Post by Olivia Shin-Ra on Oct 27, 2009 4:58:50 GMT -5
I read Twilight for the first time earlier in the deployment. I doubt it will be the last time. The book pulled up so many strong emotions in me, and it all lead right back to my desire for a "storybook" romance. It reminded me just how little I've had in the way of mystery, chase, and romance. I feel like I need that.
I hadn't been able to sleep the night I finished reading. I'd been in a strange mood. A couple of days prior, Bill (Kannenberg, not my ex) and I went to the PX. After we finished our shopping, we walked across the street to the nearest designated smoking area and lit up. We watched on, only half attentive as a group of assorted service members played basketball. There was a female soldier that caught my eye. I committed her face to memory.
Two nights later I saw the female soldier meandering through South Park. A-ha, she lived where I lived. Once again, I took in her presence. Her body, her face, her gait; they all intrigued me. I said nothing to Bill the first time except for one word. "Her." He nodded, saying "Yep" in reply. We've always had that sort of bond between us. When I saw her the second time, Bill was there again. I tipped my head up briefly to signal her nearby presence. His reply was another solemn "yep."
I couldn't sleep that night...
Cigarettes, if nothing else have always given me time to think when I smoke them alone. I grabbed my rifle, put on my reflective belt, and moved outside to the smoking area, a pitifully constructed picnic table next to a concrete barrier. As I moved, my very being felt at ease, yet somehow troubled. I moved fluidly; gracefully, even. There was a silent click as I deployed my weapon's bipod against my thigh and set it on the table. I flipped open the fresh box of Pall Malls, pulled one out and lit it slowly once it was in my lips.
Now I've always been just a little different. I have a muscle disease that won't let my muscles get larger, but they get more dense. More strength without the size. My eyes are very light-sensative. I hear very well. But I smoke. I smell just fine, but as I sat there dragging slowly upon the death stick, I smelled something that made my blood boil. Now when I say that my blood boiled, keep a loose grasp on the adage. I was not infuriated, I wanted. I wanted whatever that smell was. This was one of the most confusing emotions I had ever experienced. How can I want a smell? I took another long draw from my cigarette, and off in the distance, a figure was moving in my direction.
As the figure got closer, I realized that it belonged to a female. I also noticed that as the female got closer, so too did the smell gain potency. Closer still, and I came to recognize her as the female soldier we had seen at the basketball court those several days prior. I tried, with a questionable degree of success to not appear apprehensive as she sat facing away from me on the opposite side of the shoddy table.
My cigarette was nearly burned through now, and between sneaking glances at her, I lit another. I hung my head a bit so as to look out at her from under my hair. It was natural, and not a planned movement. As I continued to kill myself slowly with the back-to-back tubes of dried leaves, I noticed subtle movements she was making. It seemed as though she were trying to steal glances at me. Ha. Imagine that.
The silence was thunderous, even with the blaring din of the generator running just on the other side of the concrete barrier. I continued to smoke until this cigarette was also nearly extinghuished. I was nearly halfways to putting out the smoke when she suddenly turned and looked me dead in the eyes. I returned the look from my hiding place under my hair.
"Sorry, can I get one of those from you? I didn't want to look like an idiot for sitting down and getting right back up, so I didn't ask. I supposed asking for one right away would have made me seem like a mooch, but I don't guess this is any different."
Her request was so trivial for the state of mind that I was in that it almost didn't properly register. I stared into her eyes for a moment longer before reaching into the pack to retrieve two more; I handed her one of these. Her expression never faltered until I handed her the Pall Mall.
"Thanks," she offered as I cupped my hand around her cigarette and lit it for her, "So who are you with?"
That, too took a moment to register...
"Oh," I managed. "19th. Engineer Battalion out of Fort Knox."
"Ah, so you're an Engineer." It wasn't a question.
I was a bit quicker to answer, "Not exactly. I fix weapons."
She nodded, said "Cool," and blew out the smoke from her inhalation in what seemed almost too exaggerated a pucker. "Killen."
"I beg your pardon?" I have no idea why the words I used were that propre and out-dated. She must have caught that, too, because she chuckeld a bit before answering.
"It's my name. Meghan Killen. 82nd Airborne."
"Ah," I replied cutly. We sat a moment in silence smoking out cigarettes before she looked me over and raised an eyebrow. I hadn't broken eye contact once, "Yes?"
"It's considered common practice to give your name in return in some cultures." She cracked a crooked, half-tired grin. It was cute. Damn...
"Sorry. Hall. Olivia Hall." She laughed again. It took me a moment to realize I had inadvertantly pulled a cheesy James Bond move. She caught that, too.
There was more silence. It seemed as though we had sat there together silent for at least an hour. However, when I went to take another drag of my cigarette, there was barely enough ash accumulated to flick off. She copied the flick and looked back into my eyes for a moment, impossible to read.
"Huh," she said after a good, long stare, "Your eyes are weird." I didn't answer. Mostly because I didn't understand. "They do this weird swirly thing."
"Swirly thing?" I repeated.
