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White Flowers

Pour Vous, Encore

A collection of vignettes chronicling the lives of two friends growing up in suburban Québec.

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Pour Vous, Encore

Pour Vous, Encore

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Artist's Statement

I was driving down a back road with my best friend Agnes, when we passed a glowing roadside memorial. In the dark, it was all we could see against the background of the forest and the winding road. It gave me the chills imagining the few moments leading up to that life-ending crash. At that moment, I began spinning a story in my head that I knew had to be told. It became Sophie and Ophelia's story, start to finish. The story of two friends and their journey told through vignettes through childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood and what the changes and choices did to them.

I wanted their story to be real and palpable, realistic and heartbreaking. Triumphant yet melancholy. I wanted readers to connect no matter their age, gender, or life experience.

When I began writing Pour Vous Encore told through Sophie's perspective, I started to think of bolder ways to tell the story. It wasn't long before I knew I wanted to combine different elements of art such as photography and cinematography to make Sophie and Opehlia's story come to life.

Creating Pour Vous Encore was a massive, massive undertaking between filming, directing, writing, creating Sophie an Instagram account, learning French, finishing the complete piece, and designing a realistic world for Sophie and Ophelia -- yet, I wasn't looking for simple. I wanted to make a full-bodied, creatively interesting piece to breathe to life a piece of art in a unique way.

Through their willing and amazing help, my friends Bryna Soriano, Hailey Rivera, and Katie Roarty became my models for Sophie, Ophelia, and Jodie (respectively in the trailer,) for Sophie's Instagram (that's completely interactive below!), home videos, and photographic pieces, I was able to tell the story I had dreamed of not only verbally, but visually.

Creating this piece alone has been largely challenging in the positive sense of the term, and deeply rewarding as I feel I did Sophie and Ophelia proper justice while also creating an intensive experience for the audience. So, without further ado...

Prendre plaisir! -- Enjoy!

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La Nectarine

Dripping down Ophelia’s chin and onto the ground was the nectarine I’d shared with her one Friday in May. One bite for me, one for her. The sticky sweet juice made small puddles on the ground, and the ants came running in from all directions to take their little dew drops back to their nest. Ophelia’s blonde hair, tangled from after-school tag game sweat, stuck to the juice on her chin.

“Pour vous encore,” -- for you again -- she said, handing me my fruit back. Juxtaposed against the bright blue Quebec sky, her white t-shirt and blonde hair stained a picture forever in my mind. Ophelia, on that bright May outside our childhood homes, licking nectarine juice off her fingers, somehow became the single-most memorable moment I have of us. Her there, and I, with scraped knobby knees -- all of that moment fades to a sepia tone and settles somewhere in the back of my brain.

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Le Papillon

“Get up!” Ophelia shouted and burst through my bedroom door. No time for knocking. Early morning sunshine streamed through the cracks in my shades, finding every possible surface to warm and say Réveille-toi! to.

Ophelia took no time and dove right into the sea of tangled blankets I was wrapped in. “Come on!” She thrashed around in the shallow ocean of my bed and pulled on my wrists until I too, was standing upright, sleepy fluttering eyelids not able to adjust to the land of the woke, and not quite sure what she was fussed about. “You’re going to miss her!” Not bothered to change to shoes or day clothes, and quite frankly too excited by Ophelia’s excitement, we pushed past the screen door and out into the quiet alley. She pulled me by the hand past the moss-bed behind my house, down a tree-lined slope, and finally to the single birch tree amidst all the pines. It seemed impossible that it had grown there… but life had found a way.

“She’s been sleeping all summer,” Ophelia said, pointing to a low-hanging white branch. Attached, was a green chrysalis opened, and a grey moth fluttered its newly formed wings.

“I thought they all hatched by now.”

“They were supposed to. But I watched her. And I prayed for her. And look, she woke up!” Ophelia said. I imagined, maybe she had too good of a dream to wake up early like the others. Maybe she was shy like me, and she wanted to make sure the others had left before she did, too. And just like that, le papillon de nuit took off in flight, soaring into the late summer air. Ophelia squealed in delight as we watched its shaky path until it flew right out of our sight. For a moment we paused, in awe of the moment we had just witnessed. And then, we climbed back up the embankment, I, still shoeless, and sat in the patch of moss.

The morning sun rose higher, heating everything around us. Gone was the dew I’d felt under my feet on the moss as we ran to catch the takeoff. Ophelia rested her head upon my shoulders.

“What do you want to do today?” She asked.

“Let’s just stay here a little longer.” For a moment, Ophelia stayed silent. Then, in her true nature…

“Do you think moths have friends?” She asked.

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Gonflé

It was a quiet September night after school. I sat on the porch step below my mother, and with me she shared her chocolate ice cream cone. I watched the bugs crowd the artificial street lights, pushing past each other to get closer, closer to the beacon calling them in. My mother handed me the last of the ice cream cone -- the part she knew was my favourite -- and picked up the back of my hair.

“Laisse moi le tisser?” She asked.

“Oui maman,” I agreed. She took my thin black hair in her hands and started to plait it. I closed my eyes at the bliss of a pair of familiar hands running through my hair.

“Tell me about your day,” she said softly.

“Oh!” My eyes shot open. “I forgot to tell you! Trinity’s mom lets her wear makeup now!” My mom only laughed at my half-veiled attempt.

“Over my dead body will my eleven year old daughter be showing up to school in eye shadow.” I didn’t bother arguing. I instead closed my eyes again and listened to the hum of the cicadas trying their best to find their mate, and the call of the barred owl. Who cooks for you, who cooks for all? I wondered if they too, were trying to find a mate. Or instead, were calling out into the night over the trees to say, hello friends! I’m still here!

“Ophelia?” My mom’s voice snapped me out of my train of thought, and I opened my eyes again. She dropped my plait before she had a chance to even tie a band around the end. I saw Ophelia emerge from her house across the alley, worn book bag in hand. Clothes haphazardly spilled out the side, and as she stepped closer to us and under the light, I could see her hair was still wet. She even lacked shoes.

“Ms. Cote? Can I…” Ophelia stopped speaking, and instead, a series of sobs broke out. My mom stood up from the porch and made her way over to her. She pulled Ophelia’s head into her side, and Ophelia wrapped her long tan arms around my mother.

“It’s okay,” My mother said, soothing Ophelia’s sobs into sniffles. “Let me get this.” My mom gently took Ophelia’s book bag as to not drop any clothes, stuffed them in until it zipped shut, and ushered Ophelia over to the steps next to me and urged her to sit down.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her. Ophelia’s head dropped so low that her eyes couldn’t meet mine. Her blonde hair spilled over her face.

“Ophelia, I’m going to put this inside. Sophie, could you go for another cone? I’ll get one for Ophelia, too.” It wasn’t a question. My mom disappeared into the house with the bag.

“Ed… Eddie was throwing things again.”

My mind flashed back to being in Ophelia’s room when her mother’s and stepfather’s voices began to rise to a shout through the floorboards. Ophelia’s body tensed. And then I heard something shatter downstairs.

“Let’s go,” Ophelia whispered and grabbed my arm. She led me out the window and onto the fire escape. I’d just gotten through the window when,

“Ophelia!” Eddie, her stepfather, yelled from below. Ophelia went pale. “Get your ass down here!”

“Go!” She urged. For a moment, I was frozen. “Now!” Startled at Ophelia’s sudden command, I didn’t think twice about quickly descending the fire escape and running back across the alley. But before I did, I watched Ophelia carefully close her window as to not make any noise.

“And he called me down like always.” Ophelia’s shaky voice continuing snapped me out of the memory. She pulled herself in closer to her knees. I was tempted to go over and hug her, but something stopped me. Something about her screamed stay away. “And this time I saw him hit my mom, so I started crying, and he…” Ophelia’s voice was frantic, and it dropped to nothing when my mom pushed back through the screen door with two ice cream cones in her hands.

“Ophelia, why don’t you come inside?” She handed Ophelia and I our respected cones. I didn’t feel much like eating. Reluctantly, Ophelia got looked up and took her cone. Her right eye was red and newly swollen. My mother gasped softly, instinctively. Ophelia looked away in shame. “Oh, Ophelia.” I felt the cone begin to melt in down to my hand.

“Ca- can I stay here tonight?” She asked, stifling the sobs back down into her throat.

“Of course,” my mom said without hesitation. “Let me get some ice on that. Come in.” My mom grabbed Ophelia’s arm and helped her up. Ophelia dropped her ice cream onto the ground. I watched as the cone fell and cracked on the concrete of the step. My mom led Ophelia inside, leaving me there with my dripping cone and the heavy air.

It wasn’t until later that Ophelia even bothered to talk to me. She stripped down into a t-shirt and underwear and she climbed into my full-sized bed, curling up into my sheets. I lacked the words to even begin. Should I have told her I was sorry? Should I have pushed her to continue her story? I didn’t have to.

