Big T

A rainy day, toast, thrift shops, old clothes, and maybe even an epitome or two.

 

Big T

 

 

            I was reclining on the sofa, watching Big T over the top of my book. She was completely still, looking through the window, watching the unending sheets of rain that fell from the cloudy, sunless sky. I had thought it was going to be a beautiful day. I woke up feeling the warmth from the sun on my face; it was a crystal clear morning. I never even stopped to think that a storm could be lurking just around the corner.

I should have known better to assume anything, considering how much time I’d spent around Big T. At 6’3” I was Little T; whenever one of my friends met Big T they were always astounded by her size. This smiling, carefree little girl barely passed five feet. Our nicknames just didn’t fit, didn’t make sense. But that was how she liked it.

            She always told me not to take anything at face value. I guess she preferred things to be complicated. I can remember the first time we ever met.  She was sitting at the table next to mine in a restaurant, eating some very odd-looking toast. She had four pieces that were slathered with butter, cream cheese, grape jelly and strawberry jam. Each piece was decorated with all four, the toppings turning her meal into a peculiar, edible array of rainbows.

 “Excuse me,” I said, turning in my seat and tapping her on the shoulder. “I couldn’t help but notice that you have four pieces of toast and four different things to put on them. Why not make things simple and use only one topping for each piece of bread?”

            She looked at me as if that were the silliest thing she had ever heard. “I could do that,” she said, “and it would be easier, but then the toppings would be separated and they might get lonely. Plus, it’s more fun this way.”

            She took a huge, crunchy bite of toast and didn’t seem to mind the wave of crumbs that were falling into her lap. She didn’t seem to mind me interrupting her breakfast either. She was a joyful pixie without a care in the world.

We spent the rest of the morning talking over the toast that she was kind enough to share (which actually tasted much better than it looked). I was so enthralled by our conversation that after breakfast I found myself being led down the street as Tiffany (her real name) told me a fascinating story about the time she had wrestled (and beaten) a wild boar at a state fair.

            We came to a stop just as she was describing the succulent pork sandwiches that had been made from her fallen opponent. We were in front of a large, slightly run-down building that I had never before seen.

            “Why did we stop?” I asked.

            “We’re going shopping! Come on!”

            Upon entering the store she grabbed my hand and quickly began to navigate the countless shelves and boxes of old hand-me-downs and second-hand merchandise. In a flash we reached the clothing section. Tiffany clapped her hands excitedly and made a small leap of happiness as she took in the massive array of clothing that had, for one reason or another, been abandoned by previous owners.

            Every last fashion mistake that humanity has ever had the misfortune of making was to be found among these aged racks. It was like a mountain of tattered rags that belonged in some far off trash heap.

            As I was still trying to figure out why my new friend had taken me to this musty store I looked back at Tiffany only to find that she had disappeared. Moments later she emerged from a dust-caked door that I can only imagine lead to a dressing room.

            She was wearing a new (new to her at least) outfit and I had to admit that she looked… good. The deep, velvet fur of her old-lady driving gloves actually gave her an air of mystery and class. Her black, sequined, two sizes too big ball-room gown was, believe it or not, elegant. With each step the massive folds of fabric spun and twirled around her shimmering frame.

            “Do you like it?” she asked.

            “Yeah, but where’s my outfit?”

            At those words an excited, almost sinister gleam appeared in her mischievous eyes. Before I even had time to regret what I’d said, I found myself wearing an orange pinstripe jacket from the sixties, complete with black undershirt, Looney Tunes tie and tangerine and cream colored pants with a swirling, candycane like pattern. Suffice to say, I was smoking, to say the least.

            We left the store and roamed up and down the street to show off our new outfits. Most of the people we met thought we were crazy, but Tiffany knew better, and now, so did I.

           

I was torn from my daydreams and thrown back into reality as Big T let out a long, loud, lonely sigh. She was still staring out the window, morosely studying the overcast sky. She must have been daydreaming too. The look on her face told me she was lost in thought; she didn’t even notice me watching her.

            “Tiff,” I said. She slowly turned to meet my gaze. “Is something wrong?”

            Her response was a habitual, non-committal shrug. That was her answer to most things. She was mysterious without even trying to be.

            “You sure you don’t want to talk about it?” I asked. There was a short pause before she answered, “Yeah, I’m sure. It’s… complicated…” Her voice slowly drifted off with that last word. I walked over to my friend and held her close in a comforting embrace. I put my head next to hers, watching the unending torrent of rain that seemed like it would go on forever.

            Almost as if reading my mind she asked, “Do you think it will ever stop?”

            “No,” I answered, stopping to gently wipe away her tears. “I know it will. It always does.”

 

Author's Note

This was one of the first stories I wrote. I've edited it a bit since then, but it still feels like something's wrong. Not with the story it's self, but in how it's written. I'm not sure what i should change, or if I should just rewrite the story from scratch, or maybe try to change the perspective. Any thoughts?

Reviews

[None]

Your story reads like a little movie that I want to keep watching. Very well written and I so enjoyed the wearing of the crazy outfits in public. Excellent writing.

[Rachael]

I think it's really tight, in that it's written from one person's perspective of finding another person baffling, and you've resisted from trying to explain big t in the last paragraph, and preserved her mystery. The use of detail (the toast, the outfits) etc make the piece immersive and it flows really well.
mebbe suggestion:
"It was almost as if she were some joyful pixie that didn't have a care in the world." Why not just make her a joyful pixie without a care, rather than compare her to one?
I think it's impressive the amount of characterisation you've smooshed into this short piece, i don't think it reads "wrong"... maybe you've read it too many times? :D