By Dana (miakachou@aol.com)
Stories
There's ink on Sammie's fingers and when he rubs his cheek in thought, the ink spreads across pale skin like shadowy smudges. There’s a funny look on Del’s face as she watches Sammie, perched on the end of his bed, staring at him and the way his back is hunched over.
"What’s this one, Sam?" Aster asks, standing beside him and looking very much like she's meant to be there, pointing at one of the words that have leaked like liquid grace from Sammie’s quill, smiling at the dark smudges on his skin.
Sammie smiles; he has a nice smile and it makes Del frown. "This one is romen, and it’s Quenya, and this," he taps the paper with a finger, "is run. It’s Sindarin, and they mean the same thing-sunrise."
Aster has a pretty smile, too, and Del can see why Sammie likes it as much as he does. She doesn’t want to be here but she can’t seem to get around the silence that’s lodged in her throat.
"What’s the point of having two words for the same thing?"
"Well, they’re different languages, really, so I think it’s alright."
Aster nods, biting her lip. She’s grown up a lot, and it shows. She’s not the shy creature she once was, and she’s growing into a girl who’ll be turning heads of her own. But Aster only has eyes for Sam.
Sammie smiles back and bends to write more pointing out the words and the different variations on the two Elvish tongues. They fit together, Del supposes, but doesn’t need to like it. She doubts she ever will.
"What are you up to, Sam?" Del asks, hopping down off the bed and padding over to lean in between the two of them, elbowing for space.
"Trying to brainstorm, a bit," he laughs. "I want to write a story."
"What sort of story?" Del asks, her hair curling down and tickling his shoulder. She doesn’t push it away and Aster leans forward.
"Yes, Sammie, what kind?"
"I haven’t quite figured that out."
"Maybe," and Del takes his hand (he has such warm hands) and plucks the quill out of it, putting it back in its hold, "perhaps that’s because you’re not old enough to even have enough stories of your own, than to go creating them out of thin air."
Sammie’s gaze is serious. "And what do you suggest, Miss Grubb?"
"Why, let’s go out and live a little," she laughs, and it’s sweet sounding and soft, something that she’s not. She gives his hand a tight squeeze and he yelps, pulling his hand away.
"Brute," he grins, and Del smirks.
"Sometimes I forget my own strength."
She ruffles his hair, and then on second thought, Aster’s too. "Come on, you two, don’t sit about all day."
Del turns and heads to the door.
Sammie wants to create stories of his own, and she just wants to live them. There are lines that lie between them that can’t be crossed. Sometimes, though, just sometimes, like now, she's not so sure. Del glances back and sees those smiling faces, and she wishes deep down she could create stories of her own; then, and only then, she’d always have her heart’s desire.
Because Sammie and Aster might fit together but Del doesn’t fit between and Sammie’s happy ending won’t be her own.
The End
~
Pretty Good Year