“Eddie hit me too,” she said, grabbing my hand under the blanket and holding it tight. “He told me to stop being a little bitch.” Her hand squeezed tighter. “And my mom told me to leave. So I ran upstairs and packed a bag and snuck down the fire escape. And I came here.” I squeezed back.

“Maybe you can come live here,” I suggested.

“Yeah,” I could hear the smile in her voice. “Yeah, maybe.” She closed her eyes and I felt her grip of my hand loosen.

“Bonne nuit,” I whispered to her.

“Nuit, Soph.”

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En Quittant

“I won’t be far,” Ophelia promised, pressing a cheap locket into my hands. “I even gave you the part that says ‘friends’ because I thought it was kinda lame if I gave you the part that says ‘best’.

“I can’t even bike to your house,” I complained. Ophelia and I were sitting in the moss patch, the one we had left neglected for so many years in the latter end of our childhood.

“Oh hush, we can meet halfway. Now lift your hair up.” I did, exposing my neck. She leaned over and fastened the necklace around. “And plus, now you can’t choose a new best friend. Because she’ll see that you already have one from this.” Ophelia opened her locket to expose a tiny picture of the two of us, smiling on my front porch steps. I grinned.

“Fine.” She lifted her hair so I could fasten hers. “At least we’re going to the same junior high soon. There.” Ophelia let her hair back down, spilling over her back.

“And at least Eddie will be gone, gone, gone.” Ophelia grinned and held her locket in her hand. “But I will miss this view.” From the moss patch, you could see the dip in the treeline that gave way to a field covered in goldenrod. The fading orange sunset made it look like the flowers were ablaze -- a flaming sea surrounded by trees. “But I’ll miss you more, I guess.” Ophelia’s voice quieted.

I held onto this burgeoning hope that despite our distance, the lockets would somehow tie us together, despite the distance, that there would always be a pulsing energy field of Ophelia and Sophie, from one side of the suburb to the next over. I knew Ophelia was thinking it too. We were right on the edge of our new life. Ophelia and Sophie were no longer chubby faced, dirt covered children. Boys didn’t have cooties anymore. Friday nights didn’t mean sleepovers and play pretend -- it meant being dropped off at the movies or the mall and fraternizing with others. And it wasn’t a secret that Ophelia was so much better at it than I, the small girl who could never seem to get the right words out. But still, we hoped.

“Pinky promise me that you’re going to come see me,” I said, looking over to Ophelia. She grinned.

“That doesn’t need a promise, Soph. That’s just given.”

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Parfum

I had Ophelia hold my hand outside the bench of the brick school, my stomach a complete mess of fireworks, and butterflies, and fireworks catching butterflies on fire.

“It’ll be fine, Sophie.” Ophelia didn’t care how silly we looked -- all of the older kids walking past us with judgemental stares. To Ophelia, only I existed. Her, the tall golden-haired princess in a beautiful white outfit and I… I, small and meek and mousey. The courtyard was full of life and grass. The sky was blue.

“And what if we don’t have classes together?” I asked.

“We’ll have lunch,” Ophelia affirmed. Still, I bit my nail and looked away. Any minute, a bell would ring. Bonjour, Sophie! Bienvenue dans votre nouvelle vie! -- Welcome to your new life! Still, Ophelia only saw me. I saw the blurs of students, the laughter from friends seeing each other for the first time since last school year... Salut! I couldn’t help but have a feeling of overwhelming anxiety. Where was my locker? Who were my teachers? Who couId I talk to? Where would I eat? Who’s that? Maybe once upon a time, that anxiety would’ve saved my life. Back when men lived in woods, and when apex predators lurked. Who’s behind that bush? The constant adrenaline would’ve given me quick actions -- sharp with a bow. Fastest of the herd. But now?

“Sophie, please, it will be alright,” Ophelia begged. She squeezed my hand. “Can we please go inside?” I looked over at her. And in her face, I could see it. I believed it. It was just me and her. I nodded. She smirked.

“C’mon,” she said, and pulled me up. “It’s you and me, always.” She didn’t let go of my hand. She held on tighter, squeezing three times. Je. T’aime. Beaucoup. Suddenly, things felt invincible. We were Sophie and Ophelia. Ophelia and Sophie.

As we walked through the double doors, I was hit by the cool draft of the air conditioner. That, and an intense mixture of smells. Burned hair from hair straightener. Sickening sweet perfume. And a strange, overwhelming smell of cologne. AXE body spray?

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Labyrinthe de Maïs

Ophelia looked about as stunning as someone can look at fourteen. She was long-legged, and the sunset illuminated her hair and lit her grey eyes until they seemed ethereal. She had me straighten her hair before we left to the pumpkin patch, just the two of us in my room, my straightener running through her golden locks.

“I told Chloe that you were coming and they’re excited to see you, Soph,” Ophelia insisted. She was turned towards the mirror, making eye contact with herself. Her mouth was open as she applied mascara. Two coats is the trick to make your eyes really pop, she told me. I tried it, but all I seemed to do was ever accidentally smudge it on the top of my eye.

“I don’t know, Chloe was always mean to me growing up.”

“Sophie, it was years ago!” Ophelia insisted. “I swear they’re totally cool now. Très agréable.” I kept my mouth shut as I finished the last pieces of Ophelia’s hair. She was never their target. She was never pointed at in the lunchroom and called ugly.

“Soph! Come be on our team!” Ophelia called out to me. She was standing with Chloe and the others near the entrance of the corn maze. The sun was almost gone, and everyone was splitting off into teams. I shuffled over to them, feeling much like I was being picked last in gym class. Ophelia grabbed my hand, pulling me behind her. Tall corn surrounded us on both sides as we ran deeper, and as we rounded a few corners, I began to realize how big the maze actually was. Mud stuck me to the ground. Everyone else laughed and screamed in excitement, losing themselves further, further, and further into the maze. Ophelia, Chloe and I soon came to a clearing. The rest of our team had been lost in the shuffle.

“Does that mean we’re close?” Chloe asked. Ophelia bit her lip in thought.

“I think maybe it marks halfway?” She answered back. It was getting cold, and my feet were thoroughly soaked through with mud.

“Great,” Chloe groaned. Ophelia smiled at her, still visible through the little light thrown by the moon.

“C’mon, at least that means we went the right way!”

“How about you, Sophie? You’re quiet, any ideas forming in that brain?” Chloe asked me. I swallowed hard.

“Um, not really. I think…” I started to recall an article I read somewhere.

“Great, so nothing from her,” Chloe said.

“Wait,” Ophelia said to come to my defense. “Soph, what were you saying?” I smirked a bit in the dark, hoping Chloe felt ashamed for being chastised by her all-mighty Ophelia.

“Well, I read somewhere that if you run your hands on the right side of a maze’s wall, you’ll always get out,” I finished.

“Any better ideas?” Ophelia asked Chloe.

“I guess not,” Chloe said, and I detected a hint of sheepishness in her voice.

“Let’s try it,” Ophelia directed. She walked over to the right side of the maze, and placed her hand on it. “C’mon!” Chloe followed her, and I followed Chloe. In about twenty minutes, we saw the end, the lights outside shining like beacons, and like moths, we ran right to it.

“We won!” Ophelia yelled, jumping up and down, pulling us in for a hug. When she let go, I could finally see Chloe’s face in the artificial light. She was smiling a bit.

“Good job, Soph,” She congratulated me.

“Anytime,” I smiled back at her. And for a moment, I felt like maybe I was part of something. Maybe now, Chloe would invite me for sleepovers. Maybe now…

“Merde!” I heard one of the boys yell as they exited the maze. Chloe straightened her back and threw on an artificial smile.

“Look who made it out,” Chloe teased.

“I can’t believe you girls won,” He teased back. Ophelia was still at ease. She didn’t straighten her back when she saw everyone approach.

“It was all Soph’s big brain,” Ophelia said and jabbed me gently with her elbow.

“Oh yeah?” One of the boys asked. I was suddenly very aware that for the first time, a boy did more than glance over at me. He was aware I was there -- aware of me. I felt myself shrink down, insecure of my hair (frizzy), and tried my best to hide my shoes (full of mud). “Good job,” he laughed, and when he realized I wasn’t going to talk back, he went right back to ignoring me for the straight backed girls.

Mom picked Ophelia and I up not long after.

“Okay, see you Monday! Text me!” Ophelia yelled to Chloe as we closed the car door. I considered waving, but didn’t.

“Was it fun?” My mom asked us.

“Oh my god, a blast. Your daughter is a genius, by the way,” Ophelia said.

“Oh, I know,” Mom laughed.

“She got us out of the maze in like, fifteen minutes. And we won!” Ophelia said. She looked over at me in the back seat.

“I told you Chloe wanted you there,” she said.

“She spoke like, two sentences to me.”

