her name was annie

behind the school

the day annie opened up to me was the day i gathered the courage to ask her what on earth was on her shirt (in the nicest way possible.) this was a period in time where my unfortunate admiration had not blossomed fully and i was merely craving knowledge of everything annie. it was a t-shirt advertising some psychedelic hippie band no one's ever heard of (they were called blind melon, if you were wondering.) the moment after she kindly blew her cigarette smoke into my face, she sparked a conversation.

then i became "daniel, the kid who was actually able to communicate with annie," rather than "daniel, the tall skinny kid who draws a lot." and i would end up in the back of the school with annie during lunch periods, never any other time, where she smoked cigarettes and i fell in love.

i slowly uncovered the mysteries of annie. she had always been brutally honest. "annie, why are your lips always red?"

"because red lips are the new black, you twat."

"don't you ever read a different book, annie?"

"don't you ever shut the hell up, daniel?"

my questions were spitfire, her responses were oozing sarcasm and wittiness. she would sometimes tell me stories she had heard. i would sometimes bring my sketchbook and she would steal it and look through my drawings, then scribble profanities into the margins.

annie's handwriting was a heap of swirls. her letters were all connected in a rushed but smooth pattern. she held the pen loosely in her fingers.

annie fact #528: annie's nails were always painted navy blue. sometimes she'd paint her nails. the bottle of nail color was always in the breast pocket of her jacket. sometimes she'd leave streaks of navy blue on the cover of my sketchbook.

i'd discovered that annie's life consisted of lots of "always."

"annie, why do you always have avocado slices on wheat toast for lunch?"

"have you ever had avocado, you inbred? it's fucking delicious."

vulgarity made up 90% of annie's vocabulary. i was okay with that, mostly because she was annie. her voice was almost melodic and if she were to recite the most brutally descriptive fanfiction smut and it would sound like siren calls.

there was one day where i brought my markers along to our daily meetups and i somehow ended up drawing on annie.

"danny, what are you doing?"

"drawing,"

"no shit. what are you drawing, sherlock?"

i had turned my sketchpad and showed her. it was a simple sketch of a dandelion growing between the cracks in the concrete. she had nodded in approval (which was a lot for annie. the only emotions she ever displayed were tolerance and annoyance. for example, she tolerated me, but she displayed thorough annoyance towards the rest of the human species.) she inhaled her cigarette and lay down. "can you draw on me?"

i had looked at her. "draw on you? that's a new one."

she sighed and stared at the sky. it was a sunless day. "i want to be a part of something beautiful."

and i had thought well, annie, you don't need any help with that. not when you are something beautiful. i hadn't said it aloud, of course, because that would've either gotten me a punch in the gut or a slap in the face. instead, i had said "okay, uh, where to you want me to draw?"

she scooted closer to me and laid her legs on my lap, her back against the brick wall. i had resisted the urge to blush. "right leg, yeah? preferably in black." so i had uncapped my black marker and began to draw swirls and patterns over her pale skin. (she wore a skirt that day.) her skin had pricks of hair poking out, rough to the touch. they were barely noticeable due to the light hue, but they were there. i remember admiring that. most girls i knew wouldn't dare go out in a skirt without shaving their bodily hairs. annie most certainly gave no cares.

we sat in silence that time. the only sound in the air were her exhales of cigarettes.

"why do you smoke, annie?"

"teen angst and rebellion, you simple minded thing you."

we sat in silence after that. i had cleared my throat awkwardly and capped my marker. "i'm done, annie."

she had looked down at the mass of black ink i had displayed on her flesh. a smile spread across her red lips, a sight i don't think i'll ever forget. "it looks better than the mona lisa. you're a regular ol' di'vinci, brother."

"that was the first time i'd ever seen you smile, you know that?"

"don't count on it happening again."