shorthand

"I can't find the damn safety pin."

Maria knew that she should have brought more pins to college. She used them for everything--decorating her room, holding necklaces on her wall, securing awkward necklines on some of her favorite blouses. One blouse that was especially tricky was her transparent blue shift of a shirt. She had bought it in Europe, and she wore it once to the gardens of a yellow castle in Germany, as well as to a regal-sounding place by the name of Falkenlust. She'd only worn it a handful of times since then, but it always reminded her of dancing in the gardens and amid the trees on the way to Falkenlust. If she grew bored, she would play with the shirt's bow, smiling at the shirt's sparrow print. She often wore it with just a bra, despite its transparency, which made her feel foolish only sometimes. Mostly, she just felt free.

She needed a safety pin today for much the same reason. She had a cardigan she wanted to wear to a dance, but the neckline was a little too risque for her liking. Her friends laughed at her. It's a dance, Maria, they said. We're going to a club, they said. But Maria felt no shame at wearing cardigans to bars, clubs, or dances. It wasn't as if she were uncomfortable with herself--obviously if that were the case, she wouldn't be walking around with transparent shirts. Her friends simply couldn't appreciate the idea of fine fashion.

Maria spent much of her time collecting small items from antique shops. She had boxes of pins on her dresser, each with dozens of decorated trinkets from across antique shops across the world. She hadn't left home without a pin in over five years. Her friends laughed at her for that too. They just didn't understand.
The floor of her closet was dark, and she couldn't bring herself to turn the light on, even as she crawled on the ground to search. She thought of stormy ocean waves illuminated by floodlights whenever she turned on a light, and she was in too awful a mood to think of an ocean storm tonight.

When she was eight, Maria had visited the ocean with her mother. They lived in a small house inland, so the trip was a momentous occasion for her and approached with much anticipation. But the drive was longer than expected, and they arrived late at the shore. A storm had started twenty minutes before their arrival, and the car had shook with the force of the windshield wipers and the rain. As they were crossing a bridge, a flash of lightening cut the sky, and Maria could feel it like the slash of the night. She screamed until her mother slapped her across the face. You need to be quiet, Maria, or I'll lose focus and we'll plunge off the bridge. They were crossing the bay, and the bridge towered over the choppy bay. Before them, sky met ocean in one heaving mass of grey and black. Maria didn't know where the ocean waves ended, and she whimpered. Isn't this beautiful, Maria? Her mother whispered, repeating her question faster and faster as the car approached the shore. They could scarcely see out the windows now, the rain was coming down too hard, and Maria began to believe that they had driven into the ocean. Any second now, water would drip through the cracks in the door, the windows would hake with pressure, and then car would collapse on itself, water streaming inward with a rush of broken glass and twisted metal. Her mother stopped the car before any explosion, but she pushed open the door to the screech of an unearthly howl. She stumbled out of the car, scarcely able to move for the all wind, and clawed her way over to Maria's side so she could rip her door open as well. A rushing wind tunnel sped through the car, and Maria grabbed frantically for a handhold while her mother pulled her from her seat into the wind and the rain. Her mother was already soaked, her long white dress transparent with the rain. Maria tried to look away, to find anything, anything of comfort, but her mother pulled her close, spreading both their hands into the sky. Look, Maria, look! she screamed. Isn't it beautiful? Isn't it gorgeous? But Maria couldn't distinguish her mother's voice from the wind. She began to sob, but she couldn't tell her tears from the rain. Everything shook, and she collapsed to the ground.
On her hands and knees on the hard carpet, a sharp pain suddenly came to Maria's finger. She pulled the safety pin from the floor, a button of blood already blossoming on her finger. See, Maria told her friends. I didn't need the light.