“Soph, you’re overthinking it. You can speak up too, you know.” I was quiet for a moment until Ophelia lowered her voice so my mom couldn’t hear over the radio.

“I saw Kyle look at you! And like, look look. Not like, glance look. Like, check you out look,” she whispered excitedly. Our car passed streetlights, and bumps. I watched Ophelia’s head bobble up and down with each pothole. I saw her face in the artificial orange glow for split seconds between streetlights. She was smirking at me.

“Kyle? No way.” Kyle was way too cool for me. Kyle was a year older and dates cheerleaders and girls like Chloe. Not me.

“Way! Stop putting yourself down like that! What, a guy can’t like you?”

“They can like me, just… guys like Kyle don’t,” I said. Ophelia rolled her eyes.

“I can never get you to see in the mirror what other people see.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re perfect!” I whisper-yelled. Ophelia laughed.

“You think I’m perfect? Far from it.” Ophelia’s phone went off, and she bent down to look at it before clicking it closed. “Soph, Soph, Soph… what to do with you.” I lowered my head and looked out the window. What to do with me? I wanted to tell her I wasn’t a project. But I knew beyond my anger, it’s not what she meant. So I let it go.

“We should’ve gotten apple cider,” I said. Ophelia shot up.

“We forgot! Ugh, we’re idiots,” she exhaled. Then, she put her head on my shoulder. It was late. “Next time,” She said sleepily. I put my head on top of hers. The bumps in the road rocked us like we were children again, cradled in our mothers’ arms. And soon, I was asleep, somewhere far away where I was the character in my own story. Not just the sidekick in Ophelia’s.

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Le Tryouts

The brick building I’ve come to know (and avoid) was so much different at six in the morning. The early morning sun lit up the tile, and all of us were wearing the same thing -- tight ponytails, black workout shorts, and a white t-shirt. Girls sat around stretching and running through routines. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. One, two, three, four… Ophelia and I sat with our legs in a V. I pulled her forward to stretch her back.

“I cannot believe you roped me into this,” I told her.

“Oh, c’mon Soph! Imagine it. Bright lights. Football games. Wearing really cute skirts.”

“Oh yes, and partying, my favourite activity!”

“You know, if you were a character from Winnie the Pooh, you’d be Eeyore.”

“Thanks!” I shot back. Ophelia released my arms, but we stayed foot to foot.

“Seriously though Sophie, this will be fun. We’ll have fun. And we can work on those abs we always talk about.” Ophelia reached over and poked my soft stomach through my t-shirt. I had to laugh. “See?” She said. “It’s not all doom and gloom, Ms. Grumpy.”

“Guess not.” Ophelia and I had numbers stuck on our shirts. Bonjour! Mon Nom Est: 27. I remembered us the night before in my room in front of my mirror.

“Ophelia, I’m just not getting it,” I complained.

“Like this, Soph. Just watch, I know you can get it.” She said. “Five, six, seven, eight…” I looked over at myself for a moment in the mirror, wondering perhaps both of my feet were accidentally left. Ophelia took notice and stopped.

“Hey, Soph. It’ll be fine. Whatever, right? We’ve practiced enough. Let’s play Mario Kart.”

Now there we were, the next morning, running our dances mentally one last time. The anxiety was palpable in the air. The next few hours meant the make or break of future social lives: are we the new cheer captains? Or are we condemned to a life of standing in the bleachers?

It wasn’t until the late afternoon hit that Ophelia’s mom dropped us back off to look at the list posted at the front of the school. Ophelia squeezed my hand in the back of her mom’s old Jeep. It smelled like cigarettes and old french fries. Ophelia’s hand was sweaty. We all said nothing until we arrived.

“Good luck girls,” her mom said, breaking the silence with a soft smile. Ophelia squeezed my hand tight one last time before opening the door and hopping down onto the concrete. The cirrus clouds swirling above made the late May sky clear and blue. Ophelia looked to me, brows furrowed and eyes shining in the sunlight.

“Neither of us should get excited or yell or anything I don’t think,” she said. “Because then if one of us didn’t make it, we won’t be extra sad.” I couldn’t believe that Ophelia was even nervous. I watched her perform her routine. It was flawless. She hit every move sharp. Because she’d been practicing. She truly wanted it.

“Okay, ready?” Ophelia asked, turned towards me. My stomach churned all of a sudden. It hit me: I really wanted it too. I didn’t want to be condemned to the bleachers, watching Ophelia smile and dance on the sidelines.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I finally said. And with that, we both turned and looked to the sheet, our eyes searched desperately until they settled on our numbers. There they were. For a moment, we were both silent until it sunk in. Then...

“We made it!” She squealed and pulled me into a jumping hug. I jumped back, and held on tight, spinning with her. I caught a glimpse of Ophelia’s mom from her car, smiling. Was she proud?

For a moment, the blue sky seemed eternal. How could it ever rain again? I, Sophie Cote, somehow secured a coveted spot that everyone else fought for. For a moment, life only seemed like a rocket ship pointed up, Ophelia and I in the cockpit. For a moment, I imagined us both smiling with perfectly done makeup and hair, pom-poms shimmering under arena lights. After game burgers in late night restaurants. Possibilities were endless. In that moment… possibilities were endless. In that moment, Ophelia and Sophie were endless. Endless, and eternal, just like the blue, blue sky.

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Vendredi Soir

Much like the moths surrounded the football stadium lights, bumping into each other to catch a shining, bright moment of contact, everyone fluttered around Ophelia. Her hair pulled back into a bow (might as well have been a tiara), she beamed and laughed and turned this way and that to try and keep up with the demand of everyone who wanted a piece. I knew in these moments, it was never worth fighting for. I kept believing in my locket heart (the now fading silver “friend” piece to Ophelia’s “best”), that I still mattered somehow to someone here.

Fifteen minutes, the coach had said. So, I didn’t bother. Not that night. I wandered to the darker side of the field and sat on a bench, readjusting my ponytail -- the bow I didn’t believe I deserved anymore. Making the cheer team hadn’t put me somehow higher on the ladder. It just reminded me I was standing under it.

“Ophelia! Fete apres?” -- Party after? I heard someone ask from my dark bench. And just in that moment, I noticed a little moth crawling his way towards me.

"Vous aussi, petit papillon?” I wondered, is he cold too? Had he got sick of fighting for a second of spotlight?

“Je aussi, petit ami.” -- Me too, little friend.

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La Fête

It was one of the first cold snap nights of September by the time Ophelia finally dragged me out to a party.

“Sil te plait, sil te plait, SIL TE PLAIT! I will make you up! I will dress you in the finest of clothes! Just please come out, come out once! I miss my Sophie!” Ophelia begged. We were standing outside of the stadium waiting for the bus to take us home. The other girls stood around in a circle, quickly chatting in excitement about the win. But Ophelia had me cornered.

“I’m so gross and sweaty,” I argued.

“I will bathe you in the finest of milks,” Ophelia said. I sighed.

“Water will do.”

“So you’ll come?” Ophelia’s eyes lit up.

“How could I say no if you’re looking at me like that?” I joked. Ophelia laughed and hugged me.

“It’ll be so, so fun. Promise.”

“You better,” I warned.

“Oh, pinky.”

Not two hours later, I was sat in the corner of a garage in Ophelia’s tight jeans and cropped shirt. I tried my best to sit up straight. Ophelia may have been blessed with a tight stomach, but I definitely wasn’t. I could feel the rolls every time I accidentally hunched over and thought, why the hell did I let her sweet talk me into coming here? The football boys were high on their win. Ophelia sat on the top of one of the cars’ hoods.

“I just think that a win by one touchdown isn’t all that impressive is all,” Ophelia joked to everyone. I just looked down at my phone to pretend I was doing something more important. Maybe I could’ve looked disinterested, which would’ve been better than the truth. I didn’t even know how to speak. I watched Ophelia throw her head back laughing like a little kid, words flowing from her tongue like the most beautiful river. I wished so badly I could sit beside it and take a drink, maybe learning a bit on how to speak from her.

“Hey quiet mouse,” a male voice behind me said, and I startled. “Sorry to scare you, I just never hear you talk.” He sat down next to me and I instantly recognized him. Kyle. Football team Kyle.

“I just… I just don’t have anything important to say, I guess,” I told him.

“C’est des conneries!” -- that is bullshit! Kyle said. I shrugged, and he smiled at me. “You know Sophie, you have the most beautiful hair.” I couldn’t believe Kyle remembered my name, let alone looked at me long enough to have drawn a positive conclusion about my hair.

“Conneries,” I shot back, quietly.

“Sarcasm? See, you do have something to say,” Kyle smiled. I couldn’t even meet his eyes. Was Kyle really talking to me? I brushed my hair behind my ear and smirked a bit. Kyle was talking to me? “You know what I think, Sophie? I think that you’re one of those girls that can’t wait to get out of high school. Some girls peak here, like, her.” I watched Kyle motion over to Ophelia. And suddenly, I got really, really mad.

