Marianne by Elizabeth Hammer (best books to read in life TXT) 📕

Both? “No, you’re not,” she said. “You’re a human being and you’re hot; I can tell.”

He looked at the sand and didn’t answer.

“Shape up,” she’d muttered and went to claim her seat on the fire pit.

Near sunset, when the girls put away their lace parasols and the boys in black started blending into the shadows, she started feeling guilty for ignoring Sally. Marianne wasn’t the only person in the world who had problems. Sally had finally convinced her to come tonight because she needed a wing-man when she met up with Victor.

Marianne lifted the hem of her gown above her ankles and weaved her way through the group, trying to locate Sally in the fading light. She found her getting wasted with a bunch of other people on a blanket over by a trash can. They even had an electric lantern glowing in the middle of the group. Marianne didn’t think that was very mythical of them, but she let it pass. They made room for Marianne in the Pit of Revelry, and she joined in with all the enthusiasm she could muster. Now that the novelty of getting drunk was wearing off, Marianne realized that she didn’t like it very much. Perhaps it would have been different if she hadn’t always been depressed and moody when she drank—all her associations with alcohol were tainted, like ginger ale for people who only have it when they get the flu. Marianne realized all this, but did her best to get drunk, anyway. Of course she did.

After her first two beers, she started analyzing her choice. But what was she supposed to have done, really? Watch everyone get rowdy and incoherent while she just sat around in all her judgmental, clear-thinking misery? Or maybe she should have stayed alone by the fire pit to fill the now-vacant role of party-pooper? Even more, she could have stayed home altogether. She could have stayed with Patrick.

Just thinking his name made her feel like she was wearing a turtleneck. He wasn’t the choking sweater; it was just... Bleh, she didn’t even know. Marianne lay back on the blanket and looked at the sky. It wasn’t as if anyone was asking too much of her. It’s not unreasonable to be expected to act like a good person; she was just really bad at it, apparently. But then, if she was just really bad at it, that would imply that she had no choice in the matter. She did have a choice. Didn’t she?

Her thoughts were getting a bit philosophical, but that’s what happens when your life is decaying at an unnatural rate right before your eyes. Oh, who was she kidding? Decaying before her eyes? Hardly. She was deliberately beating it to pieces with a sledgehammer. But she didn’t want to do that! Wait, how could those two things be true at the same time? “Crap,” she whispered.

“What?” said Sally. She was sitting close to Marianne, not talking to anyone.

“I said crap.”

“Oh.” Sally nodded and looked away toward the shore. “Hey, I’m going to walk down to the water for a minute, kay?”

“See ya, sucker,” said Marianne. She returned her focus to the black sky, too lazy to offer Sally any company. She tried to go back to her ponderings, but her ears were now in tune with the ultra-lame conversation going on around her. Why the hell had she come here?

“I don’t get that song at all,” said Georgia. “Is it about puppets? Not the Sesame Street kind, the other kind. With strings.”

Dark Lord Alvin sighed. “It’s about whatever you need it to be about. How it speaks to you. We are all our own creation. There are no absolutes. No standards.”

His tone got Marianne’s full attention. It was like he’d been waiting all night to deliver that golden wisdom. No doubt he’d jacked the sentiment verbatim from some Gothic, red-fonted message board. How convenient that everyone just happened to be talking about lyric interpretation right then. Conniving, girlfriend-abusing douche.

“Oh, okay.” Georgia nodded, but she had the glassy-eyed smile on her face that she got every time she felt out-gothed and humiliated. “Definitely, there are no standards. So, what does it mean to you?”

“It’s about the way the darkness feels on your skin at night. The way you can connect with a graveyard and the souls that trapped there in torment.”

Georgia looked confused. “Does it mention graveyards? I don’t remember—”

“Forgive me, but I can’t really explain it all to you,” said Alvin. “It’s too personal.”

Todd chucked his empty bottle behind him onto the sand. “Don’t you hate it when people try to interpret art? As if you could explain in words the way something resonates with your inner soul.”

Georgia looked down and started fiddling with the knob of the lantern.

Marianne sat up. “Children’s Motrin,” she whispered. They all turned toward her. “To me, it’s about Children’s Motrin. Suspension, not chewables. It may sound strange, but it’s, you know—” she touched her chest, “personal. Something from my childhood. Back when I was innocent and untainted. Before everyone put all these arbitrary standards on me.”

Georgia turned her head to the side, trying not to let anyone see her smile.

Marianne wished Patrick had been there to see that look. He would’ve liked that look. “You want to get another drink with me, Georgia?” said Marianne.

She nodded. “Sure.”

Georgia got to her feet and leaned over for Marianne’s hand, but her foot got caught on some firewood holding down the corner of the blanket. Marianne reached out her arms and tried to steady her, Georgia reached out at the same time, and they both missed. Georgia’s whole body came crashing down on top of Marianne, muffling her panicked screech.

They ended up in a tangle of sand, lace, and hairpieces. Marianne tried to roll out from under her in multiple directions, but she couldn’t because Georgia’s bracelet was stuck in her hair and wouldn’t come loose. It was too