Expectation

By Amethyst Turner

I see you and I want you

To be perfect

I want you to never be

Drunk or irritable

Lazy or insensitive

I want you to side with me

All the time

And understand me

When no one else does

But who can shoulder

The weight of my world?

XXX

On her first day back at school, everything was different.

She had a new bus stop now, and even a new bus driver. The new man was thick and pale, unblinking and fleshy as a frog. She'd watched him carefully as she went by to find a seat, but he hadn't spared her a glance.

On her way down the aisle, Amethyst had caught sight of Daniel sitting beside a girl with strawberry hair pulled high into a ponytail. She'd felt her heart seize up for a moment and then beat again.

And now that she was in the classroom, she wasn't even sure this was the right school.

Where were the pastel posters on the wall, the cases of picture books, the bins of crayons and crayola markers? Where was the braided maroon rug and the papers that cluttered the kidney bean shaped table? But most of all, where was Miss Briggs?

Amethyst had been looking forward to seeing her, to collapsing in her arms and accepting the volley of hugs and kisses and worried words that would inevitably follow.

But there was no Miss Briggs, not behind the kidney bean table or in her rocking chair or walking around the classroom in her brightly colored heels.

Aimee looked around the room with bewildered eyes, ignoring her classmates who said things like "Hi!" and "You're back!" She was back, but what had she come back to?

XXX

June was so focused on her own reflection that she didn't even notice Jameson come in the room. He watched his own mirror image approach her, standing right beside her reflection and yet, June's eyes did not leave her own for a second.

She wasn't practicing anything that Jameson could see, and she wasn't working on her poise. She didn't have her neck elongated or her shoulders back. June just stood, almost slumped, with her hands folded over her stomach. She ran them up and down her sides, turning every so often to look from a new angle.

"What are you doing?" he asked. He laughed when she startled at his voice.

"Jameson!" She shrieked. "What are you doing here! Get out, get out!"

"Geesh. Relax. I thought you said you wanted to practice pas de deux?" He dared to put his hands on her thin waist, giving her side a quick squeeze. The moment he sank his fingers into her, he found bone.

Aren't you going to ask June out? Their friends kept asking him. Jameson could only sigh and shrug. If June was not a dancer, he thought, she'd be perfect for him. He could see himself loving a June who studied at the University of Maryland and ate pizza when he brought it home and didn't always cancel their plans because she needed to practice.

But, these days, dancer was the biggest part of the pie chart that made up June. All her other traits, the parts of her that were funny and sweet and caring all seemed to be overridden by dance, that dark cloud, that malignant overlord.

"Don't touch me," she snapped, shoving his hands away. Then she sighed, seeming to melt a little. "I just want to be alone for a minute," she said.

"But you've been alone for hours, June."

June strode over to the barre, placing her fingertips on the top. She dipped into a deep plie, not meeting his eyes in the mirror. "I'm too tired to argue with you right now," she said. "Please just go."

So, feeling light headed with rejection, he left the studio and went to be by himself, too.

XXX

Micky sat back in her chair, waiting. Normally, she would have the New York Times or the Washington Post open in front of her, but today felt calm, languid in a way she wasn't ready to sacrifice for the news. Snow twirled down to the ground outside, flakes spreading like white confetti.

She fingered the beads of the necklace she was making, the blue glass slipping lazily between her fingertips. Did Kris even wear this color? She couldn't remember.

Closing her eyes, Micky sighed deeply to herself. They were 'fighting' she supposed, although she could remember exactly what about. All she knew was, Kris hadn't touched her in at least three days, and it was getting old.

This necklace was supposed to be a reconciliation gift, but Micky wasn't sure how well it would be received. She had tried to make the colors as ambiguous as possible, but jewelry still came across as a predominantly female accessory.

Micky couldn't pretend she understood everything Kris was going through. her mind was a mystery, her soul, an encrypted ruin. All Micky could do was stand by her lover and pretend she didn't care.

Sometimes when she came home in the evenings, Kris would be on the floor beside their bed, naked and shivering, often crying and muttering to herself. On those nights, Micky closed the door again and pretended she hadn't heard. Maybe part of her wanted to help Kris, but she knew that there was nothing she could do.

Even if Kris's mind was so uncertain, the physical charge between them was undeniable. Micky didn't care that much if Kris was a man or a woman. What she needed in her life were those soft, dry palms on her hips in the night, those round, thick hips beneath her after long days alone. That strong, aggressive face melting against her touch.

She lifted the necklace to her lips and kissed the beads. She could try to trick herself all she wanted, but the fact remained: she needed Kris and Kris needed her. There was no escaping the necessity that was their love.

XXX

June missed Amethyst more than she cared to admit.

She missed the weight of little, curious eyes on her back as she twisted and turned, cheeks flushed rosy red and eyebrows raised high. It'd made her remember, if only for a second, that what she did was not something everyone could do. June was special.