Ophelia doesn’t have a peak, you motherfucker. She’s not a goddamn chart, you absolute baboon of a human, I thought, my face flushing an angry red. But I didn’t say anything. Instead, I just looked to the ground. That’s when Kyle noticed my flush.

“Nervous?” He asked.

Just pissed at an airhead. You. You’re the airhead, I thought.

“It’s okay, I think you’re cute too.”

Presumptuous bastard. It was silent for a moment, and then Kyle laughed.

“Why don’t we take it out in the back? I have a little something we could maybe smoke, and if you’re into it…”

“No. I’m fine,” I cut him off.

“Fine?” Kyle asked, apparently not registering the word ‘no’. “C’mon little mouse, come out of that hole,” he said.

“I said I’m fine,” I said, finally having enough nerve and anger to look him in the eyes.

“I’ve never seen this side of Sophie Cote before. You know, you look very cute when you’re all fiery.” Kyle leaned over, trying to get closer to me. As he got closer, I could smell the beer on him.

“I said no!” I said, shooting up out of my chair, and knocking him over. Suddenly, all the eyes were on me. All of the eyes I so desperately wanted to avoid.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Kyle yelled from the concrete ground of the garage. The room was silent. I didn’t bother waiting around. I pushed out the side door and outside.

“Soph, wait!” I could Ophelia yell from inside, and the sound of her frantically scampering down the car’s hood to get to me. But I didn’t wait. She was the reason I was there. She insisted I would have so much fun, but she left me in a corner so she could be Queen Ophelia, charmer of boys and ruler of cheer squads. I never wanted to be there, and I never should have thought for a moment that Kyle thought anything more of me than a potential notch in a belt. The air was brisk as I speed walked towards home. Home, where I should’ve been.

“Sophie!”

“Leave me alone!”

“Please!” Ophelia begged. I turned around.

“Ophelia, explain to me why I’m here.”

“I just wanted you to come have a good time with us instead of going home for once!”

“Haven’t you realized that I never have a good time with the cheer squad? They’ve excluded me from everything from day one. I’m not you. I’m not good with words. I’m not perfect like you.”

“Sophie, I am far from perfect. I don’t know where you got that idea. Maybe if you just spoke up once maybe, they would’ve noticed you were there! Kyle noticed!”

“And look what happened,” I spat. I watched as Ophelia’s face twisted up.

“Do you know what? Do you know much easier my life would be if I didn’t have you around? If I wasn’t always worrying about Sophie? What’s Soph gonna think if I go have fun with someone other than her? And I finally get you out, and someone finally notices you, and you literally knock them on the ground.”

“Because he was just trying to fuck me, Ophelia!” I yelled, tears forming in my eyes. And they didn’t stop. Ophelia stood stunned, regret flushing her face. “And he complimented me by insulting you and I didn’t want him on me anymore but he wasn’t taking no for an answer!” Ophelia tried to step towards me.

“Sophie, I am so, so sorry,” Ophelia said softly. I stepped away.

“No, forget it. Go have fun with your friends. Don’t worry about me,” I said and wiped the tears from my eyes.

“Sophie!”

“Don’t worry about me,” I said, and turned. And I ran. And ran. And ran. Leaving Ophelia far, far behind me.

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Au Revoir

It didn’t take long for everyone in school to hear about what happened at the party. Everyone knew I was a tight, prude bitch who shoved Kyle on the ground for trying to talk to me. And Ophelia didn’t even try to call. I didn’t bother going to the lunchroom anymore, and I didn’t bother having Ophelia pick me up in the mornings. I didn’t need to see her laughing and having a great time with her friends, now that Sophie was out of the picture.

That Friday, we had a pep rally. I shoved my cheer uniform haphazardly into my backpack, distant. Mom took notice.

“Can I give you a ride?” She asked. I knew she was worried, and I knew I should run into her arms and just tell her what happened. But I felt so much shame, so much dejection that I didn’t even want to.

“I’m fine,” I told her. “See you later.”

No one bothered to even talk to me in the locker room before the pep rally. The squad ran around and pulled each others’ bows tight. They zipped each other into their uniforms. I walked to the other side of the benches away from everyone and dropped my book bag down with a thud. Ophelia was quiet from the opposite side of the room. I pulled my shirt off over my head to put my uniform shirt on when everything hushed from the other side of the room. I heard giggling, and I tried my best to hold back the tears starting to well in my eyes.

“I can’t believe Sophie would even let herself pull her shirt off,” I heard one of the girls whisper.

“And I would’ve assumed she even showered in her clothes she’s so Virgin Mary,” Another one mocked back. The whole room erupted into laughter. Did they realize how stupid their insults sounded? I quickly pulled my shirt back on, unable to hold back my tears any longer. I grabbed my bag and left. I didn’t care where I was going. I didn’t care if I was going to get kicked off the team or suspended for leaving school early. I just needed to leave. I ran out the front doors and into the parking lot.

“Sophie!” I heard behind me. It was Ophelia.

“What could you possibly want?” I asked, but stopped.

“You, Sophie,” she said quietly. I turned around to her.

“Don’t you have a pep rally to go to?” I asked. I then realized she was only half dressed, her bag slung on her back. She was in her sparkly spanx and half top, bow hanging halfway out of her hair. I watched it all glint in the sun.

“I don’t want to be part of something like that, where everyone bullies other girls. Makes fun of my Sophie.” She told me. I realized there were tears in her grey eyes. “I just want my Sophie.”

“Why did you leave me alone that night? Why didn’t you call?” I broke, tears rolling down my face.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “I don’t know how to make it up to you. I don’t have an excuse.” We stood there, sniffling and crying in silence for a few moments. Then, Ophelia ripped her bow from her head.

“Si ça leur plaît pas, tu les emmerdes!” -- If they don’t like it, fuck ‘em! She yelled through her tears and threw her bow on the ground. “C’mon, Soph!” I ripped my bow from the side of my backpack and watched it glimmer for a moment.

“Tu les emmerdes!” I yelled too, and threw mine on the ground. Ophelia laughed.

“Tu les emmerdes!” She screamed and stomped on our bows. And there we stood on that Friday afternoon, her, barely dressed, screaming and grinding our cheer bows into the pavement until they were completely destroyed.

“Now let’s get out of here. Let’s go to your house,” Ophelia said. I didn’t argue. I only hopped into her passenger seat, and everything felt right in the world yet again, leaving our broken cheer bows as a memorial to our past lives. Au revoir.

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Le Punk Est Mort

Snow of the next year had melted into mid-spring by the time Ophelia had begun rotating around a different sun: John. He seemed nice enough. They shared most music tastes. He was older and a bit eclectic, tattooed. I suppose the general stereotypical older guy a seventeen year old would fawn over. John was nineteen and had a car.

Most weekends, he’d pick Ophelia and I up, and we’d drive into the city. I guess I didn’t mind being the third wheel and all. Ophelia always did her best to include me, and John liked my style. Still yet, I found myself with these pangs of something I couldn’t put my finger on. Not jealousy. Just this burning feeling that I was missing out on a fundamental something about being human. I wondered, what was it like for Ophelia when John would hold her? In the moments I’d watch them interact, I’d see Ophelia’s face light up like gentle, flickering candlelight. What was it like to have half of a heart?

One Friday, John picked us up, assuring us that this one would be good.

“Punk? Thought it was dead,” joked Ophelia.

“Well if it is, these guys are zombies. I swear, they’re the best around Montreal,” John assured. Ophelia looked back at me from her shotgun seat.

“You like any new wave punk?” Ophelia asked.

“Not that I can think of. The Ramones, maybe. Wait, I think they’ve split up...” I joked. John groaned.

“Buzzkills!” He had his flannel rolled up to his elbows, exposing a flash sheet or two worth of black and white tattoos. I wondered where he’d even have space if he had ever wanted another. I wondered how much money he must’ve poured into it.

Probably could’ve bought a better car, I thought.

We got there a little after sundown. The venue pulsed with a different type of energy, and I knew immediately I was out of place. I had no nose ring, no flash sheet tattoos, no ripped jeans. I stood there in a floral dress and purple tennis shoes. Ophelia had at least begun to integrate John’s wardrobe into her own -- the flannel she wore was his. I suddenly realized I was so, so, so out of my territory.

“Hey,” Ophelia said, poking my side. “It’s fine. You’re fine.” She must’ve noticed me shrink down in my vain attempt to disappear. Ophelia locked her arm around mine as John went off to find his friend. We were up against the wall, staring out at the space. Chairs and tables were pushed to make a dancing (moshing?) area. The stage stood a few feet off the ground. And everyone seemed to get the memo but me -- muted tones only, except for the red of some flannels. I looked like a small tulip in a garden full of nothing but dirt. “Who would’ve thought. Soph and O, attending Montreal’s finest punk show.”

