Murky Waters

If 3 A.M. isn’t the right time to be half-submerged in a muddy puddle, June thinks there probably isn’t one. It feels right though. It’s something about the way water wicks up the threads of her tattered sweater, pooling in the center of her upturned palms, settling in the hollow between her collar bones. It beads across her rain boots, but had long since started soaking into her socks. Perhaps the rain boots are a bit unnecessary. It all comes down to user error. The intended function of rain boots isn’t exactly keeping your feet dry when laid down in a few inches of water. It feels like an exercise in futility; wearing rain boots to keep one’s feet dry, then intentionally misusing them. The poor things never stood a chance. Still, an unease had seized her limbs, stopping her in her tracks, when thinking about going out into the drizzle without them. So, here she is. 

The rough cement of the sidewalk scrapes against her elbow as she stretches her arms out to the sides. The spot is rubbed raw, flushed pink with little pinpoints of crimson where her careless actions had caused the skin to break. Careless isn’t exactly the right word. It’s not like she hadn’t cared about what she was doing. Thoughtless. That sounds better. Anyway, being propped up on an elbow, then sliding said elbow over the ridges on a gravel-ridden sidewalk, doesn’t exactly make for happy and healthy skin. Clementine would have scolded her for it if she were here: tell her that the mucky water will infect the cuts. But, the thought of Clementine’s clear voice doling out instructions for proper injury care floats down to the bottom of her priority list. Not that it’s a very long list. 

Dropping her head back, she pulls in a long breath through parted lips. She accidentally inhales a raindrop or two. The urge to cough rattles around her chest, raking up her throat. Taking measured breaths through her nose, she pushes it down and quells the urge. There’s no way she’s going to lose to a measly drop of water. Even though she beat it, it still found a little vengeance. Her throat burns. It’s the very specific kind of ache brought about by swallowing water and having it go down just wrong. The kind that’s typically followed by sputtering and coughing and a raspy voice. She’s rather familiar with it. You can blame attempts at talking while she’s drinking or a haste to swallow her favorite soda for the familiarity most times. 

A light flickers on behind the drapes blanketing a window across the street. It bleeds out and creeps across the darkness. She tries to find the line where the light stops and the dark takes over, but it’s too blurry. The yellow glow is strong and concentrated near the glass pane, but fades out in a fuzzy radius mere feet from the brick siding. Her attention is drawn away from the task though, as a door, attached to the same house as the window, pushes open in a gentle swing. A softly backlit figure emerges, pausing to open an umbrella. Once the umbrella is over their head, they close the door behind them, taking care to make sure it latches properly. It’s always been a finicky door. It was something about the hinges not being installed correctly. She thinks so anyway. 

The girl walks across the street, an erratic rhythm to her steps in order to avoid puddles and potholes. As she grows closer, June starts to pick out the details of her appearance. Unruly chestnut hair was tucked into a sloppy braid, likely tousled while asleep. Black tank top straps wrap gracefully over the curves of her shoulders, while a thick cream-colored cardigan hangs off her frame. Pink pajama pants, the ones with kittens littered across the fabric, are quickly growing dark as water seeps into the bottoms. She’s wearing flip-flops, so the pant hems are dragging across the damp pavement. Soon enough, she steps up onto the sidewalk and peers down at June. She shifts the umbrella over both of them, shielding June’s head and torso from the spitting rain. 

“Lonely?” Clementine’s silky voice sounds out of place. It doesn’t belong in the same space as grimy sidewalks and scraped elbows. Still, genuine hazel eyes blink down at her nonetheless. June hums a response, not really giving any indication of agreement or disagreement. She’s not completely sure what lonely feels like anymore. Empty halls and dark rooms; quiet mornings and even quieter nights. They had become commonplace lately, steeping her daily life in a sense of stillness. Everything felt distant, cold. But, lonely? What even was lonely? Sure, she had been alone, but lonely? 

