CHAPTER SINOPSIS — 1996, you pass your last moments on your hometown before heading to nationals.
1996
Charlotte Matthews was born on a cold morning, at exactly 9:46 a.m., and her cries were so loud that the patients six floors above knew that a new life had arrived.
And Charlotte's childhood continued in the same way as it began: with a lot of loud crying. She was always scolded a lot, which is why she hardly cried these days, but there were two people in the world she could rely on to dry her tears.
One of them was extremely close, her childhood best friend, while the other, her grandmother, was still enjoying her retirement: traveling all over the globe. Charlotte tried not to miss her so much (tried not to feel so angry) but it was almost impossible; her grandmother raised her, the only one who gave her affection —and the only one who accepted her after the anniversary tragedy.
Lottie's house was huge and freezing, extremely cold during the winters and with a relaxing breeze during the summers, as if several ghosts were blowing eternally through the walls. As a little girl, Charlotte swore she could hear them.
Today, the only sound in her house was of shells hitting each other, a wind chime that you and her made when the voices in Lottie's head were almost unbearable.
Charlotte went downstairs, looking for one of her parents, but all she saw was the piano in the living room, quiet as a child.
Oh God, she's never seen a quiet child, she's never been one to begin with, maybe that's why she doesn't have any siblings —she sucked all the energy out of her parents before they could give her some company.
The girl huffed, crossing her arms as she looked for Genevieve, the new housekeeper. She thought about what might happen if she found her, what she would really do if she saw her. Charlotte would like the presence of someone older and more affectionate, but that didn't mean that anyone older was going to be affectionate.
She went upstairs again, back to her room and put on the first pair of boots she could find.
Then she went out into the yard, picking up her old soccer ball and practicing shots with herself, trying to score goals between her mother's flower chairs.
The Aetos family home was near a park with a beautiful garden with a statue in the center, and the bench facing this view was Scylla's favorite place. Far enough away from your parents, but close enough for them not to complain.
You held a book in your lap, but could only stare at the water moving up and down the white marble sculpted arms.
It was a perfect sight, a comforting silence and a calm that could only be replicated when you were in the presence of your best friend.
Your fingers clenched together, nervous, not that it was apparent, anyone who saw you from the outside would find a girl as calm as the statue.
Your large, sad eyes were uncomfortable for your mother, and between humility or luxury, she seemed to see only the latter in the your irises. More annoying than the eyeballs was the time you spent in the bathroom. Her parents hated your vanity.
Your yellow tights covered your scraped knees, burning from the fervent prayer you had said last night. You felt lost, begged the heavens so much to be heard, to be changed, but to no avail: you still had the same feelings —and blamed yourself greatly for them.
Was a confession still valid if you lied about the real reasons behind your actions? You confessed seeking forgiveness, not to find other people to blame.
You confessed, and spent more time practicing your dance routine until your toes hurt, spent more time sewing clothes without taking care with the needle; You tried everything to feel less guilty about your lack of guilt.
You did like your mother, like the time she caught you reading The Well of Loneliness, and made you clean the whole house on your knees, begging forgiveness for yours and the writer's soul. You wondered if your mother really knew about the story, but you didn't dare question anything, your mother had certainly chastised you because she had heard what the book was about.
Of all the literature you had ever studied, Russian literature was the one that had taken up the most space in your heart. The melancholy in every word was something no one else could replicate. At least, no one else you could read, as your Arabic was weak and minuscule.
The teacher had split the class into three and given them each a different Russian work. The group was divided into two and each member had to present their own opinion on the theme of the book —as well as doing the technical analysis that you loved so much.
And you got even angrier, you had read the book and loved analyzing it, what was wrong with doing it?
The theme of the book and Dostoevsky's damning phrases about self-opinion... A little ironic that you had got that part of the debate right.
You opened the book again, flicking through the pages as if the answers were going to leap out of the paper and straight into your head.
You loved old literature, knowing that someone, years ago, decades ago, held the same book and read the same words, made you feel as if you weren't alone in her world of thoughts —you were connected to everything and everyone at the same time, all the time.
However, the beauty of the author's words did not take away the sadness of their truthfulness, what hurt hurt, and only became art once it stopped burning.
You opened to any page, your eyes skimming over the paragraph marked in neon colors.
