|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Wed Jun 19, 2013 11:12 pm
Once upon a time, Alaska Melody Burns loved fairytales, but she especially adored Sleeping Beauty. She recalls—almost fondly—how much she loved to burrow beneath the covers next to her sister, already fast asleep because she always have and always will be a sleeper. Her tiny, pudgy hands would grab a book amongst the pile. Almost always the book would read in glittering, gold letters Sleeping Beauty. In retrospect, Alaska wonders if she too wanted to fall asleep for a hundred years so she could get away from the shadows that squirmed in the corners of her room.
But she says nothing. She tells only Nevada because twins tell each other everything and she knows Nevada sees it too. Every night when their parents switch off the lights, they cover their heads with the bed sheets and turn on their hidden flashlight. They bathe in its comforting presence, somehow falling asleep despite the brightness and the stuffy air.
Her mother signs the twins up for art lessons. Nevada, unsurprisingly enough, fails spectacularly. She’s too predisposed to falling asleep, drooling on her paper with the charcoal still in her hands while Alaska can sit down quietly, obediently, and practice for hours. It’s this surprising skill for concentration that catches her father’s eye. It’s not much, of course. They’re both still Daddy’s Little Girls. He buys the prettiest dresses and finest toys for his darlings. Her mother still dresses them up in cliché, matching outfits throughout elementary.
But none of that matters to Alaska, not really. She just wants to stay in her room to wait for the sunset to arrive gradually. Sunset is her favorite time of day. When the sun falls below the horizon and when the sky bleeds red and purple, she stares out the window with wide eyes. She admires the deep colors that blend together seamlessly. The colors are beautiful, mesmerizing. Alaska tries to capture the sunset on paper with her pencils, but they don’t mix well and she hates the tiny specks of white that they leave behind.
She always frowns, scrutinizes her work for a moment before crumpling it into a ball and tossing it into the trashcan in a fit of frustration. Instead she tries watercolor, but the water runs everywhere and the colors are pale, muted. The paper crinkles. Still wet and dripping, Alaska tosses it into the trash too. She always tries to paint the sunset with her mediocre skills. Alaska stays cooped up in her room, hunched over her tiny table as her tongue sticks out. Despite her failures, she still paints the sky.
But that is before night falls at last. It always comes to Alaska suddenly, like a balloon popping. She never sees it coming, never suspects much, but then there is the loud pop as the balloon bursts and the rubber pieces fall helplessly. The sound startles her, sometimes even throws her into a bawling fit. The dark descends silently, gradually, but Alaska does not realize. She is always too focused on her art, too intent on trying to mimic the colors of the sky—just as how she sees it in her memories. Then she looks up. There is no reason for looking up. Maybe her eyes are tired or her neck aches, but the child looks up. That is when she notices the time, sees the pitch black painted in her glass windows.
Sunsets are beautiful, but nighttime terrifies Alaska. She cannot see through the darkness. The little girl doesn’t know what is hiding in the shadows, but she knows something is lurking within. Something laughs in her ear. Eyes flutter open, peering into the shadows to stare straight at the murky outlines of a smile. Once upon a time, she tried to run crying into her father’s arms. He laughs, bending down to caress her face before pressing a kiss to her forehead. The man says little, but reassures there is nothing there, that it is only her imagination. He bends down further to wrap Alaska in a warm hug. She closes her eyes, gives into the embrace and for a moment she believes him. There are no such things as monsters.
But Alaska always manages to wake up during the middle of the night. She’s unsure why. Maybe it’s the perpetual uneasiness settling in her stomach because she knows something is out there. It’s not a very nice something. The room is dark, but she can see the glimmer of moonlight creeping through the crack of the two drapes. Two tiny hands clutch the edge of the comforter, pulling it up until it covers her head completely. She can feel the warmth of her twin, but it’s not enough. She needs to suffocate in the warm air underneath the bed sheets. The bed covers are an iron defense against the dark.
She squeezes her eyes shut. This is the moment when she wishes she could be like Sleeping Beauty and sleep forever. She wants to close her eyes and never open them again. Alaska wants to rest, to never have to worry about the big bad monster eating her at night. And when her Prince Charming swoops in to defeat all the monsters, he’ll kiss her awake. She’ll never have to fret about the dark again.
But she’s not a princess. Prince Charming won’t be coming. No one will be coming. The princess will have to save herself. That's when Alaska Melody Burns grows up.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 19, 2013 11:45 pm
If Alaska Burns was ever a crybaby, she’s never cried again since. When middle school arrives, she seizes the opportunity with controlled glee. She starts to wear her own clothes, different from her twin’s. She starts with comfortable clothes like hoodies and loose jeans, but eventually she changes her mind. Alaska trades it all in for tank tops and fitted jeans and the whole shebang. It’s during middle school that the twins can clearly see their differing interests and strengths, but they’re close as ever. Nevada dives into foreign language clubs and sports team while Alaska lingers in the art or music room.