“Missed you,” she mumbles, settling for an only partially related response. Tipping her head back, she looks down the street, carefully avoiding Clementine’s face. A gentle flush warms across her cheeks and nose. Maybe she can blame it on the chill of the rain. A quiet moment stretches out, taking up space, before June spares a glance back in the other girl’s direction. There’s a strange tension about her, given away by fingers clutched around the chipped plastic umbrella handle and the slight downward curve of her lips. It quickly stomps out the fuzzy sensation that had taken root in her chest since admitting her longing emotions. Suddenly, Clementine crouches beside her, balancing on the balls of her feet and sitting on her heels. Her face now in clear view, June takes in rosy lips and flushed cheeks, the crease between furrowed brows. 

Maybe she is lonely. 

Seeing Clementine’s face brings with it the ache that was missing for the last few weeks. It digs into her skin and burrows into her bones. Days of solitude compound into weeks of yearning, and it all collapses in at once. 

“Are you okay?” The words fill the grooves left by the pain, soothing jagged edges. 

June feels like a kid. Sometimes, kids fall down or get hurt, and they’re completely fine. But, when an adult comes, fussing over them and asking if they’re okay, they burst into tears. She was fine. The last few weeks were fine. She’d managed just fine on her own. So why are her eyes stinging and tears gathering in the corners?

She nods, jerky and short, ruffling the frizzy black ponytail situated behind her head. She scrubs an arm over her eyes, damp fabric doing little to dry the tear that just slipped down her cheek. “Thank you for letting me know you were here,” Clementine says gently. She doesn’t push the subject, just smiles and lays a hand on June’s shoulder. There’s still something pained hiding behind the expression, but it’s a step in the right direction. 

June pushes herself upright, making sure not to bump into Clementine as she does so. No longer submerged in the puddle, her sweater is clinging to her back. The waterlogged fabric’s heavy and pulls uncomfortably on her shoulders. Water drips off the end of her ponytail, sliding down her neck and rolling over her skin. She pulls her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around the wet denim of her jeans. “We’re going to be okay, right?” she asks, voice betraying how fragile she feels, and turns her head to look at Clementine. Well, more specifically her feet. June can’t face looking her in the eye if she were to disagree, turn her down. Looking at perfectly manicured sage green toenails and scuffed black flip-flops splattered with mud is much easier. 

“Everything will be alright.” Quiet reassurances are murmured into the space between them, sticking in the humid air. Clementine always had a way of smoothing over June’s broken parts, settling her frayed nerves, and weaving back together her unraveling threads. But, this time, something caught and pulled, like trying to knit with barbed needles. 

Everything. Not us or we, but everything. She doesn’t want everything to be alright. She needs them to be okay. “But, us?” June asks, delicate tone shielded by a steely resolve. Except, maybe her resolve isn’t made of steel, but glass. Her intentions can be seen worlds away, right through the clear pane and it stands strong against the elements. Yet, one hard impact will send it crashing to the ground, shattering into slivers, biting into skin, and cutting into whoever tries to pick up the pieces. 

A long sigh filters through Clementine’s lips. “I don’t know.” 

“Clem—”

“But, I want to try.” At Clementine’s response, June tips her head up, catching a glimpse of the warm smile she’d missed so much. Something just clicks, or maybe cracks. 

“I’m so sorry.” The words spill out before she can stop them. Tears start streaming down her cheeks, tracking down over raindrop dappled skin. With the numbness that was haunting her for the last few weeks gone and fears quieted for now, the guilt she’d tamped down breaks free. “It’s my fault.” Her vision swims behind watery eyes. 

“Tomorrow, okay?” Clementine sweeps her thumbs under June’s eyes in a gesture so sweet it makes June’s heart stutter and stumble. More tears fall from her lashes and it forces a shuddery breath through her lungs. How could she push away someone so caring? Stubbornness and misguided intentions were the likely culprits, driving away the best thing to ever happen to June, even though she only wanted to make Clementine happy. But, maybe she can do better this time. 

“Let’s get you inside and dry, yeah?” Clementine presses her lips to the top of June’s head in a quick kiss before standing up and extending a hand. June clutches it with lightly trembling fingers. It feels like a lifeline.