Smoke, Dolls and Better Laid Plans

We were just lying there hand in hand on the floor, amongst the remnants of better laid plans. It was a sticky summer evening. The day was starting to wind down, and a gentle breeze was riding through the room, picking up the dust, swirling in the setting sunlight. I heard Fisher take a long drag… then exhale as he squeezed my hand tighter, and the smoke danced with the dust. The sounds of naïve children and under-achieving parents rose up to the window. I blindly groped around and grabbed the first thing that wasn’t a joint or a bottle that I found. It was a picture of a building, red bricked and ornate. I wondered if it looked like this now, or if what I was holding is the only perfect moment it had, immortalised forever. It could’ve been a ruin for all I knew at that point. I couldn’t even tell what school it was, not that it mattered. I didn’t even have the desire to crumple it up and toss it away, to banish it from my thoughts. I just let it slip from my hands, and it gently floated down amongst the others. It belonged with its brothers and sisters. Daylight was starting to die out quicker and quicker. Fisher kissed my hand.

“You’ll be alright.” he said plainly. The weight of his words fell on me all at once. It wouldn’t be alright, not now, and he knew it. I didn’t know whether I loved him of loathed him for trying to hide that fact. “The nights are getting warmer.” he commented blandly. Despite this I couldn’t help but feel that even if his dull observation was true, his touch had grown colder. Another drag, and another puff of smoke twirled in the twilight sun. It rose higher and higher, before being blown apart by a gust of wind, gone forever.

“Whisper something nice to me.” I don’t really know why I asked him that, I could hear him shift around uncomfortably at the mere thought. Verbal affection was always hard for him. I didn’t begrudge him for that, but I wanted it then. I needed kind words to keep my head above water. Another drag, sharper this time, and the smoke rose in a singular vicious burst. “I don’t care what it is… just something nice.” The smoke faded away as quickly as it came. I turned to look at him, stinging tears scratching at my eyes as I clutched his hand tighter. “Please.” He didn’t pay any attention to me at first. His eyes were still on the ceiling, transfixed by the occasional puff of smoke that soared from his mouth. Eventually he turned to look at me. I must’ve looked a right state, a shivering ball of unlovable self-pity. As soon as he turned towards me, he immediately turned away again in revulsion.

“Don’t fucking cry.” My breath caught in my throat again, and trapping my tears as best I could I stared at the ceiling as well, loosening my grip on his hand, even though every part of me wanted to never let go, in case he faded away like the smoke. I tried to focus on my breathing, but the more I tried, the more ragged and desperate it became. I was dying.

“Fuck’s sake Lauren.” He clasped my hand tightly and pulled me close towards him, nestling my head in his chest. His touch got no warmer. Rustling papers filled the air as he shuffled around trying to make me comfortable. My breathing was still erratic, but he started stroking my hair, in an unusually tender way.

For a while there was silence.

We just lay there together.

He kept stroking my hair as my breathing became more rhythmic and controlled again.

Everything had faded away.

There was only us.

Us and the smoke.

He still hadn’t said anything nice to me.

I shut my eyes and buried myself deeper into his arms.

Tears… sting.

“You’re like a doll that my sister had.” I opened my eyes at this and looked up towards him. He’d taken one of his hands off me and had picked up his cigarette once again.

“What was that… Fisher?” A long drag this time, he let the smoke lazily spill out of his mouth as he addressed me, still without taking his eyes off the ceiling.

“I said you’re like a doll my sister used to have. Don’t know why I’m remembering that but whatever.” Another drag.

“What was the doll like?” I asked, barely above a whisper, as twisted smoke began to leap in the sky.

“It was one of those old fashioned ones, you know those ones that’re made out of ceramic crap and not really for kids? Don’t even know why or how she got it.” I looked up at the ceiling too. The night was noticeably darker now. “It had the same skin as you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, all smooth and pale and shit.” He looked back down at me and ran his hand gently down the side of my face. A smile crept across my lips as I leaned into his touch. I could feel the heat of the cigarette as I did so. It was nice. “It had blue eyes too.” He turned his attention back to the ceiling and his cigarette back to his lips. “It was in this weird ballet pose too, I think. It was something weird and artsy.” My smile broadened. A stronger gust of wind rode through the window, kicking up some of the loose bits of paper strewn across the floor. I pulled myself tighter to him. It was getting warmer. He smelt sweaty, and smoky.

“Does your sister still have it?” A derisive snort told me the answer.

“Bloody doubtful.” He continued regardless. “It was years ago. That and I’m pretty sure she broke it at some point.” I snapped my gaze back to his, and pushed his hands off so I could sit up, so I could face him directly

“How?” He looked at me in a manner not unlike someone who asked why the sky is blue, or why bad things happen to bad people.

“I don’t fucking know.”

“Well where is it?” With one final and vicious drag of his cigarette, he stubbed it out on the floor and pushed himself to his feet and walked away from me.

“Jesus Christ, I don’t fucking know, probably thrown away.” He stopped momentarily to pick up an unopened bottle. “Why would she keep a fucking broken doll?” I didn’t move. I just sat there, surrounded by reminders of my failure and stared at my feet. I needed new socks. I couldn’t even tell what colour these ones were supposed to be.

“Why not keep it?” I asked him.

“Would you?” he replied quickly.

“If it looked like me then… maybe? I don’t know.” I looked up at him expectedly as he was apparently struggling to open that bottle. He turned back to me for the briefest of moments before going back to his task and shrugging.

“Maybe she put it in storage then. Might’ve put it with all of my stuff.” I smiled at this thought. “Though given where all that crap is it’s probably all fucking damp and rotten by now.”

The weight of the world crashed over me again.

The air was cold.

There was no more smoke.

No more light.

I was drowning.

I took my eyes off Fisher and stared at the still slightly glowing embers of his cigarette.

It was so close to the papers.

I wanted it to ignite them all.

I wanted it to burn everything away.

My ghost would dance in the ashes.

I looked back to Fisher.

“Your heart is dirt.”