Stained Glass Souls (Wattys 2014, Collector's Dream Award Winner)

Price: A Play of Pretend

(Price: unedited)

He had yet to see anything stranger than a child playing dress-up.

It didn’t look natural – almost like foreshadowing, from a rather ominous future – to see his baby sister tripping through the house in a pair of plastic heels. As she drew closer, he saw that she had stolen a tube of Lily’s lipstick. Crimson was smeared across her lips like slashes of blood, dripping down her upturned chin. 

From his vantage point behind the television, where he was attempting to repair a split cable, he watched her teeter into the living room. “Having fun, kiddo?”

She nodded. Speech was still coming slowly. Neither of them had seen Ariel since the Portland trip, and Jewel had begun to retreat into her shell of isolation once again. It was hard watching her eyes cloudy, movements sluggish and carefully orchestrated, like a dance of exhaustion.

“So,” he said, peering around the screen, “Is this Cinderella?”

Her fingers flickered up to touch the golden bun atop her head. “Maybe.” She whispered. “Ariel said so.”

“To play?”

She shook her head. “Me. I’m Cinderella.”

“Of course, kid. Curly hair and all.” 

“Ariel likes my hair.”

“Does she?” Price thought of Ariel; hair in jagged ribbons around her pale face. He wondered if she was still contemplating suicide. Was her absence from church an indication of a greater, more solemn absence? Was she already gone, the life sucked out of her cold, narrow blue eyes?

He dug his nails into his palms. The fear that struck him was irrational, setting in the hollow pit of his stomach. For some strange, inexplicable reason, the anger was rising up again, fueled by a nervous sense of panic. He had left things askew when they returned from Portland. Her death would be his fault.

His fault. His fault. His fault.

A warm, chapped palm touched his fist lightly. Jewel was had moved closer in a rustle of blue tulle, and a frown knotted her brow as she attempted to tug his fingers straight.

“Wrong?” she asked. Is something wrong?

Price uncurled his hand quickly, weaving his fingers through hers. He forced a smile before scooping her up in his arms. She was slight, but the dress tangled around her legs, weighing her down. “How about some lunch?”

“Mac. Cheese.”

“Okay, kid.” He tried not sigh. Today would be that fourth in row she had requested macaroni and cheese. “One bowl of paste, coming right up.”

He had deposited Jewel in a stool and was rummaging around the cupboards, searching for the familiar blue cardboard box of dry mix, when he heard the doorbell chiming. During one of her breaking rampages, Jewel had permanently injured the bell –now, it was shrieking painfully, like Atticus before naptime.

He wasn’t sure what surprised him more – opening the door not to find Charliegh, baby on her hip, or opening it to find Ariel, smoking.

“Hi.” Her mouth was twitching nervously, and she was trying to hide the cigarette behind her back. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Oh.” He couldn’t help but stare. It had only been a week, but she looked so drastically different. Purple rings were stamped around her eyes, and she was even thinner, if that was possible. Her teeth were yellow when she tried to smile. It didn’t fit on her face – she looked closer to tears than anything. “Um, come in.”