Khaela

On the dawning of the irresponsible spring, the weeks of school dwindling closer to a small few, and the bright afternoons giving over from gentle warmth to lazy heat, Khaela felt the pins and needles of confused anticipation. She tapped her pencil on her desk staring at the clock, the steady and intolerable slowness of the second hand's sweeping revolutions, the pizzicato insistent of her eraser challenging the minute, illustrating the eternity between 60 wide seconds to her restless legs and unquiet thoughts. With the windows open she could taste the sweet breath of gladiolas.

Flower beds were the common ground that Khaela and her mother met on, the conciliatory art that she would learn to give her mother the satisfaction of molding her only seedling who was otherwise so stony and rigid. Khaela had long legs and a lean frame, but she wouldn't run track or play volleyball like her mother wanted. She rode a BMX bike for hours, straight legged in skinny jeans with a flat brimmed Volcom hat. Her mother complained that her daughter looked like a boy, dressed like a boy, played like a boy and only hung around boys, but Khaela was happy when her body only developed to a hidable degree, and the boy's world she enjoyed didn't ostracize her for the evidence of her gender. But Khaela felt like she owed her poor mother something, who collected dolls even as an adult, so she learned gardening. She felt earthy and nurturing with her plants, she could discuss them with her mother who was patient, indulging mistakes and experiments. It improved their relationship to the point that when Khaela cut off all of her auburn hair her mother decided she looked 'like an adorable pixie.'

Khaela was a student of the weather, constantly checking maps on her iphone for green blotches of clouds or the dropping of barometric pressure. Her plants were at the mercy of the weather, she worried about the arid blazing of the sun too early or the pregnant clouds too late. And on the nice days she would meet Ariel outside of her last class, and they would walk home together. Ariel had skin the rich chocolate toast of espresso, she wore strapless black party dresses with pink polka dots to school, and had a high cascade of ocher hair raining down on her perfect, bare shoulder. Khaela was enamored with Ariel in a way she understood but wasn't ready to admit. They didn't know how to talk to each other in the morning, their exchanges were stiff and business like. They waved at each other in the hallways, sometimes Ariel would slug Khaela in the arm as she passed. But as school let out and the tension of captivity unwound the afternoon became too chaotic to care, self consciousness melted away, and they could talk. Khaela hated the sour weather when Ariel would dart off like a fawn, and some days she was torn between the wilting of her plants and the tremor in her heart.

They lingered by a flower stand, mother's day was approaching and Ariel wanted to buy a gift. Khaela explained how much light and water each plant liked, like they were sullen cats and eager dogs. Ariel chose a pot of tulips, their happy yellow heads a metronome to the charming bounce in her walk. They went into the drug store and collaborated on a box of chocolates, debating on the merits of each while the druggist rolled her eyes at the two giggling girls. They headed home and in the shady block of handsome brick houses their hands brushed, the delicate excuse me of fingers, a sharp whisper of a touch. Khaela matched her stride to Ariel's and they laughed, Ariel took Khaela's hand, lacing their fingers, swinging easily and unmentioned between them. They walked like that for another block and then their paths split. Khaela stayed on the lonely corner for awhile, sitting on the stoop of a laundromat waiting for the hyperactive zinging she felt to mellow. "Just two blocks," she thought. That was all it took to take all the firmness out of the ground and leave her so rattled, the eternity of 60 wide seconds washing Khaela out into its' mighty sea.