Crushed Cigarettes

(At Fourteen)

When Bonnie first met her, it was the hottest day of summer, which swept the southern territory up in the steeliest of grips. The Louisiana sun had been the most stubborn presence, shoving aside the clouds with little mercy and consuming every inch of the Bayou with light.

Her school uniform latched to the back of her neck. Holding hostage, and rubbing against the dampened skin with aggression. She plucked away at the offending crimson collar, stiff as cardboard and just as irritating. With every yank , it’d take a second longer before sticking once more.

Her catholic school regalia might have been defined as ghastly, if it hadn’t been for the accessory that dangled at her left wrist. Various moonstones formed a bracelet pulled haphazardly together by string. A friendship bracelet. Which usually required an actual companion. It had been more—a creative venture. A gift from herself to herself that just happened to spell out “bff” on one silver heart shaped charm, wedged between one bead, and another. It had been a lie, but, she loved the flair it added to the otherwise drab, Burgundy and beige color scheme.

She had succumbed to the obnoxious heat that piled upon her shoulders, had driven her back against the red-bricked wall of the high school. Her elbows locked in on themselves, held prisoner as she had busied herself with impatiently tapping her left foot. Her mother’s late model Nissan had been beckoned, and hadn’t at all come on time. Bonnie hadn’t been certain if depriving her of air conditioning had been on purpose or not.

That was when she appeared, a slightly crumpled cigarette crunched firmly between her grinning teeth. Bonnie would come to know her name like a bible verse, a well memorized prayer. With which, she’d spend forever imitating with the same smoky vocals that first announced— “I’m Clyde.”

Bonnie hadn’t initially cared, and flippantly spared the other female the briefest of glances. Just quick enough of a flicker that she caught the shape of angular cheekbones, and freckled olive toned skin.

“Bonnie Delacroix.”

“We-he-hellllllllllll, ain’t that a fancy name?” Came a whistle paired with a lazily-drawn out puff of smoke.

Bonnie lifted her hand, swatted the wisp of vapor that lingered and burnt her nostrils. Her lips dropped into a slightly unamused scowl. She had to admit, though, upon a second look—Clyde hadn’t been too terrible an eye sore. The other had a thin structure, their bones stretched, and arched into a casual slouch. Bonnie’s gaze shifted, and focused on the slightly crooked nose Clyde owned. It turned outward, and lay flat; and, Bonnie knew it must have been broken a time or two. A half charming smile created a dip in dimpled cheeks, which had been proof enough that no misaligned nose could take away anything from the other’s attractive ease.

Clyde had long since pulled into Bonnie’s personal space. Loomed overhead by a handful of inches, and yet, hadn’t stretched her frame into a straightened posture. Bonnie turned away, forcing her attention to the road ahead, hazel eyes flickering to every car that passed. Her hands lifted to shade herself from the harsh glint of sunlight.

“What’s got you so antsy, Princess?” Clyde asked with a lilt of smug laughter.

“I don’t owe you nothin’ but…” Bonnie hated the familiarity that had grown between the two in a blink. “Momma is, like, an hour late.”

Clyde nodded, as if she understood. Rubbed the top of her nose with some sort of contemplation; “Must be nice. To have a mom.”

Bonnie felt a drop in her stomach. Heavy like an anchor, which settled low inside of her gut. Her face twisted, turned in on itself as she felt the taste of regret upon her tongue.

“You…”

“Ain’t got a mom?” Clyde countered, the corners of her lips twitching. “Nah. Can’t say I have.”

Shit.

Bonnie felt the panic rise up in her throat. She’d forgotten the privilege she carried. That she had, not only one parent—but two, in what was a considerably happy marriage. Before she had much time to remove the foot firmly inserted in her mouth, Clyde made a move away. Had slunk just far enough that Bonnie nearly felt her lungs stop searing. She blinked, only to take in Clyde, waving her mostly smoked cigarette in her direction.

“Mind holdin’ this for me?”

“Um…” Bonnie reached out, despite the hesitation that carried through her tone. She plucked it from Clyde and held onto it with a sense of awkwardness.

“Clyde Mariabelle Turner, I swear ta’ god.”

Bonnie’s eyes shifted past Clyde’s shoulder to an older woman leaning out of a rolled down car window. She looked a bit like the girl that shifted just to her right. The woman had all the same angular cuts in the face, and the same tanned skin. She looked far more wary, however, in the bags that gathered under her eyes. Clearly, far more broken by the world than Clyde had yet to be.

Clyde bumped Bonnie on her way to the slightly heaving vehicle, and waved, with wiggling fingers. “Later days, Princess.”

Bonnie felt her jaw click open, wanting to respond, but being cut short by an argument filtering through the air,

“You still smoking, girl?”

“No. No…no. Clearly, she’s smoking.” Clyde made a thumb jab in Bonnie’s direction.

There was a look spared, and Bonnie made a gesture of putting out the cigarette, dragging it across the brick. Staining it with a streak of black, like chalk, marking her annoyance. When she peered back, she locked eyes with Clyde, who wore the widest of grins, stretching her sun-worn face to every corner.

Bonnie connected the dots as the junk of a vehicle wheezed away.

She’d been bamboozled.

