Bad Enough for You (Currently Editing)

That Doesn't Mean You Have to Put Your Shirt On

22.] That Doesn't Mean You Have to Put Your Shirt On

When I was in middle school, Georgia went through a phase where she was constantly on and off again with boys. Her heart was always being broken, torn and shattered in the way that only high school boys could manage with their mindless tongues and crude sense of humor. She wouldn’t come home for hours, probably off with one of the various upperclassmen who had always had an eye for my beautiful sister.

By the time she came home, I was already ready for bed, all snuggled up in my favorite pair of pajama bottoms and a thin-strapped camisole. I hated sleeping in socks because they made me feel confined and instead of waiting until I was beneath the covers to remove them with my toes, I’d pull them off the second I got home and pushed them into the plush carpet. Barefoot and ready for bed, Georgia would come flying in, tearing me away from my studies to drag me out of the house, destined for her favorite place in the entire world.

Together, we’d run through the backyard, past the swimming pool with Georgia’s brown curls blowing behind her in the dark, the laughter on her face tugging at the sadness of her most recent breakup. With our hands intertwined, Georgia pulling me forward through the dark to the stone wall that surrounded the yard, we both forgot about the troubles for the laughter that escaped our lips was contagious. Once one started, the other followed and by the time we reached the section of the wall that Georgia used to sneak out onto the back road.

Together, we’d climb the wall, my toes clinging to the jutting stones and my arms just barely managing to pull myself up onto the edge. Once our feet the ground, clouds of dirt billowing out from beneath them, we’d continue our run, still laughing though there was nothing to laugh at and feeling as if the world was nothing but a million miles away. Down the dirt road to where the trodden path veered off to the left, disappearing into stamped down grasses, we ran with the twigs breaking beneath our feet, leaves clinging to our skin as we pushed our way through, each desperate to break out of the trees, where the black sky opened up and the land suddenly ended, nothing but the darkened waters with the silver orb of the moon reflecting off of the waves.

By the time we reached the cliff’s edge, we were both out of breath, bent at the stomach with our breathing ragged and our hearts thudding against our chests. Taking our time to calm down, we’d climb over the dilapidated fence that lined the edge and sat down in the tall grass, some of the strands so tall that they brushed my cheeks. Sitting with our legs hanging over the edge, hands planted behind us in the dirt, we’d tilt our heads back, allowing the silver glow of the moon tow ash upon our faces. The quiet would ensue for some time before I’d hear it, a little sniffle followed by a muffled sob.

I was never surprised to find that this was the place that Georgia felt comfortable to break down. With no one around but me, she was free to feel whatever emotion ran through her. I never judged her, no matter what she did. When she was mad, she’d stand at the edge, arms spread wide and looked out over the water. My heart would beat frantically in my chest, nervous at the thought that the rock could just give away and Georgia would go, tumbling down agains the smooth boulder from years of erosion, down into the blackened pit beneath us where the waves crashed angrily against the wall of stone. I didn’t say anything when she screamed in frustration, tossed sticks and stones, watching as they passed over the glow of the moon until they dropped, gravity pulling them down into that pit.

But those nights that Georgia cried made me even more anxious than when she stood at the edge, looking so frail that any one gust of wind could send her over. I never knew how to react when she was crying. I wanted to sit with her, wrap my arms around her and try to find some sort of words that could comfort her.