Under Her Skin

Chapter 15

Police Officer: Was there money involved?

Me: Money is always an issue, isn't it?

***

A bright marigold light came like a golden tunnel through Sunny's window. The welcome of sunrise was an iris of fire that gave the blues and greens of nature a new and vibrant glow— an invitation to a new day.

Sunny curled her toes between the frizzy carpet. She outstretched her arms, yawned like a cat, and turned to the mirror hanging by her door. A scream. She looked like a ridiculous, remarkably unattractive schoolboy, the type with wavy warrior hair and worn-out sneakers. Her face was an unhealthy shade of celeste.

Sunny brushed her brown bangs out of her hard open eyes and stared. She expected to see coldness or contempt, or even a bit of curiosity or assessment in her reflection, but she saw only a state of blankness. Sunny blinked twice and suddenly felt compelled by some angel of her own to destroy the girl in the mirror. She roared with shame. Disgusting. Deserved to be shot with a dart gun. Maybe something stronger than that even.

***

Sunny slammed Hiram's old baseball hat on the rounds of her trimmed hair as hard as she knew how to and opened the door. With heavy steps, Sunny trudged down the stairs and stepped into Lyssa's office. She greeted, said hello. Smiled as if needing some loving attention.

"Can I talk to you, Mom? It's kinda important," said Sunny.

Lyssa, getting increasingly insensitive to words, responded with silence. She hid behind their big walnut desk, continuing at her business.

Sunny stood for barely two minutes before she croaked her throat, swallowed, and asked for a conversation... again. A shape moved.

"Can we please do this later?" Lyssa looked at her over the tops of her frames but didn't notice the hair. "Can't you see that we're busy?" Lyssa gave her shallow sympathies, and turned around, and went back to typing. Hiram didn't even look in her direction once. Sure, Mom. She left, shut the door behind her as they requested. "Talk later, sweetie pie," said Hiram.

They didn't.

***

Josh was a few years older than Sunny, a grassy-haired college boy working a part-time job at Sport Check. He lived in the dorms with his buddies but knew a few high school boys because of his younger brother. Josh asked to hang out. Sunny looked pleasantly stimulated. He texted something like, "Wanna go into the woods and see what Mother Nature is wearing? A Pic-nic. Let's go on a picnic tomorrow. Say yes, Sunny." Then he sent a video in which he gave Sunny a dying look as if his insides were about to drop out of him over the iPhone screen. Sunny couldn't ignore it.

***

Josh sat on a bench surrounded by tall tall pines with his earbuds in, breathing noisily, listening to what seemed to be a guided meditation.

"Woah, nice hair," he said, removing one bud. He had the questionable gift of turning Sunny's worst qualities into jokes.

"Shut up."

"Hey, hey that was a compliment." Sunny was sore all over and wanted to just tell him about the pain she was feeling inside.

"Don't worry, no one will notice," he said, slightly confused, but still trying to be supportive.

"Yeah, if they don't know me," said Sunny. "They won't know what I normally look like."

"Well, I say we better take some photos. Document this fresh-cut," he said.

"No!"

"Yes," he said, taking her hand. Together, they adventured into the woods, explored all times of the day, lighting, angles— together, they created art. Josh never repudiated to hangout; whatever he was doing, he would put it down and come see Sunny voluntarily. Sometimes he brought flowers.