Three girls lived a secret and mysterious life in an overturned umbrella by the sea. It was always cloudy with subtle rays of soft sunlight dripping through the breaks in the ever-present clouds overhead. The shabby umbrella sat upside down on the sand, its stem reaching toward the heavens and its handle sharply turned in the opposite direction. The girls felt this was terribly symbolic. When it rained, they believed the droplets on their brows heightened their sense of humor and they felt as though the beads of water had the ability to make their dreams of one day owning a perfectly adequate corn bread shop a reality.
The tallest of the three girls, Corinna, took care of the finances and was always ready for a game of scrabble, which she would most likely quit if she felt like she’d lose. She wore her blonde hair short, for the sake of convenience, and always smelled of lilacs and a specific Indian spice, but I’m not allowed to tell you about that. She talked incessantly and sometimes seemed a bit fanatical, but if people listened closely, she would tell them of dying flowers and dirty snow.
Morgan, a very pretty girl who had just moved into the umbrella about a month before, spent her days writing short sentences in a small notebook that she kept safely in the breast pocket of her green, velvet blazer, or in a small purse that she sometimes carried on Wednesdays. She appeared composed, but underneath her calm façade laid a daring, dreamer who believed one day she’d master another language and explore the world; though she’d probably never admit that over a cup of coffee.
Allegra, who had just recently found Morgan in an empty bottle of Chianti, had intimately known Corinna since the days of bloody noses and making excuses. Allegra smoked too many cigarettes and always pursed her lips like she was sucking on a succulent candy, as though her lips couldn’t quite close over her large white teeth. She permanently had a look of worry on her face—largely due to her bright, expressive eyes that constantly searched searching for extra (and sometimes nonexistent) meaning in all that she saw. Allegra’s beauty was different than the explicit beauty of Corinna and Morgan; her beauty took a while to perceive. With a wave of a hand and the batting of her eyelashes she commanded the attention of everyone around her. Allegra felt deeply about everything and she always had at least 5 books with her at all times.
Corinna and Allegra had that distinct ability to make everyone around them laugh. They fed off each other’s energy and the umbrella shook furiously when they laughed about burning holes in sweaters and spilling Coke on a sofa. Morgan was the only one who could understand their crazy antics without being completely repulsed, which is why their perfectly symbiotic friendship succeeded in those distant, wintry days.
Corinna had a voice like a siren, but instead of killing men, she lured sailors into the umbrella every Thursday morning to sell them piping hot corn bread that Allegra and Morgan had made the night before. Once the men entered the umbrella, through its southern most rip/hole/tear (made by a rogue fish hook on a particularly rainy November morning), they sat around a tiny ivory table, waiting to be served. Morgan lifted her leather camera strap from around her neck and began taking photos of the sailors’ beached boat and the luggage they had left on the sand. Morgan had always been interested in portraiture, however, her greatest pleasure came from photographing humanities’ many trails—from the way people left their beds in the morning to the pile of shit that hung about in corners for months on end.
Once settled on the various cushions the girls had provided, Allegra would tell stories of her past, often embellishing and exaggerating for greater dramatic effect. Her passion for life was deep and she often intimidated those around her. In an attempt to better identify with her fellow human beings, Allegra, in a moment of fleeting passion, gathered her flowing chestnut hair into her fist and reached in her feathered clutch for a knife. She took the blunt blade to the nape of her neck and furiously sawed off her long tresses. Once finished she tossed the hair in the trash and wiped her hands saying, “Much better. Now I can think straight.” The moment of triumph was classic: insignificantly insightful.
The girls who lived in the umbrella had many adventures.
But they told me I couldn’t tell you any more. Sorry.
Oh, and their umbrella blew away into the sea from the storm yesterday, so I guess it doesn’t really matter.
0 comments:
Post a Comment