Stained Glass Souls (Wattys 2014, Collector's Dream Award Winner)

Charliegh: The Snowball of Secrets

“Miss?” The man behind the counter, apron pulling tightly over the bulge of his stomach, was drumming his fingers on the counter of the kiosk. Waiting. “May I take your order?”

Charliegh’s face turned bright red. “Yes. Sorry. Thank you.” She ordered a latte, two blueberry muffins, and a medium decaf, sugar please, no cream. As she was taking out change, quarters and dimes jingling cold in her fingers, a pair of hands wrapped around her eyes. She blinked, eyelashes sweeping against warm, sweaty palms. The edge of a gummy bracelet brushed her cheek, and she heard the crackle of new clothing as the person behind her shifted.

“Guess who?”

She reached up and pulled the hands down, blinking at the cashier. He was staring in annoyance, hands still outstretched. “Florence…” Charliegh sighed in annoyance. She counted out her fifty cents and dropped them onto the counter. Florence, her sometimes friend, moved around her to collect their coffee cups.

“Charliegh!” Florence paused a beat longer than necessary as they began to walk away, taking in the sleepy eyes and downcast features. “You look tired.”

“I am.” Charliegh said, a tinge of defense in her voice. She took her latte from Florence and popped the lid off. Steam drifted into the air, the smell of freshly ground coffee permeating her senses. She took a small, careful sip. It tasted like pumpkin, sweet and creamy on her tongue.

As she drank, she studied Florence. The crackling had been from her jacket, puffy sleeves shiny with newness. It look like something out of a magazine – almost too bright, too strikingly red to be real. She was in knee-high leather boots, the edges of her woolen socks peeking over the top. Dishwasher blonde hair was confined by a thin black headband. She was always this way – a median between messy and impeccable, stray hairs slipping over her ears, lipstick smudged in her cupid’s bow.

Sometimes friend meant that when she needed a story for the school newspaper, she was nice to Charliegh. When she had friends, she was gone, leaving ink stains and crumpled paper trails in her wake. Today, the student newspaper staff was scattered through the crowd, intermingling to renew neglected friendships, forgotten romance. And, in the spirit of the holidays, Florence attached herself to Charliegh’s side.

“See anything interesting?” Florence was gesturing towards the crowd, smiling occasionally as she spotted people she knew. Her hands were still firmly clenched around her untouched coffee, red mouth pursed.

“No.” The words stuck in Charliegh’s throat. All she had seen were the stares, dancing around her, sliding over, sizing her up and down.

“Oh. What a pity.” Florence followed Charliegh across the street to the hair salon. It was the first in a building of stores, fronted by a wide sidewalk. It opened into a parking lot, located directly across from the library. Charliegh lowered herself down onto the steps, setting her latte and the muffin bag down next to her.

Florence was still standing, hands on her hips. A smug half-smile curved on her lips, looking like a red slash on her pale face. “Guess what?”

Charliegh ripped open the paper bag. She didn’t want to guess. She didn’t want to know. Yet this was Florence, an eternal gossip, coming to life upon the brink of a good story. She thrived upon fresh blood, circling the town with an objective eye. A shark, Charliegh thought, teeth poised and ready to strike. The Cheshire cat, dropping hints, knowing everything, strategically fading into the background.

“Well, guess!” Florence said impatiently. “It’s good news.”

Charliegh sighed. “What?”