But now that the little girl had slipped through her fingers, off to make her way in the wicked world of school, June was alone again, alone with her flaws and imperfections, her faltering developpes and the cushioning above her hips.

June lowered herself to the ground with a groan as her sore legs stretched over the floor, slick with sweat. Outside, someone was playing music too loudly, but it wasn't the usual radio garbage. She could hear the high opera tones of Queen, irritating to her oversaturated ears, wailing guitars and layered harmonies. The music approached, closer and closer until the door burst open and filled the room with it.

"Find me somebody to love!" June's friends were shouting, prancing ahead of the radio with an unironic glee, Jameson at the head of the pack. June rolled her eyes at her pas de deux partner and ignored them as they leaped around her, singing and screaming lyrics along with the blaring radio.

"What are you doing here?" she groaned. "I'm trying to work."

"Oh, stop it," Jameson scoffed. "You've been working all day. C'mon, we're going out." He lifted dher off the floor, flipping her so that her legs tipped up in the air over his shoulder.

"Put me down!" June screeched.

Jameson just chuckled. "Quit fighting," he said. "You need a serious break."

June felt light headed and vicious from a long day of stale studio air and no food, same song looping over and over again on the stereo. Before she could tell her body not to, her fingers shot out like claws and dug into Jameson's face, her pinkie landing squarely in his eye.

"Holy shit, June!" He shouted. A series of sharp curses leaped out of his mouth and his arm loosened around her. June's body tumbled to the ground like an untied barrel on a cargo ship. She hit the ground with an audible groan, her ankle seizing up with pain. Their friends watched with faces of horror and something like pity. Someone turned off the radio.

"Leave," said June, hearing the sharp edge of coldness in her own voice. They did.

XXX

Kris was one hundred percent sure he'd never seen this girl before.

She looked so angelic, he was sure he'd have remembered her. Her hair hung down her shoulders in two golden ropes, tied at the ends with bright pink elastic bands. She seemed uncertain on her feet, rocking when she stood and grabbing onto walls and furniture when she wanted to walk.

Feeling his heart well with an arresting brand of pity, Kris went across the room to her, his heavy rubber boots shifting around his feet with every step. They were far too big for Kris's body, but they looked right to him.

Up close, he began to see other things about the girl. She had faded bruises on her face, still prominent enough to make her colorful in a sickly, spine-crawling way. She bit her lip as she walked, fists clenched tight at her sides. Her eyes, sterling blue and too wide on her thin little face, jumped around the room, pupils frenzied in their quest.

Kris was kneeling down in front of her before those eyes locked on him. He was close enough that he could feel her shaking and smell the soapy citrus of shampoo in her hair. She was so fragile and lovely like a little china doll; Kris wanted to reach out and touch her, just to be sure she was real.

When her eyes finally settled on him, she jumped, causing herself to stumble backwards, bottom heading toward the ground. Kris grabbed her around the waist, startled by the way he could feel her bones right there underneath her shirt, thin and hollow as a bird's. Her skin felt feverishly hot and strange under his fingertips.

Kris set the girl on her feet and smiled. "Don't be afraid," he said. "I don't think I've met you, Honey. What's your name?"

The girl looked away, face flushing a sweet red in the cheeks. "Amethyst," she mumbled. "People call me Aimee."

"Nice to meet you, Aimee. I'm Kris." Kris put out a hand to shake, but the girl just looked at it.

"Where's Miss Briggs?" the girl asked.

"Miss Briggs?" Kris hadn't heard that name in weeks. No one wanted to talk about her. Melissa Briggs was, at this point, a totally taboo topic at Valleyside School. Kris only thought about her anymore when he was alone in the classroom at the end of the day and he could hear her in the walls. "Honey, she's not here anymore. Didn't you hear?"

Amethyst shook her head, tears covering her eyes like glass. "I want Miss Briggs," she said. But her voice wasn't a whine or a demand; it was a shaking misery that pierced Kris's heart like an arrow.

"Who are you?" he asked. "You don't belong in my class."

The girl looked at the floor, coloring red again when a tear rolled down her cheek. "I don't belong anywhere," she told him.

Kris nodded. What, he thought to himself, could be the harm in letting her stay just for today? To let her belong, even if it was just for a few hours? "Welcome to my class," he said. "It might take some getting used to, but I think you're going to like it here."

XXX

He waited outside the school, close enough to intercept, but far enough away that he didn't seem suspicious.

Strange, nearly perverse fantasies zipped through his mind like fish darting through water. He imagined the girl spotting him, running to him and kissing him. He imagined wrestling her into his car, child locking the doors, and speeding away. He imagined taking her home, putting his hands on her, making her cry, feeling complete for the first time in months.

But not just yet. Leafy knew that if all this waiting was going to pay off, he would have to keep going for just a little bit longer.

XXX

I work hard every day of my life
I work 'til I ache my bones
At the end of the day
I take home my hard-earned pay all on my own

I get down on my knees
And I start to pray
'Til the tears run down from my eyes

-Somebody To Love by Queen