Still(C. Johnson) Still

“P-p-please . . . d-don’t d-d-d-do this,” Felicity cried out loudly to Dolores, stammering. “P-Please!” Felicity, though acrophobic, seemed out of place, with her well-coordinated raiment. Nothing on her was misplaced, not even an eyelash of hers. Each and every one of those same lashes were curled heavenward. If there had been one that wasn’t, there’s no telling what would have been done, but it would not be pleasant, that was for sure. There wasn’t one hair follicle from the young woman’s scalp that wasn’t cascading down her shoulders. She was like one of those dolls where no matter what position they were in, their features never seemed to worsen. But she didn’t lack any frivolity and she sure was not unintelligent. Perhaps cocky, but nothing else.

If there was anything off about her, it was the trembling she was exhibiting. To Dolores, all of this seemed like a sort of elaborate dance that she was preparing for the world to view. She looked as though she was going to have an epileptic fit at any moment, incessantly eyeing the earth below her.

She felt on top of the world, a position that she didn’t mind being in most of the time, but at the very moment, she had been wishing that she could be far underground, where no falling over anything was feasible in the slightest sort. Mere respiration was becoming more and more difficult as time passed. Her stomach was twisting and twisting, and oxygen felt more and more needless to inhale. It was rather blatant that butterflies were playing games in her insides. All the acid must have been roiling, scorching her internally.

She kept on relocating herself till the Moon nearly couldn’t find her, but it did. In spite of the fact that the moonlight only intensified the lady’s comeliness, it consoled Dolores, as she could see each and every expression that she had to make, and she actually knew that Felicity was there, and not her conscience or some bizarre voice in her head. To Dolores’s advantage though, Felicity could not see her friend’s disheveled self.

Felicity had always looked this way, better than a bride on her most wonderful day. Her stance right below the Moon’s light did not hurt either. With her white nightgown, the lady looked like an angel, scintillating in the moonlight. Everything about her was immaculate. Felicity looked and was just like one of those affluent, popular girls from a teen movie, but rather than having that stereotypical Valley Girl accent, and terrible personality, she was very kind and spoke as if she was always at a job interview or something.

Dolores, in comparison, looked as sad as silence when it’s song has been spent, like a biscuit missing its butter, but not quite as bright as the biscuit. The lass looked like a sentient corpse. All she needed now were bugs slithering their way in and out of her orifices, and of course, the fetor of the dead. Unlike her friend, her age was very evident. Felicity, on the other hand, resembled and sort of acted like a pubescent nymphet. To Felicity, it was quite senseless that Felicity was in possession of neither of these qualities. The long-lasting amity between the two was plain paradoxical, etymologically and otherwise.

“How the fudge could you possibly understand, termagant?” Dolores inquired whilst shouting. She had always been prudent with her words, even in irateness. In a sort of way, it was outré, considering her usually sullen and despondent nature. What Dolores didn’t know was the fact that she was very tact. Dolores, though not as quick-witted as her companion, Felicity, knew what she needed to know. Though very amiable towards others, there was always this bumptious trait attached to her. Dolores could never come off as egotistical; she would never dare to look so. Felicity did, and always did.

She’d always find her away around her restrictions though. Despite using euphemism, she was nevertheless comprehended by others. Dolores was the quintessence of an ingénue. She really was. This was one of the very few instances of her showing rage in a while. It registered as the first time that Felicity could even recall during their friendship. Or at least, that’s how it seemed. “I mean look at who just walked in: Miss Congeniality, Miss America, the First Lady, the freakin’ Queen of England!”

Felicity paraphrased what she had said prior, except this time she was much more self-assured. There was no anxiety nor stuttering involved, or at least that’s how it seemed. Felicity was just very good at hiding her feelings. Within herself, she was screaming for her friend’s well-being. She was horrified of what may happen to her.

This time something special had occurred. There was something there that wasn’t there before: “Dolores, please, please, please. I’m begging you. Just please get away from the parapet.” For the first time during the two adolescents’ encounter that same day, Dolores had finally turned her face. Her countenance was not towards the sky, but towards Felicity’s.

In preparation for beauty that was surely about to be seen, Felicity, Dolores mopped up all of the teardrops from her fit of sobbing; patted down her ragtag clothing, which was clearly not ironed; and tried curling her hair with her ashen fingers à la of Felicity’s, but only disappointed herself. Her hair had only become more and more kinky till she finally stopped. All this fixing of herself had been done in a few moments. The whole place was set like a stage with the perfect lighting. The Moon provided the light for the stages leading lady: Felicity. Dolores was positioned backstage, out of the light, a place that which was preferred. This would be the first time Dolores would see Felicity in a while, and conversely.

When Dolores finally revealed herself to both the light and Felicity, there was a look exchanged between the two that was the antipode of both of their predictions. Dolores had a sort of bemused and sardonic look on her face, whereas Felicity had a sort of visage that was marked with happiness, but behind it was something clearly hidden. The face-off soon dissolved into laughter. Dolores began to chuckle. Her chuckle soon became a giggle, then a chortle, then a snigger. All of these half-suppressed laughs were silenced by a guffaw, all the while shocking Felicity. Felicity did not know how to respond to the laughing, so she simply stood there staring, wanting to utter something, but not able to. What Dolores did not seem to remember at the moment was the fact that Felicity was scared of heights.

“Pear pet?” Dolores, attempting to sound intelligent in front of her punctilious companion, struggled to pronounce what Dolores previously said. “. . . Is that a fruit’s pet or somethin’? Girl, what does that—?” Dolores interrupted herself, realizing that all she was doing what making herself sound more dull-witted. Felicity stood there with her wonderful posture, with folded hands, ready to state the word’s definition. And she did.

(NOTE: All of the following paragraphs are in flashback form. Please take that into consideration. Thank you!)

What was presently occurring seemed to escape the minds of the two for a very short period. The facts were these: Dolores’s sweetheart had recently been in an awful accident. Dolores’s sole true friend, Felicity, was whisked away from her dreams, into a phantasmagoria of terror, but the events, to her dismay, that took ahold of the girl were non-fictional, in lieu of farcical. Because of her love’s demise, Dolores took it upon herself to want to attempt at killing herself. All of this was spelled out for Felicity over the phone.

Felicity was not a bearer of the most grand tidings. No. She was the bearer of the dreadful ones. Without the usual sweet-sounding acknowledgements and goodbyes at the end, all Felicity did was stare into the darkness that cocooned her. Not one utterance came from her mouth over the phone, aside from the sweet hello.

Just like that, something clicked. With feverish haste, the phone that was hanging off of the hook, was soon swept out of the air, to be found glued to the woman’s face. That telephone must of been the most ecstatic being then. There’s no telling how warm and lithesome Felicity’s face was, but it definitely was very pleasant. That’s for sure. Her skin always resembled that of the surface of a brand new grand piano’s ivoried keys. It was almost as though the phone brightened up the same moment it was grabbed.

Felicity knew what to do; she’s a learned lady, no abecedarian, that’s for sure. All she had to do now was bide her time, commiserating with her dear friend. She immediately sprung out of bed, slipped into some shoes that were laying around somewhere in her foyer, and set off. No makeup, no regrets, no nothing.

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