August 20, 2012
By floragj GOLD, Brooklyn, New York
floragj GOLD, Brooklyn, New York
19 articles 0 photos 8 comments

My last memory of Charlotte was the sound of flashing neon lights and the taste of snow that had arrived too early. In my memory, Charlotte was floating above the ground as we drifted along empty residential streets. Her eyes were shining purple, a sunset suspended. She flashed her teeth and they dripped syrupy venom that I lapped up at her feet. Thick and black, it tasted of the things she could not forget. Pavement sagged beneath us, puckering and stretching as we shifted our weight over the expanse of coarse, gray city. We were shoes without intentions.

In my memory, we said nothing. Words were siphoned from our mouths and dripped in magenta trails behind us. We retraced our steps to braid new strands of words with the ones we left behind. We weaved and spun about each other. I suppose we danced. We danced. She was a ballerina on tiptoe, always. Even then, I did not see at her eye level.

The sky dripped toward the river at a point closer to us than the horizon, leaving swirls of something darker than the water floating on the surface. We watched, lying on our stomachs, perched just above the seething waves. We stretched the pier all the way across, ‘til we were close enough to reach the other side. We stole pieces of their shore and brought them back to our own. No one knew.

In my memory, Charlotte was made of hollow bones. Bones that echoed when the knocked against each other. Her nose was pointed, perched between two saucers full of a bitter brew. Charlotte was beautiful, the downy feathers of her thighs were pale bule. At her ankles the feathers were long and slender, emerald flashes trailing out behind her. Charlotte had wings for the moment when we walked across the bridge to return what we had taken. She fluttered to the edge and looked over. She coasted on currents of hot breath as her feet left the railing. My last memory of Charlotte was teh sight of her arched back as she pushed against the air to skim the churning water below with one shoe, before soaring over our city and out of sight. This is what I can remember. This is what I will remember.

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