Grand Gestures

I closed my eyes, pushing my knees up beneath my chin, and crammed myself deeper into the back of my closet. I imagine trying into a box that no one can see. A box that no one can touch.

Everything is a mess. Two weeks before our project is due and I've got nothing to show for it. All holiday, I've been following Billie around aimlessly, not thinking. Now, I have to think. I need to do something.

I think about little orange-gold fish glistening like stardust beneath the blueberry night sky.

                               Hands.

Delicate hands cup my face and hold me close to a familiar chest. "You're okay," Grace says. She's warm and cold at the same time. I can tell that she has been in the rain. Her damp fingers comb through my hair and she's humming the melody of a song that sounds vaguely familiar to me. 

"We'll make a new film," she says. But, she's quiet like she's not really sure of herself. "I mean if you want to."

I can't see past her strawberry, strawberry hair. She smells like strawberries, too. The kind that you're not allowed to eat because they're expensive and only meant to be eaten in a cake that is also expensive.

"Okay."

We sit there and think about what we're going to film too much and laugh a bit about how stupid all of this fighting is.