She nodded, "Yeah. Just now, you shifted your eyes just a bit and the light that was reflecting in your eyes... swirled."
"Huh," I copied, never breaking the eye contact. Some part of my mind vaguely registered that my cigarette was finished, and I flicked off the cherry with my usual rediculous back-and-forth motion before flicking the butt neatly into the butt tray across the table.
She shook her head a bit in defeat of some private sentiment, and blinked once, looking down. Her cigarette had gone out, nearly an inch of ash still hanging on desperatedly to the filter in the gentle breeze. Had she been so lost in the paltry conversation this whole time?
I offered her another cigarette, and she gladly accepted. Like before, I lit this cigarette, but did not light one of my own. Three in a row was enough for now.
"So what brings you out to the smoke pit at three in the morning?" she suddenly interrogated.
I shrugged, looking at her, taking in her features from under my hair. They were sharp; angular. She was beautiful, of that there was no doubt. And that smell... I still wanted it. After a moment of her staring at me with a soliciting gaze, I decided the shrug wasn't good enough, "I don't sleep much. Souldn't tonight, in fact."
She nodded, "Ditto. You know," her blank expression darkened a bit, "you really shouldn't do that."
I hated all the cryptic statements. Or maybe they were just random. "Do what?"
"That. That eye thing," she clarified.
"Surely I can't help it."
It was her turn to shrug. "Just saying..." she looked down again, "lot of lonely men and women, not all of them so good-looking."
Another silence. What in blazes did that mean? Fuck it. I got brave, "You are."
If it was possible to choke on smoke, Meghan must have been practiced. She coughed a few times before looking at me again with another half-tired smile. It was still cute. Damn...
"Okay, first of all, I'm not that good looking. And second..." she paused, looking down sheepishly, "thank you."
"You're welcome." I slid the cigarette pack into the magazine well of my rifle and stood up fluidly. I grabbed my things and rounded the table to walk past her towards my tent.
"Olivia," she called. I turned to look at her, stopping in my tracks slowly, "No goodbye?"
"Goodbye," I replied, and started walking again.
"Olivia," she called, louder this time, "Come here." I did as she asked.
Meghan pulled a pen from her reflective belt and began writing something in a small green notebook just like the ones we all have. After a few seconds she ripped a strip of paper from the notebook and handed it to me.
My mystery...
I folded the paper cleanly in half and thanked her with a smile that I imagine was either too weak or too creepy. Gods, the smell. I turned once more to the tent, this time making it all the way inside.
That smell is still fresh on my memory, and I can't help but wonder if I'm just imagining it.
I couldn't sleep that night.
I hadn't been able to sleep the night I finished reading. I'd been in a strange mood. A couple of days prior, Bill (Kannenberg, not my ex) and I went to the PX. After we finished our shopping, we walked across the street to the nearest designated smoking area and lit up. We watched on, only half attentive as a group of assorted service members played basketball. There was a female soldier that caught my eye. I committed her face to memory.
Two nights later I saw the female soldier meandering through South Park. A-ha, she lived where I lived. Once again, I took in her presence. Her body, her face, her gait; they all intrigued me. I said nothing to Bill the first time except for one word. "Her." He nodded, saying "Yep" in reply. We've always had that sort of bond between us. When I saw her the second time, Bill was there again. I tipped my head up briefly to signal her nearby presence. His reply was another solemn "yep."
I couldn't sleep that night...
Cigarettes, if nothing else have always given me time to think when I smoke them alone. I grabbed my rifle, put on my reflective belt, and moved outside to the smoking area, a pitifully constructed picnic table next to a concrete barrier. As I moved, my very being felt at ease, yet somehow troubled. I moved fluidly; gracefully, even. There was a silent click as I deployed my weapon's bipod against my thigh and set it on the table. I flipped open the fresh box of Pall Malls, pulled one out and lit it slowly once it was in my lips.
Now I've always been just a little different. I have a muscle disease that won't let my muscles get larger, but they get more dense. More strength without the size. My eyes are very light-sensative. I hear very well. But I smoke. I smell just fine, but as I sat there dragging slowly upon the death stick, I smelled something that made my blood boil. Now when I say that my blood boiled, keep a loose grasp on the adage. I was not infuriated, I wanted. I wanted whatever that smell was. This was one of the most confusing emotions I had ever experienced. How can I want a smell? I took another long draw from my cigarette, and off in the distance, a figure was moving in my direction.
As the figure got closer, I realized that it belonged to a female. I also noticed that as the female got closer, so too did the smell gain potency. Closer still, and I came to recognize her as the female soldier we had seen at the basketball court those several days prior. I tried, with a questionable degree of success to not appear apprehensive as she sat facing away from me on the opposite side of the shoddy table.
My cigarette was nearly burned through now, and between sneaking glances at her, I lit another. I hung my head a bit so as to look out at her from under my hair. It was natural, and not a planned movement. As I continued to kill myself slowly with the back-to-back tubes of dried leaves, I noticed subtle movements she was making. It seemed as though she were trying to steal glances at me. Ha. Imagine that.