Her room is littered with sketches of flowers, but amongst the drawings roses are the most abundant. She claims to not know why, but the answer rings clear in her head. Alaska still loves Sleeping Beauty and Little Briar Rose. Against her conscious will she’s memorized all the meanings of the different rose colors.
Red is love. Red is passion. Red is beauty. White is innocence, purity, secrecy, humility. She has all of the colors and meanings engraved into her heart even though she can’t explain why. Alaska doesn’t love roses, not particularly. Pink is appreciation and grace. Yellow is friendship and joy. Orange is for desire and enthusiasm. Red and white mean unity. Peach is sincerity and gratitude. Coral is desire. Lavender means love at first sight. Blue is the unattainable.
If someone looks close enough through the scattered sketches, they can find scribbled out drawings. The page is covered with angry pencil scrawls that try to hide the true art beneath.
Black is death and farewell.
Happy endings and true love were never for Alaska no matter how much she yearned for it. She had wished for a Prince Charming long ago, but he never came.
Middle school is when her father realizes Alaska does better in school than Nevada. He sees the way Alaska can sit at the desk diligently for hours on end while her counterpart begins to lag behind until she falls asleep completely. He notices how Alaska can rattle out more facts off the top of her head and how she seems to excel at anything she puts her mind to.
When Alaska hands him her report card—straight A’s—he smiles warmly, genuinely. She can’t recall the last time she saw such a caring look from her father, but she wants to see it more. She wants to make him happy. She wants praise. She doesn’t want him to look at her funny when her eyes glaze over as she stares into the dark neighborhood or when she steps away from the black closet for no reason. So Alaska spends her time studying instead. When her father suggests for her to do sports, she joins the basketball team and finds herself to be a natural despite her average height.
It used to be Nevada and Alaska were Daddy’s Little Girls, but now it is just Alaska who is Daddy’s Little Girl.
She breezes through middle school with flawless grades and admiration for her prowess on the court, and high school mimics her past three years. The next three years are spent following father’s orders. Alaska becomes the president of the volunteering club and manages to worm her way into student council as vice-president. She becomes one of the top varsity players on the basketball team. She stays up late every night to review her notes and scribble her way through difficult problem sets while her sketchpad is off to the side, abandoned. Alaska doesn’t know the last time she actually picked up her charcoal and drew, not even a haphazard sketch. She continues to fill her head with numbers, chemicals, and formulas while the sceneries and sights ingrained in her head from so many years of drawing begin to die off one by one, but she doesn’t care as long as she can get the top grade in the class. Anything to make her father happy.
Everything changes when she is assigned to Kira Avens for a partner project in AP Literature. Because she knows her father could never tear his gaze away from the sight of a boy in his domain, she takes Kira to the library where they begin to plan out their presentation. Things go according to plan until the librarian politely asks for the two to leave; the library is about to close. Alaska clings to her books as she reluctantly steps beneath the streetlight and peers down the pitch-black streets. She manages to fake a calm façade as he walks her home; it’s only a fifteen-minute walk away.
Alaska tries to tell herself nothing is lurking in the dark. All her fears and wild imaginations from childhood weren’t real, just the product of a girl with an overactive mind. But when something tall and distinctly scaley brushes the back of her leg she yells and backs away. Her things fall to the ground in a white flurry of papers. She feels a tug on her arm, and when she looks back she can see her own fear mirrored in Kira’s pale blue eyes. He knows. He understands.
She begins to spend her lunches with him in the art room because he also loves to draw. For the first time in what seems like months, Alaska picks up a charcoal pencil and presses it against paper. The boy with blue eyes pulls her out of a world of numbers and achievement and into a world filled with color and wonder. Life glimmers in her eyes and her smiles become genuine. She’s in love, all at the cost of everything she’s worked for. Grades begin to waver. Meetings are skipped. Alaska only wants to draw with Kira by her side. Maybe she’s found Prince Charming at last.
One day when she comes home late, she finds her father in the kitchen with a grim frown. It’s not surprising when the conversation begins coolly formal yet awkward, but it doesn’t take much for voices to escalate and he yells for her to go to her room. Alaska screams curses before she storms up the stairs.
Every trip down the stairs is like walking through a minefield. She will never know if her father will be there, ready to throw snide remarks, or if he’s already at work or coming home late. Junior year ends in shambles and a ball of fire. It burns until there is only ash. She has fallen from her podium, but Alaska doesn’t care. There is nothing left for her here anyways.
As the clock strikes midnight the day before her birthday, she gathers her things and creeps into her sister’s bedroom. She places a kiss to Nevada’s forehead before she leaves a note by her bedside. With only her bag on her back, Alaska pushes the window open and slides down the tree next to her room. She considers visiting Kira with the vain hope he may join her, but she knows he has more to lose than she does. She supposes she never actually found her prince and happily ever after.
Beaten sneakers walk along the pavement as she doesn’t dare to look back at her house of nearly-eighteen years. Alaska disappears; her parents will never see her again.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
