A Brand New Goth Girl

[11]

The absolutely surreal nature of sitting in a bustling cafeteria where practically everyone was a girl was hard to get beyond. A busboy and a cook were the only guys anywhere. Would they technically be considered university employees or contractors through the food service? Perhaps they slipped through the cracks. I had the ability to patch those cracks, but I instead pushed the flashlight as deep into my tiny pocket as it would go.

I was liable to mess something up. Again. The food tasted about the same as usual. No altered taste buds to improve or remix my flavor perception, although chocolate never got a complaint from me.

Amongst the passing faces, that my roommates and Lily recognized and scrutinized, were seas of anonymous new people to speculate upon. Many of them, I had a vague inkling about. They seemed like girls who could’ve been siblings of guys I may have seen walking around campus. Nothing sharply conclusive or definite.

If no one provided you with context to this setting, then it would’ve been easy to just surmise that this was a girls' school with nervous, awkward freshmen and helpful upperclassmen. The disheveled attire of wandering, uncertain girls suggested crunch time and term paper season more than an upheaval of the demographics. The amount of visible bra straps, odd clothing combinations, and baggy pants was enough to raise questions. At the same time, these faux pas were slowly pointed out and corrected by more comfortable girls. Tops even casually came off to fix underwear.

After a while, I could imagine it was like a hegemony of girls tidying up all the issues. The newbies still stood out, but they were beginning to blend in. A brunette in a deep olive top and fuzzy red flannel pants got her hair brushed neat over by the big windows by an entourage of other girls. A blonde in a blue sports top and stretchy matching pants received help with her ponytail along with encouragement and cheers that she looked like Samus Aran. Another lady with densely curled brown hair was switching outfits as she attentively listened, analyzed, and adjusted her white bra before slipping on a snug, yellow shirt. My eyeballs landed on a goth girl with a preppy edge.

Her blonde hair had swaths of black…or she possessed black hair bleached light. Compact, sculpted dark eyebrows accented her face along with dark prong-like marks below her black lips. Ornate vine tattoos on her wrists looked like ghostly bracelets. Her figure was in the same range as mine. A cozy, black sweater top traced her form, paired comfortably with gray pants with a softly riveted texture. She noticed me and we exchanged a quick head nod.

This animated, vigorous social sightseeing meant I let my food get strikingly cold. The topic eventually turned around when Rhea asked if I was still going to do all the clubs she knew I was involved in.

Beatrice sure was active. As I may have guessed from her clarinet, there was music in her extracurriculars. She had Jazz Band. A stint with an animators club also fit. I flew in a similar trajectory with earlier college ambitions. Photography Club also made sense when you accounted for her hobby/site. Her swimming group was a bit off the beaten path. And I couldn’t have guessed Tabletop Club or Theater assistance. Were practically five extracurriculars normal?

I had barely ventured beyond the thought of two in one semester. Tabletop was apparently sporadic and informal. Theater connected with Rhea and thankfully seemed like a light load of support work and makeup. It still made me sweat though, because I didn’t have Beatrice’s supposed innate knowledge. I could only hope that muscle memory or a secret diary might assist. She had plenty of fragments posted online, but you never know if an online persona truly represents a full picture.

Each of us quietly indulging in a cone of swirled frozen yogurt, the conversation drifted from our table and echoed up the steps as we ascended to ground level with a fresh hoard of flailing, bunched initiates sneaking down to fill our spaces.

Chilly but moisture-laden air greeted us as I gently rubbed my shoulders. I followed our group along the return route. Vague exhaustion started to wrap its tendrils around me. The mollification of dinner, along with the company, and my delving thoughts involving and avoiding everything recently, drained me. I just wanted to curl up in Beatrice‘s bed and not have to worry about things for a while.

Evening hustled along its inevitable trajectory without a thought for whether any of us could keep up with its pace. While a million Beatrice notions and possibilities shimmer through my thoughts, the weight of the flashlight kept brushing against my leg. This was dangerous. I didn’t deserve the responsibility. Surely, someone else, anyone else, could more cleverly navigate how to frame and present a magical flashlight for those who craved its glow.

Returning to the dorm, I anticipated a modest but burgeoning crowd of curious residents drawn together by the proposed meeting. But the common room appeared practically empty. Lingering, I told the others I had something I needed to take care of, but I would be back in the dorm shortly. Norah still had a stockpile of funny videos she wanted to share with others, but the sentiment was drifting towards quietly completing any lingering assignments. My project still loomed. The cancellation or delay of classes seemed likely, but I still knew plenty of professors who requested digital versions of assignments whether we met in person or not.