"We always think of eternity as an idea that cannot be understood, something immense. But why should it be? What if, instead of all that, you suddenly find just a little room in there, something like a village bath house, dirty, and spiders in every corner, and that's all eternity is."
That paragraph never left your mind. You had always wanted eternity, to leave a legacy, you wanted to be important, to be remembered, and thinking of eternity as a dirty little room began to drive you crazy. Did the infinitude of the soul really not matter that much? you weren't afraid of dying, but you were afraid of not having anyone to remember you.
Class passed by so painful slowly.
The biology teacher spoke about seaweed, about how they were everywhere — if there was light, there was seaweed. You looked at Lottie, on your side, imagining her engulfing you like the sea engulfed the land — if there was life, there was your love for Lottie.
You could drown in her love, — no, no, you wouldn’t drown —, you would willingly swallow more water than what you could take.
— Are you okay? — she turns around, asking with a pretty worried face.
How to tell all the complicated, sinful thoughts going through your mind? you never let yourself indulge in such desires —let alone recognize you had them. However, you knew it was clear: you wanted to keep being seen.
It took a lot of effort for you to talk, but you opened your mouth more, asked questions, broke the silence quite a few times… The team had given you a voice.
— What happened to Allie… It was truly scary — you decided to say, looking at the hand Lottie had put on the table, aching to be touched too — I never saw someone bleed so much.
It was a lie, but you never considered yourself much of a person to be upset about your bloody wounds; you bled paint, glitter pens, strawberry jam or a ribbon, nothing much human.
— Let’s think about something else, shall we? — Charlotte wanted to punch Taissa (more for giving bad thoughts to you than actually hurting Allie).
—y/n, there’s no one more blessed than you, — Laura Lee started to say, a smile so gentle on her face that the sun itself could burn — you truly are gifted, such as me, for having you.
You smiled too, enticed by the words of your childhood company. There was tension in the circle, with all the girls saying sweet (yet imposing) words to one another.
— Laura, you are one of my best friends and I’m so glad God led me to you, you shine as bright as the sun — you loved Laura, you hoped Laura never realized how sinful you were.
You two both hugged a very tight embrace, going to another lady. You stepped in front of Shauna, tilting your head at the girl.
— Y/n, you have a… a very nice taste in clothes and phrases.
You giggled lowly, shaking your head.
— Should I be upset about your delay? — you two both laughed slightly, you blinked one eye — I really enjoy you, Shauna, I enjoy your big eyes and big words.
She didn’t say anything back, and soon you were passing close to Natalie: — I don’t really have anything nice to say about you…
— Oh, fuck off! — she muttered back, smiling like a fool while going in Jackie's direction.
— Taissa, you are very pretty, and perhaps too witty for your own good.
— Y/n, you are the second best on the team.
And you didn’t even get upset by it, rather the contrary, you immediately assumed Lottie was the first —and you were so happy to be so close to Lottie in Tai's view.
Finally, the time came, the lamb walked in the direction of the flames.
— Lottie! — your voice was like a surprised giggle, staring deeply into the girl’s — I know God exists because I looked you in the eyes.
— y/n… — she took a deep breath, lost in words, swallowing everything she truly wanted to say, but she smiled — if God exists, I wonder when he will bless me with your lips.
Of course, this wasn’t what she truly said. In fact, Lottie kept quiet. She gave one step ahead and hugged you tightly, whispering on your ear:
— God exists in your embrace.
Charlotte's house was not only large and full of rooms, but it was also full of space in the backyard —a plot big enough to have a vegetable garden and a pond you could bathe in.
You weren't the biggest fan of pieces of water where you couldn't see the ground, so you loved being in the lake at Charlotte's house, where the water was almost crystal clear, showing the stones. You couldn't even think of what that pool of water must have cost Mr. and Mrs. Matthews.
Lottie was in the water, while you were sitting on the edge with your feet dangling and creating little ripples, you had leaves, twigs and flowers around, creating crowns of petals and plants. Charlotte stared at you curiously, wondering what you were thinking, although she knew that if she asked, the answer would be the same: "I'm not thinking about anything, dear Lottie, just feeling how much I love you and-"
Oh, right, that part wasn't really sincere, but Lottie liked to imagine you following the script that her own head was creating.
