FEBRUARY 2009

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Spread of Landscape
 By Jamie Lin, Dec 24, 2008

She’s an ordinary girl and I’m just as ordinary, maybe even more so. We met at a café. Her room is full of yellow: rug, toothbrush, family photos. She doesn’t belong, I imagine her legs made out of construction paper and her heart made up of a crumpled piece of red tissue. Everything else is glossy.

She turns on the radio and I wince. I don’t want to tell her how love songs hurt my ears. Instead, I say goodbye and leave, memorizing the soft rows of her teeth for tomorrow.

I walk the way home, whistling a little. I don’t want to admit I am afraid of the dark. My roommate is always in one long-term relationship after another. People annoy me when they cease being a dream.

Maybe I could have stayed and snuggled against her back and whispered beautiful things to her, but she’s just a stranger.

- Ian

* * *

After he leaves, I pull open the middle shelf of my dresser. Ever since I was a child, I’ve always loved to collect things. As a seven-year-old, I would pick up oddly shaped rocks, pieces of newspapers, and abandoned lip-gloss caps. I’d carry them around in a tote. Nowadays, I aim for labels from alcohol bottles and empty tubes of toothpaste. And I have stopped carrying them to places, realizing they can’t see what goes on even if I narrate.

The sound of the door closing made my ears ache. I turn off the radio and pull open the fridge. A month ago, I stopped eating animals, replacing them with soy products and crunchy leaves. My vegan friends told me it made great differences in their lives, about how they feel so much lighter.

I open the window and hear the sirens. Loud noises disturb me. I prefer the windows closed.

I think about suicide every couple days.

- Ally

* * *

I wake an hour early. I like to sit in my cube before anyone else has arrived. I enjoy the spread of landscape in all directions. I am sitting on the subway when I notice her. We raise our hands. There is something sad about her today. I feel awful. I get up and sit across from her. She smiles and I notice the water in her eyes.

“I always wished for perfect teeth,” she says.

Months later, I haven’t stopped thinking about her. It is raining hard outside. My roof sounds like it’d collapse. I still have her number taped to the phone.

- Ian

* * *

My mom has breast cancer and all she ever wants to do is live.

- Ally

Jamie Lin is currently writing stories about her hypersensitive sympathetic nervous system. Later, she aims to major in Political Science and minor in English-Literature. Her website is at jamielin.net.

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