Beatrice obviously would’ve been done with her assignment by now if her life hadn’t intersected with mine. All I could hope for was that she might temporarily lend me her inspiration, so I could trace soft shadows of it. That mood suited my current plans.

Every frantic feeling burned like flame within me. Turn around, head back, don’t do this. But I was almost back at the place I left that simple response to my benefactor’s questions. They chose the wrong acolyte. As much as I appreciated the eye-opening exploration of Beatrice possibilities, I wasn’t the right person to wield such a responsibility. My destruction of a life more than demonstrated that. I reflected on a letter of my own, something contrite, humble, apologetic, and sincere. The unmistakable appreciation of being chosen first with no assumption that I knew better than her but pressing the demure request that she reconsider.

Right before I poked a finger into that simple flap masquerading as a pocket that managed to conceal the flashlight, I noticed a feeling in the air. Not a feeling of foreboding or danger but one nudging me to look around. So, I looked.

Under a big, furry coat sat a slight shape hunched forward with just her soft legs poking through. Frail whimpers squeaked their way through the fabric with tiny hands struggling to hold the shelter secure. This obvious and yet hidden little human blob clung to a spot of carpet right in front of the nearby fuzzy couch.

Something about this display urged me to both want to give them their privacy about whatever issue was going on but also scoot up beside them and ask if there was anything I could do. My thoughts were complicated by the tangled experiences of stepping into a situation that became worse from my presence but also seeing girls caring for new sisters, no matter where they came from.

It was a difficult choice and yet an easy one. I stepped lightly across the floor, half crouched, and carefully considered when would be best to announce myself. Clearing my throat didn’t startle the shy figure, but I noticed that the little shifts and shakes abated like a deer suddenly alert and listening out for the possibility of a predator.

She actually spoke first, a tiny, high-pitched mousy voice faintly muffled by the fabric, straining to present itself with authority, “Who’s there? What do you want?”

Although she seemed to do the best she could with her voice, that didn’t keep a certain, strained edge from creeping into the tone, a sense of panic clinging to the edge of breaking down in tears. With a sigh, I folded my legs and sat as comfortably as I could on the carpet, near her yet leaving a respectful amount of space between us.

Looking at the little, cloaked lump over, part of me wondered whether this was some child who perhaps came to visit their sibling at college. What further backstory beyond that would just be guessing. The only features I had to work with were those dainty legs and the faintest trace of lacy ruffles.

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What could I say? The name I had and the name I lost likely wouldn’t mean anything to her. Taylor didn’t know enough people around campus, despite all the time I spent here. And I didn’t know what I wanted. But I hoped to help, at least in some small way.

And, so, I told her everything I could, whether it mattered or not. I am Beatrice, I used to be Taylor, and I’d like to help you. The fretful tension gingerly eased out of the lump as it seemed to deflate but also shift beneath its protective cover. I ducked down slightly. Not much I could do if she found me to be a spooky, scary witch.

What cautiously and carefully peered out from beneath that voluminous furry coat was a cautious, silver eye with a sparkle of tears catching the light. Blonde hair brighter than Rhea’s emerged next. It was lightly rumpled but possessed gorgeous braids crossing the top of her head like a golden crown. Her slim face quavered as she bit her soft lip. I reached out a hand, and she stared at it suspiciously before taking a steadying breath.

As though she were a frail butterfly emerging from a cocoon, the girl beneath was revealed as she slipped out of the jacket. She wore one of the girliest things I’d seen all day and I’d seen plenty. A satiny, pink ribbon laced around her dress collar. The dress she wore looked like something that would adorn a precious doll from ages ago. Puffy sleeves and tiered ruffles of white and pink enveloped her. This delicate creature wobbled and caught herself on the cushion of the couch as her slippered feet finally emerged. She gave a high-pitched squeak as she settled.

My hand continued to hold hers. Just touching her felt like grasping something finely crafted of warm crystal. I fretted that if I held her too close then I might snap something loose. Sitting beside her, I pulled the jacket up. She soon employed it to shield her bare legs as she fussed with the hem of her dress which ended above the knee.

All throughout this, tears streamed down her eyes and clung to her reddish cheeks. I grabbed her some tissue and she blew her nose. Despite her blowing hard, it didn’t sound any louder than a puff of air and a crinkle of cloth.

“Thank you…” She said softly. Slowly, her tears abated, although it seemed more because she was dehydrated. I brought her a cup of water and she sipped it hesitantly. I soon learned she’d been crying most of the afternoon.

“I can’t stop it. I’m so scared and confused and I feel broken.” I set a hand on her small shoulders and rubbed gently. She wavered like a leaf in fall. It took persistent questioning before she unfurled her story.