“I’m considering jumping into the pit,” I joked. Ophelia grabbed at the bottom of my dress.

“Sounds like a fantastic idea. Especially around all of the combat boots,” she said, stepping on my tennis shoes.

“Careful! You’re going to scuff them!” Ophelia stuck her tongue out at me, until she noticed John coming back. John and his friend.

“Hey, this is…”

“Jodie,” she said, reaching her hand out. Ophelia grabbed it, and shook.

“Ophelia,” she said politely, observant. It’s what we all do unintentionally when we meet someone -- we size them up, dissect them, all in a matter of seconds. In a matter of those few seconds, I looked to the floor. Boots. Up, grey skinny jeans. Up… a hand. I suddenly remembered it was my turn.

“Sophie,” I said taking her hand, and looking up to her eyes. The moment Jodie touched my hand, I felt an electric current pulse through my body. And in meeting her eyes, I wondered if she felt it too. Was my jaw open? Was my hand sweaty? She had the most beautiful set of brown eyes I had ever seen, set against a sincere face. In an instant, I understood why all humankind was so obsessed with romance. It wasn’t a shitty romance flick -- it was real, tangible, standing in… front of me?

“Nice to meet you guys,” Jodie smirked, pulling her hand back to her side. I didn’t understand. Was that just me?

“Jodie’s been around the scene for a bit here in Montreal, she’s super cool,” John told us.

“Thanks for the hype, man,” Jodie said. She put her hands into her pocket, looking over at the band settling in, tuning their guitars.

“Ophelia and Soph here say punk’s dead,” John jested. Jodie fake gasped.

“Blasphemy!” I know something was on the tip of my tongue, some sharp-witted comment that always comes tumbling out. Sometimes it’s soft, only to Ophelia. But I couldn’t even find the way to get words to come out.

“We like punk plenty,” Ophelia said with a smile. “Just real punk.”

“Fine,” Jodie laughed. “To each their own.” I found myself staring at my shoes, unable to look back up. What if I accidentally caught the room on fire if I looked back into her eyes?

By the time the band had started playing, I hadn’t spoken another word. I’d managed to study everything else in the room, pretending like I was ever so interested in what wood the chairs were perhaps made of. Jodie’s presence was enough for me to lose my breath.

Ophelia and John were to the side of me, and on the other side of them was Jodie. I wondered, could they possibly be unaware? Did Jodie even notice a thing? I looked over to Ophelia and John, bobbing along to the music, Ophelia wrapped in John’s arms smiling. I suddenly burned to know what that felt like. I couldn’t take it any longer. I looked over to Jodie. She seemed focused on the stage, bobbing her body slightly along to the music. And then she noticed me, her eyes meeting mine again. Merde. But I couldn’t look away. She smiled at me.

What do I do? Smile back idiot. Weakly, I smiled at her too. She looked to the band for a second, looked over at John and Ophelia, and she headed towards me. Merde. Merde. Merde. Merde.

“Hey,” she said, barely audible over the drums. She leaned her body back against the wall, hands in her pockets.

“Hi,” I answered back, sticking my hands in my pockets too. Wait, I was wearing a dress. Where do hands go? How do legs work?

“Sophie, right?” She asked.

“Yeah.” Say something else, idiot! Jodie paused for a moment, and laughed.

“Vraiment belle,” -- Very beautiful. My face flushed hot, and I couldn’t help but smile. I looked back to my feet.

“Merci,” I said weakly. I could still feel her eyes on me, until she fell back against the wall, looking back at the band. I looked too. It looked as if someone took a few posters of Kurt Cobain and 3-D printed them into people.

“I’m going to get a beer,” Jodie said. “Do you want one?”

“Oh, I’m not eighteen. Well, not yet. In a month, almost. I just… I’m-”

“I’m sure it’s fine, Sophie,” Jodie said, catching me off guard. My name came out of her mouth?

“Oh, I,”

“Oh! I’m not trying to pressure you into anything, I just… if you want one, it’s no trouble, I don’t mind buying pretty ladies drinks,” she flirted. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

“Uh, yeah, then…” I said, forcing myself to look back up. Jodie was looking at me, eyebrow raised, mouth slightly parted. I realized it. She couldn’t quite size me up.

“Okay, I’ll be back then,” she told me after a slight pause. I watched her push up off the wall, smile back at me, and make her way through the crowd towards the bar, her small self disappearing quickly into the sea of people. I was locked in a trance of where she once stood. She had such a particular smell -- men’s cologne and… coffee? Until…

“Soph, will you come to the bathroom with me?” Asked Ophelia politely.

“Oh, but uh, I… Jodie,” I argued.

“Now?” Ophelia asked, but didn’t really ask. She dragged me by the arm to the bathroom and locked us in the privacy of the handicapped stall.

“What’s up with that?” She asked.

“What?”

“Oh come on, dork, you know. Jodie.” Even the sound of her name made my heart jump.

“Listen, I don’t know, I just… fireworks?”

“Oh. My. God. You like Jodie!”

“I never said that!”

“WHY DID YOU NOT TELL ME THIS?” She yelled.

“TELL YOU WHAT?” I yelled back.

“THAT YOU WERE GAY?” Ophelia continued. “This makes so much sense. You never wanted the other football players. You shrugged Kyle off. Never talking to me about crushes. You could’ve told me!”

“Ophelia, I didn’t even know until right now! Please Ophelia, pour l'amour du Christ, please do not make this weird.”

“I won’t, I pinky promise. Oh my god, oh my GOD, oh my GOD!” She was practically jumping up and down.

“Can I please?” I begged, pointing towards the door.

“Oh, right! Oh! Yeah, I don’t want to get in the way of that, oh my god. Okay, you go out first and then I’ll go and it’ll be inconspicuous,” she plotted.

“Right,” I said, nervous. “Wait, how do I look?” Ophelia looked at my face, and patted down my hair.

“Good to go,” she told me with a thumbs up. I took a deep breath, and walked out of the door, back into the pulsing music. Jodie was waiting on the wall next to John, two beers in hand. She smiled at me.

“Just when I thought you’d snuck out through the window,” she joked, handing me my respective bottle. Now, that was the exact moment where I could’ve flirted with her. Said something. Maybe, how could I, with such a pretty lady buying me a beer? But instead I just kicked at my damn feet again, and took a sip of my beer. It was bitter, but I swallowed it anyway.

“Thanks,” I told Jodie.

“Anytime,” She said with a smirk. Her head turned back to the band, bobbing along to the music again. I looked over to Ophelia, who winked at me. I couldn’t flip her off like I wanted to without being too obvious, so I just turned around again to watch Jodie enjoy the band. It’s like no one was watching at all. She was so comfortable that everything to her faded away but the music. And I thought,

Hey, maybe I could learn to like Kurt and the Cobains.

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OSHEGA

I saw Jodie occasionally on the weekends, when John would bring us around to certain places. Coffee house days, where she’d poke fun at me for not ordering real coffee, her hair gelled back behind her ears, easygoing smile turning the tone of any room from loud to soft -- and to me, it seemed like the Earth might’ve stopped spinning. More shows where she’d ritualistically buy me a beer.

“Hey, soon, maybe you could buy one for me,” Jodie joked.

“Hey, maybe.”

But I couldn’t unwrap her. I couldn’t figure it out. Ophelia had confirmed that Jodie hadn’t talked to him about me, and she made him promise he wouldn’t talk to her about me.

“This is so stupid, Ophelia. Why would Jodie come to me anyway, squealing about a crush? It’s high school bullshit,” John told her.

We’re in high school, dumbass, I thought to myself. I noticed in the months leading up, John’s seemingly slow disapproval of Ophelia. She’d quietly resign. Anger would bubble in my throat, but I never wanted to spit that acid out and accidentally hurt Ophelia. So I let it be. He came around on weekends. He introduced me to Jodie. Ophelia loved him. Whatever.

“John got us tickets to Oshega!” Ophelia announced to me one Thursday in lunch. Ever since last year, we’d been eating at a table in the very corner of the lunchroom, alone. But we didn’t mind.

“Like, Oshega, Oshega?”

“No, fake Oshega. Yes, Oshega, dork!” She said, flicking me. “And guess who’s coming?” My stomach dropped. Jodie.

“God, what do I wear to something like this?” I pondered out loud when the day finally rolled around. School was finally out for good. We both graduated, pinky promising ourselves to take a gap year before a Uni. But we both knew that Ophelia probably never planned on going. She was already busy making plans to move in with John. I kept my mouth shut.

“Maybe a floral dress and tennis shoes,” Ophelia jested.

“Ha.” I turned around to rummage through my shoes.

“Seriously though, you can raid my closet or something. Wouldn’t want people up your skirt while you crowd surfed. Oh! Unless maybe, Jodie would be there?” I grabbed a flat from my shoe pile and threw it back at Ophelia. “Hey! I’m just trying to be a good friend.”

