messiness and goodness
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“Who is that?” asked Tracy. Tracy was May’s least favorite of her orientation friends. She was hoping that Charlie, Lindsey, and Ben agreed, and that they would start doing things without Tracy soon, but she did not know everyone well enough yet to judge whether that suggestion would be well-received.
“It’s my roommate,” May said. “Olivia.”
“I am so sorry,” said Tracy. “What is she even wearing.” Olivia was wearing the same thing she was always wearing, which was a pair of ratty jeans with holes in the knees, heavy combat boots, a t-shirt with an obscure logo, and a leather jacket covered with even more obscure pins. It was a terrible outfit for the warm months. The dining hall was a large, airy room, with ceiling fans on long supports suspended from the high rafters, but it wasn’t air-conditioned, and Olivia was visibly sweating as she picked her way down the aisle towards the condiment bar.
“I really don’t think what she’s wearing is her biggest problem,” May said, absently, watching Olivia absolutely obliterate the hot dog on her tray with a barrage of condiments.
Bookmarked by teacuptaako
13 Jul 2021
When May was about seven, she realized it had been several months since she had looked after her Pet Rock. Concluding that Angela was absolutely, irrevocably deceased, she resolved to lay her to rest with full honors and threw her in the East River the next time her father took her on the ferry.
Two and a half seconds later, May wanted Angela back.
What May was still learning, fifteen years out, was that dead things seemed alive in absence of evidence they were not. The second the cold, smooth stone slipped under the water, its potential became infinite. Young though she was, May could have warmed Angela in the palm of her hand until she was withered and grey.