“My name… is Derrick Beck.”

That name actually rang a bell. I scrunched my eyes and plumbed my memories of university newspapers I’d half-read to understand exactly why. It didn’t take long before it struck me.

“You’re… our football quarterback.” The name was attached to a smiling young man with muscular arms and broad shoulders, a toned neck, and a classically handsome jawline. I remembered him having an infectious smile and bright blonde hair in the same tone as this girl but cropped close and slicked back. Slowly, the girl next to me nodded.

My benefactor had really done a number on her. She was apparently a little bit over six feet tall as Derrick. Now, she meekly estimated, and I had to concur, that she was just under five feet. I listened attentively as she continued.

Her volume dipped as she confessed that now her name seemed to be “Rosalie Eden Beck”. It was a pretty name and that was the problem. She had apparently just finished football practice and was doing some weight training and lifting when she sat up from the bench and discovered everything about her body had changed. Instead of her uniform, she had on this dress along with the jacket.

For a horrified moment, it seemed like she was the only one who changed. Then the running back found herself in a black leotard, dressed up like a ballerina. The rest of the players first wondered if this is some sort of elaborate prank but her teammates attended to her. She glossed over the “head swimming” scent of the workout room with an even brighter flush to her cheeks than her tears brought. The two of them attempted to console one another. Before anyone could properly deal with the fallout, it was happening to everyone.

She spent a long while practically frozen, expecting that this terrible nightmare might reveal itself as some equally terrible injury while lifting weights. But it just continued. Eventually, she had to gather up her things. Instead of a sports bag, she had an overwhelming, yellow purse which she struggled to haul back. Her dorm was actually not far from the downstairs elevator.

The interior had been drastically altered. Nail polish, a sewing machine, beauty products, and posters of handsome men replaced oodles of sports equipment and strategy documents. Derrick‘s veterinary medicine textbooks and materials remained but with the addition of piles of stuffed animals. I found it interesting that so much of her life and mine could be altered but our majors seemed to remain fundamentally the same. The main shift was in extracurriculars and hobbies.

Rosa brought me to the present by explaining that she sulked and sobbed in her room with an onrush of strange emotions until her roommate relayed that the hall was going to have a meeting to try and address what happened. So, she wandered out here. But she didn’t want to be seen, therefore the jacket and quietly making herself small off to the side.

It was still just the two of us in the common room. No sign that the residence hall assistants were imminently preparing for some big get-together. Rosa squeezed her arms around her tiny stomach and rocked side to side on the couch with her legs pulled up under the jacket. I wanted to stay with her but, at the same time, it seemed like she just wanted to be alone.

Glancing around, I noticed the recent additions to this area with a wide swath of sizable board games occupying the far shelf. Standing carefully and beaming a quick smile, I made sure Rosa knew I wasn’t abandoning her. She just gave a quick look at me sifting through the selection. I recognized many titles but wasn’t sure what to select. I was well aware that picking one of the more childish games or the princess one wouldn’t be well-received. Even though I was curious to try that out, along with the silly costume jewelry included. Maybe fill in some childhood Beatrice experience.

Ultimately, I opted for one of the newer titles with a lovely cover and a wide range of player options. It featured birds prominently, so I hoped that it might please Rosa’s animal lover side. She unfurled from her protective position and inspected my selection. Meandering hesitancy gripped her, but she quietly agreed to at least give it a try while we waited.

To keep her comfortable on the couch, I retrieved one of the folding tables wedged on the side and spread it out. Because it could be raised and lowered, it made for the perfect little thing to place right in front of her. Even though I gave her quite a bit of space before, we needed to cozy up for this game. Rosa didn’t protest my presence at her side. In fact, she gingerly leaned in my direction. A whimper escaped her closed lips. I returned my arm around her shoulder, and she responded by resting her little head on my side.

I let her have a quiet moment that wasn’t full of tears so much as quiet, wandering questions.

“Why us? What did we do? Did I fail as a man? Do I have to be a better girl? Can I be? How can I do this? I don’t have any sisters. Mom only wanted boys. Does she hate me now? Can I ever go home again…?”

The only answer I might provide her with were the words from the letter that said this was done because my benefactor wanted to do it. And she clearly wanted it to spread, from the light I’d been given. If my benefactor could hear Rosa like this… And maybe she was listening… Would that change anything? I could turn my light on Rosa and erase all the fear in the same way I erased Persephone. I could make her even cuter in a dozen different ways.

But I didn’t want to. I kept silent about my benefactor’s letter. I just wanted to sit with her, play a game, and maybe warm up her spirit with the quiet comfort she hoped that her mother might feel for her.