“Thanks,” I said, going back to look through my shoes.

Ophelia rode shotgun on the way to Parc Jean-Drapeu, meaning Jodie was about one to two minutes away from being in the backseat with me, meaning the butterflies in my stomach wouldn’t stop erupting.

“I wish we got the pass for Saturday, I would kill to see Arctic Monkeys,” Ophelia said, turning around to me.

“How grateful,” John deadpanned. Ophelia rolled her eyes to me and turned back to look out the passenger side window. We were rolling by trees on the outskirts on Montreal, sun peaking through the leaves and houses, warming John’s car. “We’re here.” John stopped his car in front of a double block with a hammock hanging on the front porch. Jodie waved from it and hopped down. I held my breath. I knew Jodie did flirt with me. But how did I know if she was flirting, or if she was serious? She never asked for my number. She never asked to see me. I surmised that she simply flirted with everyone, and left it at that. Yet still, the way she knocked me speechless with her presence never ceased.

“Hi!” Jodie said, hopping into John’s back seat.

“Hey!” Ophelia greeted back. Jodie looked over to me.

“What’s up?” I near-mumbled. Am I stupid?

“Not much, Soph. Going to see some music. You?”

“Me too, I guess,” I told her. Okay, I am stupid.

“What a coincidence!” She joked. I smiled at her. No use in risking another idiotic comment. Instead, I turned towards the window and watched the blur of houses go by. Rows and rows of people’s lives, tucked away inside of little houses. I couldn’t help but wonder. What did the inside of Jodie’s look like?

The line for the bathroom was longer than any line I’ve possibly ever witnessed, and God, did I have to pee. The sun had begun to set on the park, and the tiredness of all the girls in line drenched in glitter was palpable. I figured they must have to save the best bands for last because everyone would just get tired and go home after they saw the best act. I thought that was kind of a sham.

“I just… wish he wouldn’t get that drunk,” Ophelia said, biting her nail. Her eyes were somewhere else, fixated in the distance. We’d left John in Jodie’s care, hardly able to stand. As far as I knew, there were two types of drunks: happy, and angry. And Ophelia’s worry when she would see John open his first beer spoke volumes. My face flushed with anger to think Jodie was there, probably enduring his verbal assaults and trying to be a good enough friend to keep him from passing out in a park packed with thousands of festival-goers.

“Ophelia, why even stay with this guy?” I finally spat. I couldn’t stand the effect he was having on the people I adored: Ophelia was bad enough, but now Jodie, too? I watched her face, reflected in the near-dark by the floodlights above the bathrooms. Her forehead furrowed a bit, and she lowered her hand away from her mouth. I watched as she played with her hands.

“He’s really not a bad guy, Sophie, it’s just when he gets some alcohol in him.”

“Yeah, so, every weekend,” I snapped. Ophelia crossed her arms, and her eyes regained the thousand yard stare. I immediately regretted what I said. Ophelia opened up to me, and I shut her down without compassion. I started to worry, What if she never came to me about it again?

Ophelia immediately picked John up from Jodie when we had gotten back to our seats. He could hardly stand, and he wasn’t very apologetic about it. Jodie moved over to the side of me.

“I’m getting sick of this shit, Soph,” she told me.

“Been there.” My eyes were fixed on the stage. The bright colored lights flashed around an empty stage, the promise of an artist returning to it soon, bringing back the life. But in that moment, it was quiet. No guitars, no bass, no singer.

“I never hung around him as much as I do now, and now I know why I kept my distance,” she said, eyes forward too.

“Then why even bother now?” I asked. Jodie looked at me for a second and laughed.

“Sophie, you’re so…” she shook her head and laughed. “You.” My heart dropped for a moment, and I felt my mouth gape. My mind went blank on anything I could say, and then, all at once, it said everything it could think of.

“Jodie, I thought you were just flirting with me because… you flirted with everyone and… you... I didn’t… You never asked for my number?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure you weren’t straight, I guess.”

“I guess... I didn’t know either until I met you.” I smiled a bit, eyes still to the front of the stage. But I felt Jodie’s focused on me.

“Hey, I’ll take it as a compliment. I can turn ‘em gay after all.” She said. For a moment, she still stared at me. My heart beat so fast I could hardly contain it. Then, she leaned over and put her head on shoulder. I wanted to pinch myself. “So… about that number?”

“You can have it,” I said, smiling. We both stood there, watching the stage, finally, finally touching.

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OSHEGA II

“Ophelia, he did what?” Jodie asked. The past few sets, Jodie and I stood close to each other. I was afraid to move, afraid if I breathed too hard that maybe she wouldn’t hold my hand anymore. But now Ophelia had tears running down her face, mascara a mess of black. People rushed around us. Some looked. But in a strange turn of events, Ophelia was now the only person I saw. The only thing I cared about. “Where is he?”

“Please don’t, Jodie, I…”

“Where is he?” She demanded.

“He was by his car in the parking lot, and I… he didn’t mean it. He was drunk, I…” Ophelia had led John to the car about twenty minutes earlier. He wanted to get his cigarettes.

“He knew what he was doing.” Jodie’s face was stern. Her brows furrowed and she bit the inside of her cheeks.

“Please,” Ophelia said weakly. But Jodie set off, her tiny five-something self pushing and parting through the crowd, on a mission. Ophelia fell into me, wracked with sobs. I held her in my arms, petting her hair softly. I remembered the night Eddie had hit Ophelia and she spent the night in my room. Ophelia’s usual confident self had been beaten down until I was able to hold her in my arms, vulnerable and seemingly as fragile as a China doll. I couldn’t feel anger holding her seemingly broken body in the middle of a crowd. I could only feel my heart breaking for her. She loved John. But I was grateful for Jodie. I knew she wasn’t going to take his shit. I knew that I should’ve spoken up a long time ago. And I knew we had to drag Ophelia out. I knew she wasn’t stupid. I knew she knew.

It seemed like an eternity until Jodie returned.

“Let’s go,” she said quickly, flexing her hand in and out. None of ask asked what happened. We just waited outside the gates for an Uber to pick us up, the humid night air choking all of us into silence. I noticed Jodie’s hand. Her knuckles were bleeding, hand swollen. I felt guilty, but I felt a sense of pride knowing there was one less person to ever rip the wings of mon beau papillon ever again.

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LUCIOLES

Late August rolled around. John never called Ophelia back after that night. He mailed her back her things. Most days now, Ophelia worked in a niche little greenhouse. My mom had yet to force to to get a job, knowing I would be enrolling in university soon. Ophelia seemed so content around the bugs and the plants that she started to rethink her plans for university. I couldn’t say I was surprised.

That night, Ophelia had off. It was just Soph and Ophelia, the dynamic duo back together once again just as they should be -- a duo. I asked her where we were going, but she insisted it was a secret. And then we pulled up to our old school parking lot, right where we’d left our cheer bows crushed to dust years prior. And she pulled out a bottle of cheap liquor.

“How about a little reminiscing?” She asked. We sat on the bench near the school. The air was humid. I guess she’d found a liking in her new look, because she didn’t give up on the flannels and the eyeliner. The early night was still warm, the chill yet to set in. We settled in on a bench, and Ophelia handed me the bottle. “John hasn’t called,” she told me. Her eyes were far away.

“That’s a good thing,” I said softly, not wanting to scare her away from opening up ever again.

“Yeah. I,” she stopped. I took a swig from the bottle and handed it to her. “To think we would’ve ended up here,” she said, taking a swig too. She stared at the bottle in her hand.

“You know, when you said we’d be reminiscing, I didn’t think we’d be reminiscing the past month,” I said gently.

“You’re right,” she said, shaking her head -- snapping herself out of it. “To think we would’ve ended up here.” She handed me the bottle back. In front of us, lighting up the grass and the sky above it, were little flickers of phosphorescent insects, trying their best to find their mate.

Funny. We’re not so different from fireflies after all, I thought.

“Let’s talk about good things. How are you and Jodie?” She asked, with a slight smile. I smiled back at the name. We texted and called each other constantly. But I was still so utterly confused by her -- nothing had been so direct since before she’d gone off to find John. I hadn’t even seen here since.

“Let’s talk about things that aren’t partners, for once. You know, like we used to. Like,” I motioned to the fireflies with my hand. I was starting to feel a buzz in my head already. Jodie. I should text her. No, no, wait. “Like, bugs.” At that, Ophelia smiled. I took a drink out of the bottle and winced. Passed it back.

“Yeah, they’re little miracles, huh?” She asked.

“Aren’t we all.”

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JE PROMETS

“I promise this is different,” Ophelia pleaded.

“O, you shouldn’t have to even be promising anyone anything,” Jodie protested. She was was on my side of the booth, looking down Ophelia.

“I’m just worried,” I told her.