——————

(At Sixteen pt.1)

It was Clyde’s bedroom that Bonnie adored; for a space that had the width of a shoe box, it brimmed with personality. Her eyes took in the smattering of posters, half hanging on the wall by poorly placed tacks. Faces of English punk bands were bent with careless creases, but still managed to exude a powerful presence. She loved it. Even the slight aroma of cinnamon and cigarettes that lingered, it was so….Clyde.

Bonnie sat on the floor, her hands made quick work of her nails, brushing over them with a shade of maroon. Her face might have been turned up in concentration, but, her focus cemented on where Clyde rested, languidly, stretched out across the bed. Bonnie felt an affection for moments such as these, where the quiet gathered, except for the low hum of the ceiling fan that spun rapidly over head.

She could hear the turn of a magazine page, and then—“Can you believe that Paula was asked to prom by Johnny Demarco?”

“Who?” Bonnie caught herself asking, half present in the conversation.

“Paula McIntyre?” Clyde turned, pulling her body close to the edge, rolling over to face Bonnie completely. “Y’know? Pig nosed? Blond? Kinda’ dumb as a brick.”

Bonnie couldn’t help but to give a snort. There was something ironic about Clyde calling another person ignorant. She nearly flunked sophomore year, but scraped by the skin of her teeth with Bonnie’s careful guidance.

Bonnie felt her shoulders roll in a wave, “What did she say?”

“I’m convinced it’s a joke.” Even with a maple syrupy sweet accent of Mississippi swimming in her words, Clyde still came off rude.

There was a moment of silence as Bonnie shifted, just a little uncomfortable. The road to where the conversation might lead felt foreign to her. It was a path untraveled. Especially as she pursed her lips together and dared to make eye contact with Clyde. It was a mistake. She felt the world grind to a halt.

The only thing she knew, in the moment, was how impossibly deep the other’s eyes were.

“It’s just prom is for…is for the bourgeoisie.” Clyde spoke with such defiance, and such gumption that Bonnie felt herself nodding in agreement.

“For sure.”

“I wouldn’t date anybody we go to school with.”

“Nobody?” Came the weak question from Bonnie’s cottonmouth.

“Nope.” Clyde popped her p with emphasis.

That caused Bonnie’s chest to tighten, and her stomach to plummet. Even as Clyde pushed on with the conversation.

“I’m planning on marrying rich. I want real money. Not some allowance chunk change.”

Bonnie swallowed, and parted her lips. With Clyde so close, she could map all of the freckles that dabbled down her crooked nose. She wasn’t sure whose air she breathed into her own lungs anymore, and the only sound she could hear was the pounding in her ears.

“And….what if…” Bonnie chewed on the inside of her cheek, felt her voice lower, “What if that doesn’t work out as planned?”

Clyde reached out fingers, delicate for a rough edged girl, and took her short locks—tugging on the ends in thought. “Well then….I s’pose I’ll just marry you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…”

Bonnie took a shaky breath in and felt her pinwheel heart, made of delicate paper, spin.

Fuck.

——————

(At Sixteen pt.2)

“Your date’s here, honey.”

Bonnie half scoffed under her breath, remaining glued to the sagging couch. She planned to spend the night in a relatively expensive gown, drowning herself in an episode of the Bachelor. Where, she’d imagine herself as a different woman with a name like Amber, who stood a greater chance at finding love.

“Honey.” The word should have come off like molasses, but her mother wasn’t as gentle a woman as many pictured. Bonnie knew that welcoming grin had been honed by years of pageantry, “I said…”

“Don’t got one.” Bonnie dared to say.

“Sure you do.” A third chimed in.

That voice hadn’t been nearly as faux polite as her mother’s, and Bonnie slowly turned her head, and then her body to investigate properly. A sensation swept through her fickle bones, lighting them on fire. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but it hadn’t been for Clyde to be standing there in a patched suit which cut off at the ankles leaving an awkward inch of skin exposed. There wasn’t enough fabric in the world to cover the girl’s lanky limbs.

Bonnie struggled for the right word, for some sort of way to explain how Clyde appeared. Her vocabulary suddenly felt too restricted, not vast enough to be fitting. The other girl greeted her with a lopsided grin, and wiggled her long fingers. Some part of Bonnie felt impressed with how Clyde managed to tame a wild set of hair by use of gel. It looked slicked back and tightly trimmed. Like, she’d gotten a haircut in preparation.

The girl gave off an aura of being slightly uncomfortable under a mother’s withering gaze. With a pleading look from Clyde, Bonnie pulled herself off of the couch in order to save her. Finally dragging her frame from the living room to the doorway.

“I thought the prom was for the….what was it? Oh. The bourgeoisie.” Bonnie half taunted but looped her arm through Clyde’s and gave a quick tug.

“Yeah, well. Ya’ know. I’m starting to think it ain’t so bad to feel like one for the night.”

Bonnie felt her cheeks hurt in the wake of a grin, as she dropped her voice an octave lower, and hovered near Clyde’s ear. “I’m glad you came.”

There was a nervous clearing of a throat. “You said you wanted to go. So. I’m just doing a favor, really.”

“Thank you all the same, Clyde.”

“You look good, princess.” She responded, locking eyes. “Really good. The boy’s’ll eat you up.”

“Will you let them?”

Clyde’s cheeks dimpled in amusement, “Hell no.”

——————