The silence was thunderous, even with the blaring din of the generator running just on the other side of the concrete barrier. I continued to smoke until this cigarette was also nearly extinghuished. I was nearly halfways to putting out the smoke when she suddenly turned and looked me dead in the eyes. I returned the look from my hiding place under my hair.
"Sorry, can I get one of those from you? I didn't want to look like an idiot for sitting down and getting right back up, so I didn't ask. I supposed asking for one right away would have made me seem like a mooch, but I don't guess this is any different."
Her request was so trivial for the state of mind that I was in that it almost didn't properly register. I stared into her eyes for a moment longer before reaching into the pack to retrieve two more; I handed her one of these. Her expression never faltered until I handed her the Pall Mall.
"Thanks," she offered as I cupped my hand around her cigarette and lit it for her, "So who are you with?"
That, too took a moment to register...
"Oh," I managed. "19th. Engineer Battalion out of Fort Knox."
"Ah, so you're an Engineer." It wasn't a question.
I was a bit quicker to answer, "Not exactly. I fix weapons."
She nodded, said "Cool," and blew out the smoke from her inhalation in what seemed almost too exaggerated a pucker. "Killen."
"I beg your pardon?" I have no idea why the words I used were that propre and out-dated. She must have caught that, too, because she chuckeld a bit before answering.
"It's my name. Meghan Killen. 82nd Airborne."
"Ah," I replied cutly. We sat a moment in silence smoking out cigarettes before she looked me over and raised an eyebrow. I hadn't broken eye contact once, "Yes?"
"It's considered common practice to give your name in return in some cultures." She cracked a crooked, half-tired grin. It was cute. Damn...
"Sorry. Hall. Olivia Hall." She laughed again. It took me a moment to realize I had inadvertantly pulled a cheesy James Bond move. She caught that, too.
There was more silence. It seemed as though we had sat there together silent for at least an hour. However, when I went to take another drag of my cigarette, there was barely enough ash accumulated to flick off. She copied the flick and looked back into my eyes for a moment, impossible to read.
"Huh," she said after a good, long stare, "Your eyes are weird." I didn't answer. Mostly because I didn't understand. "They do this weird swirly thing."
"Swirly thing?" I repeated.
She nodded, "Yeah. Just now, you shifted your eyes just a bit and the light that was reflecting in your eyes... swirled."
"Huh," I copied, never breaking the eye contact. Some part of my mind vaguely registered that my cigarette was finished, and I flicked off the cherry with my usual rediculous back-and-forth motion before flicking the butt neatly into the butt tray across the table.
She shook her head a bit in defeat of some private sentiment, and blinked once, looking down. Her cigarette had gone out, nearly an inch of ash still hanging on desperatedly to the filter in the gentle breeze. Had she been so lost in the paltry conversation this whole time?
I offered her another cigarette, and she gladly accepted. Like before, I lit this cigarette, but did not light one of my own. Three in a row was enough for now.
"So what brings you out to the smoke pit at three in the morning?" she suddenly interrogated.
I shrugged, looking at her, taking in her features from under my hair. They were sharp; angular. She was beautiful, of that there was no doubt. And that smell... I still wanted it. After a moment of her staring at me with a soliciting gaze, I decided the shrug wasn't good enough, "I don't sleep much. Souldn't tonight, in fact."
She nodded, "Ditto. You know," her blank expression darkened a bit, "you really shouldn't do that."
I hated all the cryptic statements. Or maybe they were just random. "Do what?"
"That. That eye thing," she clarified.
"Surely I can't help it."
It was her turn to shrug. "Just saying..." she looked down again, "lot of lonely men and women, not all of them so good-looking."
Another silence. What in blazes did that mean? Fuck it. I got brave, "You are."
If it was possible to choke on smoke, Meghan must have been practiced. She coughed a few times before looking at me again with another half-tired smile. It was still cute. Damn...
"Okay, first of all, I'm not that good looking. And second..." she paused, looking down sheepishly, "thank you."
"You're welcome." I slid the cigarette pack into the magazine well of my rifle and stood up fluidly. I grabbed my things and rounded the table to walk past her towards my tent.
"Olivia," she called. I turned to look at her, stopping in my tracks slowly, "No goodbye?"
"Goodbye," I replied, and started walking again.
"Olivia," she called, louder this time, "Come here." I did as she asked.
Meghan pulled a pen from her reflective belt and began writing something in a small green notebook just like the ones we all have. After a few seconds she ripped a strip of paper from the notebook and handed it to me.
Meghan Killen
onbrokenwingsfallen@aol.com
0795562234
Call me soon. I love your mystery.
onbrokenwingsfallen@aol.com
0795562234
Call me soon. I love your mystery.
My mystery...
I folded the paper cleanly in half and thanked her with a smile that I imagine was either too weak or too creepy. Gods, the smell. I turned once more to the tent, this time making it all the way inside.
That smell is still fresh on my memory, and I can't help but wonder if I'm just imagining it.
I couldn't sleep that night.