“She can make her own choices,” Jodie said. Ophelia bit a fry and looked out the window. “I know you’re nervous, but you know the red flags now,” Jodie assured. Ophelia nodded, but her eyes were still out the window. I watched Jodie’s face soften. “And besides, I’m willing to knock someone out again.” Ophelia laughed and looked back at us. I hoped that seeing how happy I was wasn’t another slap in the face against her past months.

“Ace is really nice. It’s like… I went and tried to find the opposite,” she said and smiled. I smiled back. I hope she was right.

I’d been spending many nights in the heat of my room, fan blowing as much cool air as it could while I glued my eyes to my phone. My heart skipped beats each time I saw Jodie’s name light it up. Smiled like an idiot each time she flirted with me. And I couldn’t believe it. It was happening to me? I was so thrilled when she had invited me out to eat. But then only slightly let down when she invited Ophelia too. But hey, I thought I would’ve too. I was nervous enough as is.

“As long as you’re actually happy,” I told her. I looked over at Jodie. Her eyes were trained on Ophelia, analyzing her. Worried too. I felt a sense of pride in knowing that Jodie was someone who cared about other people.

“I am,” Ophelia said, turning her grey eyes to meet mine. Maybe she was worried that I was worried about her.

“You make your own decisions. You just… you know I worry about you,” I told her. She looked to the table. “But I trust your judgement, like you should trust yours.” Ophelia smiled at that, taking another bite of a fry. Jodie looked over to me, and for a second, I could’ve sworn that for a moment, I could see a bit of pride in hers too. I smiled a bit at her. She smiled back.

“So,” Jodie said, still looking at me, then focusing herself back on Ophelia. “When do we get to meet this ‘Ace’?”

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CHALEUR

I had no idea what I was thinking. I was on the phone with Jodie like I had been the past few weeks since Oshega. I felt like we were always on the tip of saying something, we were together on a kayak caught on a rock before a waterfall, unsure what would happen if we took the leap downstream.

“So, you haven’t had any girlfriends before?” Jodie asked me over the phone one night.

“Nope. Not even a boyfriend. You?”

“Nothing too serious, nothing really worth anything,” she told me. My heartbeat was racing. I needed to say something. Anything. But there was only dead air.

“You know Sophie, I want to see you again,” Jodie said.

“What if we had a sleepover?” I asked without thinking. A sleepover? Was I seven years old? The air was dead. Oh god, oh god… “Like, you know, a girls’ night. You, me, Ophelia. Like, face masks, the nine yards.” Jodie laughed on the other end.

“I’m there,” she assured.

And then the day of, Ophelia called me to say she was running a few hours late. Someone didn’t show up for the afternoon shift and, someone had to water the Elephant’s Ear. Whatever that meant. I paced my room from the moment Jodie had sent the message saying she was on her way, until the moment she texted me she thought she was there. I stepped outside, barefoot, and Jodie was in her car, parked across the alley. I waved. She waved back.

“Made it,” She told me, stepping out of the driver’s side.

“Good, I don’t think I learned enough about sewing to put you back together.”

“Yeah,” She laughed. I had made my way to her car. She leaned on it, her hands in her back pockets. For a moment, there was a pause. She stared at me. Something told me that there was a magnet in her chest, and I was holding the opposite pole in my hand. “Care to share me where to put this?” She finally asked, pointing to the back seat. She had a backpack in it.

“Oh of course. Right this way, miss,” I told her. It was easier to be so much more bold on the phone when she wasn’t standing right next to me.

I led her to my room, leaving the door open behind me. She closed it behind her. Wait, she closed it? The late summer heat was suddenly very, very obvious to me. Everything was obvious, actually. The soft hum of the refrigerator running from the kitchen was deafeningly loud. The birds singing outside became the loudest song I’ve ever heard. The sweat on my skin was cold. She looked around, up and down, taking in the surroundings new to her. I could only imagine what this place looks like to someone who hasn’t been here -- someone not me or Ophelia, who’ve spent most of their life lying around on my bed or doing their hair in the mirror on the floor.

“Wasn’t Ophelia supposed to be here?” Jodie smirked.

“Oh, she’s… late,” I choked, realizing suddenly that it definitely seemed like I used Ophelia as the ploy to get Jodie here. And then I realized it seems like she didn’t care.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to wait to sit in a circle and braid each other’s hair,” she joked. I laughed a little bit. Oh god, do something.

“I mean, we could wait in the back for her. I have this pretty nice back porch.” Pretty nice porch? Who says that?

“Wouldn’t want to miss out on that,” she told me.

“Right this way,” I said, going to open the door right as she did. Her hand was right below mine. It was the first time we’d touched since Oshega. It was soft. Her hand was soft. Was her arm soft? I wanted to keep going, running my hand up her--

“Soph, gonna let me open the door?” She joked, staring at me smugly.

“Oh! Sorry,” I said. This was so stupid, so obvious, but it felt so… like the moment you broke your mom’s lamp and knew you had to tell her, so you walked up behind her, too afraid to speak. So you wait and wait in the moment before the words have to fall out. You might even try to count them down, maybe the consequences of the consonants and vowels would hurt less if you ripped the bandaid off. But you stand there, counting, and counting, and counting…

“You’re right. This is a spectacular back porch,” Jodie said, sitting down on the steps. I sat next to her.

“Top of the line,” I said. The birds sang their same song. The sounds of cars raced by. Jodie sat there, smiling. Smiling?

“Sophie,” she said. She paused for a moment. “I think… I think I like you.” Boom. Atom bomb. Mushroom cloud. Can’t pack all the radiation back into the nucleus now.

“You think?” I asked.

“Okay. I know,” She said, smiling. I smiled back, looking to my feet. It’s nothing I didn’t feel. But there’s something about humans needing a conformation, a double check before they let go… “Please say something back.”

“Well Jodie, I just don’t see girls like that,” I joked. She bumped me with her hip.

“Shut up!”

“I like you too.” And just like that, it fell out. Like it always does. Like that admission of guilt to your mom does. Like that splash of cold water when you finally jump into the pool. “But you knew that.” I was staring out, not even looking at her, smiling.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” I repeated. And for a moment, everything was quiet. The birds’ songs were completely impossible to hear under the pulse of my heartbeat in my ears, an unexplainable ringing. And then, Jodie moved closer to me, body slightly stiff. Unsure what was okay. I put my arm on her leg, and I realized she was wearing the same jeans she was on the night I met her. Could it have been that long? Boots. Up. Skinny jeans. Up. Up. Up. Her eyes were on my face. I met hers. They were shimmering brown in the sunlight, and I realized there was a sunflower of yellow around her pupils. Her face was focused. Her eyes were on mine. There’s a moment in looking into someone’s eyes that you can’t come from back from. There’s a second difference in which you can pull away -- trick the other person into thinking they might’ve made it up. But when there’s a magnetic pull you both can’t turn away from, hearts syncopating, that you both realize you’ve been looking for far too long for anything else to be true.

“Jo-” I started, only to be cut off by her pushing me back against the railing of the porch, heat rushing to my face. Her lips met mine, her hands racing against me like they needed to, like they’ve been holding back for months. And they have.

“Love this,” I said, nearly breathless, “but I really think maybe we could go…”

“Back inside,” She said, not breaking the intense eye contact with me. Not sparing a joke at my expense like I’ve been used to.

“Yeah,” I said. We stopped for a moment, and I thought perhaps I could get lost there. The perpetual moment in which I knew for a fact, someone felt something so strongly, something so undeniably, the same way I did. But my phone started ringing in my pocket. I wondered if I should just click it shut, quiet it. Then I remembered at the same time as Jodie. I saw it in her eyes too. Shit. Ophelia. But I wasn’t lost, wasn’t grasping onto a moment in time that already passed. Because I knew Jodie felt the same way. I knew that Jodie liked me. I knew that this wasn’t the last kiss, the last… it was the first. The first everything,

“Hey,” I said, smirking at Jodie. She smirked back. “Oh, you’re outside? I’m coming right now.”

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BAPTEME

I finally figured out what the inside of Jodie’s half-double looked like. It was full of plants, full of funny rocks, rich with the scent of coffee. I understood Ophelia when she had taken John’s closet as I opened Jodie’s, wanting to wrap myself in every single item she owned. Fitting myself into her combat boots, thinking maybe my ankles could start using more support. I spent days into blissful nights next to her as the hot summer turned into early fall, as we curled into each other’s naked skin for warmth. Wondering what the next year meant for us, but ultimately lost in moments with Jodie, unbelievable moments I never imagined having. Where she’d invited me into her shower, as she let the warm water run over me and she’d shampoo my hair until I could almost fall asleep right there in her arms. Watching her do her hair next to me in the mirror, while I plaited mine. Even such simple things, like drying her dishes as she washed. Menial tasks became new with Jodie. When the last of the warm days rolled around in early October, I curled into Jodie’s chest underneath her comforter anyway. We sweated, and it intermingled. But it didn’t feel gross -- I didn’t want to shower. I felt new. I felt clean. I felt baptismal.

