an admirer who had gone too far? Could I really be gay? And what about Theo? Theo, who I’ve been dancing around after I’d given her the promised pictures. Who’d made my heart, body, and mind soar. Who I didn’t accept any money from, for our drinks or for stepping in as her show’s photographer.

Despite all of the indecisiveness in my mind, the kiss floated out so clear, its goal focused, and complete with her sweetness. I hadn’t felt before until I discovered her heartbeat under my hands. I still shiver with just my memories, the sheer fact that they exist and that whatever had occurred last night had been possible, if only for that moment. The sighs I was sure that had floated through our ears sounded like chimes.

Touching her the way I had, both on the inside and out, could not be undone. I wonder if Theo is grateful for that, or if she regrets it. The fact that I had the world beneath my fingertips is almost inconceivable. I thought I had held Everything. All I can hope is that Theo, no matter what had happened between us or what may occur next, remembers me fondly. I know I’ll meet her soul again, though I regret not taking the time to learn all that I could about her.

If writing things out brings closure, I have completed my task. Why, then, do I still not feel free? One thing I know for sure is that I won’t be turning this in to my professor. I knew it all along; I had suspected this the moment my thoughts and fingers first started to shape my paper. I just can’t risk it. I just can’t risk her.

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