When Lottie thought of you, she didn't think of a love that warmed her all over, but a love that would cook her in an oven at 200 degrees and consume her entirely. She imagined you sitting at a beautiful table, waiting for her heart on a platter.
She imagined that you would accept the dish, that you would eat every morsel, saying promises of love —she imagined that you would accept her into your body in every way.
— Do you think the dinosaurs knew they were about to die? It makes me so sad to think that they might have just thought it was a miracle that such a shiny thing had come so close... — You pressed your lips together, stopping weaving the leaves to stare at the work in progress and pulling Charlotte out of her own head — I guess that's how it is with all warm and shiny things, one day they turn you to dust...
— Do you think it would have been different? If they'd known?
— A lot of people only start to love once they know they may never love again, don't they?
— Well, that's Confucius' logic... But I don't know if I'd like to know that the end is so near, sometimes ignorance can be a gift.
— But it's still a lie.
— But it's going to end anyway, darling... What difference does a beautiful lie make? — Lottie stared at her best friend, she knew that nothing was more important to you than the truth, that's why everything was so painful and confusing for you.
Lottie realized that she had to be honest.
— Y/n, I need to tell you something, — she said, smiling nervously.
You looked at her curiously, stepping into the river to be closer to Lottie.
— I’m terrified of nationals. You need to come, I’ve asked the coach to put you on the regular.
You sighed slightly, thinking about how Allie couldn’t play any sooner.
— It’s a great opportunity for you, Lots…
— I don't want it for me, I want it for us.
You stared at your best friend, a confused smile on your face, wondering how you should handle this situation.
— applepie, I need you to trust me on this... — Charlotte said, her voice serious, moving closer and wrapping her arms around your waist, her head resting on your shoulder — please.
You turned your head, leaning it against Lottie's, your nose taking in the scent of your friend's hair cream. The water around you was cold, but your body was warm —your heart too.
— Okay... a test...
"My dearest, Charlotte
I must apologize, I am not a good person with words getting out of my mouth, but, hopefully, I will be able to make them worthy of writing in this letter.
I tell you how much I appreciate you, however, I must confess, it's surprising for me how unsure of it all you seem to be; I suppose our own light truly can make us blind.
I feel like those words weren't enough, so I hope I can make you believe it with this list.
— I love the way you look at me after I say something you disagree with; I love how you expect your eyes to say everything you can't; Most of it all, I love how they truly say it.
— I love how when you laugh (truly laughs) your eyes become very small; I love how your cheeks work as a happy measure, I know when a joke is funny when I can't see your eyes.
— I love how you tilt your head when you are trying to make people see your point of view.
— I love that when you frown, your lips are pressed together, like you are sending a kiss to those you disagree with. I suppose you are just so full of love that your body releases it without even wanting to.
— I love your smell; I can sense everytime you enter the room, it's there instantly and I look for it like a dog in an airport. I never cared that much about perfumes, from all the five senses, smell was the one I took for granted; however it is different now: I find myself taking deep breaths around you, so usually that everytime I see a pretty fantastic view on my walks, I end up lacking air.
— I love your hair; I love how your bangs are always so neatly trimmed and placed, like the wind isn't a bother to your lines; I love how you play with it when you are filled with concentration.
— I love your fingers and how they look for my hand;
— I love your skin; I love how you glow in the sun, like Apollo is making it shine just for you; Deeply, I bet he is, how could the almighty god of art not wish to perpetuate the beauty of the most beautiful creation in the mortal realm?
— I love your mind most of it all, how you think; I love how you stay dedicated to one single singer but listens to multiple songs of various people; I love how you speak your mind when you are comfortable enough; I love how your favorite shows are the ones you didn't even finished watching, there's something very pure of loving a thing you don't even know how it's going to end; I love how one of your favorite colors is gray but you only uses light tones; I love how your biggest dream is to work paleontology, how you wish to dive deep into the past and look for answers; I love how your favorite animal are dogs because you see them more (what is strange for me at first, how can you have as your favorite something so daily?; until I realized that what you love the most is to have company; I do not wish for you to prefer anything else.);
— I love dogs (now)."
You took a deep breath, putting the decorated letter inside Lottie's locker and walked straight outside, ready to enter the bus and be taken to the airport. Leaving the confession letter to your future self.
Leaving to the future.