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VOUS VOUNDREZ BIEN M'EXCUSER

I’d been staring at the screen of my phone with Ophelia’s message -- we’ll be right there. She’d found solace, arms to cradle her broken heart, while I had… I had nothing. But yet, I felt her warm presence behind me, those words on the screen comforting as if she’d whispered them to me, wiping my tears away.

It was only a few minutes prior that I had my thumb hovering over the call button, racked with the most incomprehensible sobs.

Never, we’d pinky promised so many years ago, we will fall apart over someone else. Oh, the naivety! The ridiculous idea that we’d be in control once love stepped into the car. No, we were not driving. We were merely passengers. I knew Ophelia was with Ace that night. I knew they were off through the mountains and I knew Ophelia had most certainly been downing some amber liquid through a flask, maybe shaking down her plait as the wind blew through the open top of Ace’s car? I didn’t want to ruin her fun, so maybe that’s why it took me so long to press down on the green that would dial her. But I did. And she picked up right away.

“Soph?” Behind her voice was concern.

“Pl-,” I managed to choke out.

“Soph, what’s wrong?” I heard her whisper to Ace. “Ace, turn that down.”

“Jodie and I got in a fight, please pick me up,” I asked. Jodie had drove off from my house that night. I couldn’t imagine any path in our woods diverging this way. I couldn’t imagine a place where Jodie and Sophie could be anything but perfectly imperfect and understanding. Baptême -- baptismal.

“I’ll be right there,” Ophelia told me.

“Hey,” I said to Ace and Ophelia as I hopped in the back of Ace’s Jeep. Ophelia immediately hopped in the back with me, laying my head in her lap.

“I know you don’t know much about this, but I know you and Jodie are two good people, and I know that when two people spend a lot of time together, fights are normal,” she cooed, petting my hair as I sobbed.

“You didn’t see the way she drove away,” I told her.

“And I know she’ll drive back with a sorry. That’s what you want, yeah?” Ophelia asked me. I found it funny that things were so different. Usually I was the one comforting Ophelia. But now she was wiser -- the stronger Oak tree being the one who understood how to withstand a storm.

“It’ll be okay,” Ace affirmed from the front seat. I wondered if Ace was someone Ophelia saw as a possible forever, or just a Jeep in the long line of guys ready to take his place. The whole world knew there was a long line just waiting to pick up a person like Ophelia. I think I was just grateful someone understood how special she was.

“Thanks guys,” I said, sniffling. Ophelia ran her hands through the length of my hair, and I looked up to meet her eyes. I could see she wasn’t used to this Sophie -- the needy Sophie. The one who was a broken china doll to hold.

“This girl needs chicken nuggets. Ace, got your debit card?” She asked.

“On it,” Ace said with a smile.

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TATOUAGE

“I’m just saying we could,” Ophelia said, taking her first sip of her seasonal latte.

“I’m just saying it’s crazy,” I said, taking my own first sip. “But you know what? You’re paying.”

“You’re damn right,” she grinned.

Less than an hour later, I was sitting in a tattoo chair, Getting a peace sign permanently etched into my hip. Why? God, I didn’t know.

“Why this?” The artist asked as he pressed the needle into me.

“It’s a religion,” Ophelia fibbed. “We both believe in throwing up peace signs, but really meaning it.” It made no sense, and I loved her for it. I wondered what Jodie was going to think. She had come back. She said I’m sorry. We cried. I started to understand part of the human experience -- not perfection. Not sparks and butterflies. Sharing half a heart with another person. Bad. Good.

“I don’t know how you straight faced this, Soph,” Ophelia winced when it was her turn.

“Guess I’m just a complete badass,” I joked.

“We knew that much,” She winked.

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JE LA CONNAIS RELATIVAMENT PEU.

“Anywhere at all?” I asked, a hint of sarcasm on my voice.

“Oh, anywhere,” Ophelia told me at the wheel, reaching the part in the road. God, how I wished I could’ve gone back and told her anywhere else.

“Left,” I affirmed. She cut the wheel down a back road. On the radio, something played. God if I remembered that much of it now. God, if only I could recall every single one of Ophelia’s facial expressions in that darkness.

But I do remember sitting up straighter, suddenly aware of the sharp turns and the darkness become darker as we twisted into the countryside. I wish I could’ve told Ophelia to slow down. To turn back. To stop. To say,

Hey babe, let’s go get food instead. But we were on a ride. We decided on a night of Soph and Ophelia. We were ready for a night of the dynamic duo. The two kids against the world: two kids against the Eddies of the world. The two kids against the Chloes. The two kids against…

Did you know the radio doesn’t stop? The car does. The metal crumbles like nothing, right into the guard rail. It crumbles a car right in half, but the radio doesn’t stop. I had my phone plugged into the car.

“Oh, I could feel the world was turning, all inside my mind,” Maggie Rogers sang from the speakers. The speakers that were somehow intact. My right arm was in intense pain. But I was able to get unbuckle myself.

“Ophelia? Ophelia?” I asked. But the body in the driver’s seat said nothing back. It was so still. It was bleeding, but it was so still. “Ophelia? OPHELIA!” I knew what people did on the TV when this happened. They unbuckled their crumpled selves from the side, and pulled the body from the driver’s side. They pulled them onto the road and revived them. Or they had a few last words and an untimely death. But Ophelia hadn’t said one last thing to me before a deer hopped in front of us. She had only been singing.

Oh, maybe there’s a past life coming outside of me. Maybe it’s the song I’m singin-

And everything that was so fragile was so much more. It wasn’t fragile. It was useless. As useless as my screaming was from the passenger side. As useless as the spot in the sky we saw as a star. It was dead already by the time the light had reached our atmosphere. And vice versa. But I screamed. I screamed for help that was hours from coming, stuck next to someone who wasn’t anyone anymore. Someone who was just breathing, but wouldn’t anymore. Stuck. Stuck. Stuck. Stuck with the singular thought.

It’s the world against Ophelia and Sophie.

And another.

How could the world be anything without?

But it was so, so suddenly apparent it would have to. It became apparent how much I wish I could've given her -- how much more life my beautiful Ophelia had left to see. And it became more harsh with every new siren that appeared. Fire. Police. Ambulance that hauled her and her blonde hair away from me, the blonde hair that had been the only constant thing in my entirety. The people who pried me out screaming for Ophelia. The people who had to tie me down to a stretcher. It became very, completely obvious that someone had done something incredibly cruel. God, the universe, what have it. Something. Something had ripped mon papillon’s wings. Forever. She would never fly. Never fly again.

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C’EST DÉFINITIVEMENT FINI

I didn’t remember the next few weeks well. I remember Jodie and Ace by my side like glue, which believe me, I was eternally grateful for, But if hadn't changed the past the way I wish it could've. I remember Ophelia’s mom’s car and the smell of cigarettes becoming more and more apparent on quite rides to her stone. I couldn’t even imagine her body down there, six feet under, laid peacefully to rest. Nothing else really mattered. I remember… I remember the absence of something so vital to me as my own heart. I remember half a whole missing. But most of all, I remember the untimeliness of it all.

They said at the funeral that God takes people when he needs them. I didn’t understand why he needed Ophelia much more than I did. Maybe to tend to his garden. Selfish, I supposed. But wouldn’t any almighty being want someone like Ophelia by their side? Maybe if I were Him, I would need someone like Ophelia too.

I could only imagine Him and Ophelia on a lunch break. She would be eating a nectarine, and realize something important about humanity -- the humanity she never was able to lose; the empathy and compassion, a part of her never failed to contain. She would look over at God, an almighty being, incapable of hunger. She would look over at him, nectarine in hand, and look him right in the eyes, and in her nature, offer him the fruit, and ask,

Pour vous, encore?

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In Loving Memory

MONTREAL GAZETTE
Apr 22, 2019
1 min read

Updated: May 4, 2019

Ophelia Tremblay

August 3rd, 2000 - April 13th, 2018

Ophelia L. Tremblay, aged 18, passed away last Saturday after a fatal car accident. Born to Margaret Tremblay in Montreal, Quebec. Upon graduation, Ophelia planned to take a gap year before attending university. Ophelia planned to continue her studies in art at university.

A beloved friend and daughter, Ophelia brought a smile to everyone she met. She is preceded in death by her father, Jean Tremblay. You could find Ophelia most often spending time with friends, singing, or painting. Ophelia was a bright, shining light who touched everyone in her life. In her passing, we believe the sky is missing a star.

Visitation to be held on Saturday, April 19th between 3 and 7 PM at Blythe Bernier Funeral Home, Montreal. In lieu of flowers, donations in Ophelia's memory to the

Montreal LGBTQ+ Community Centre are suggested.

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