Between You & Me - By Marisa Calin Page 0,8

and in need of help, you’re on the front step and I love you. I pull open the door and stand there grinning at you. Can you see me through your bleary eyes? You’re wearing pajama pants, a coat, and boots. If anyone could see you now they would understand friendship. We tiptoe upstairs. I’m clutching a can of paint.

MY BEDROOM. MINUTES LATER.

We can’t listen to music like in movies because we’ll wake Mom, so we paint in the silence of night. And standing here, brush in my hand, I recognize the true absurdity of this. You look my way and I shrug with a little grin. You give me your only-you smile, the one I get on these special occasions, and I know I’ll always have you.

CUT TO: AN HOUR LATER.

Half the bedroom is painted. There’s a green smear on your cheek from where you pushed your hair out of your eyes. The aquamarine hasn’t quite covered the purple. That would take an undercoat or second coat so I shall consider it a special effect. The bottom of the sea in purple shadow.

SCHOOL COURTYARD. THURSDAY MORNING. THE NEXT WEEK.

It’s a sunny morning and the golden brick of the school glows warmly. We cut across to the English rooms, and I catch my reflection in the window. I feel grown-up today, wearing new jeans and a purple V-neck that makes my boobs look good. You’ve commented, said, with a little smile of approval, that I look pretty, but you haven’t asked why I’m dressing up these days. The remnants of red have been trimmed out of my hair but the sun intensifies my natural brown and I’ve started putting it up, which makes me look older. We have a class with Mia this morning, giving me a reason to make an effort. I hug my books to my chest and glance around as we continue to skirt the courtyard. You ask if I’m looking for Mia. I falter. Have I talked about her that much? I didn’t think you’d noticed. Am I looking for her? Yes. Thinking about her? Have I stopped? I wonder if anyone notices me the way I notice her. I wonder if they will me to look toward them the way I hope with each step that she’ll be around the next corner. I find myself waiting in places that I know she will be and, when I don’t expect her, I look anyway. I know I’m blushing. And you’re still waiting for an answer:

ME

For who? Mia? Oh, you know …

I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean. I’m sure you don’t either but you tactfully let it go. I see her then, in the reflection of the glass door as I pull it open, her sleek beautiful profile behind me. She’s in a sky-blue shirt trimmed with lace, her hair pinned up. She looks almost like a school-teacher today, the kind that shakes her hair loose under a waterfall in a shampoo commercial. For a minute we’re framed together as people move through the door in the other direction. I see my reflection with hers there behind me, our images side by side. Next to her, my feeling of being grown-up evaporates instantly. She’s so graceful—beside her I feel young, childish. I prefer the image I have of myself in my head to seeing us here together where I am small and unexceptional. Deflated, I follow you through the door into the frenzy of the voices and faces. It takes me a second to adjust and, as we move through the crowd, I press forward to reach the peace of the theater, not just because of Mia, but because the only thing that gives me pleasure besides being near her is her class.

THEATER. SOON AFTER.

Mia comes down the aisle behind us, talking attentively to Kate, and passing us as we slide into a row of seats. Settling herself at the front, she clears her voice and raises her radiant eyes to us.

MIA

Sense memory!

Her expression invites input.

RYAN

The recall of physical sensation.

She rises above his choice of tone.

MIA

Correct! Remember, we visualize something every time we speak. Every thought triggers infinite images and associations.

She gestures to her necklace, playing with the delicate silver pendant. I look at her hands. They’re soft and narrow.

MIA

Every little thing contains a sequence of memories—where it came from, what it means to you. Characters need those to feel real onstage.

She catches my eye, her thoughts seeming to collide with mine for a