There are moments in life, Ursula thinks, where she forgets her glasses are supposed to make the world clearer. Sometimes it’s better to see the world in soft focus, fuzzy around the edges and slightly more beautiful for it. Like on days when the rain is hitting the window panes like tiny bullets and the grey Auckland sky seems that bit too low, too close for comfort. When she has to look at a screen rather than a face, when all she has is herself, her thoughts and the truth.
Her whole vision is shuddering like a shaky camera and the thought should make her laugh but it doesn’t, because how can she laugh when she’s just realised she’s in love and she can’t say anything because the girl in question doesn’t feel the same. That’s not how it’s supposed to go, that’s a movie plot not her life.
The house is dark and the skies are still grey and she would rage at the pathetic fallacy if the cliche didn’t make her feel so sick.
In the background the doorbell rings. She ignores it, unwilling to let go of the slight surrealism of the moment, the ability to pretend that none of this is really happening. It’s an ongoing issue, when the panic gets too much, one that’s usually solved by the crystal focus of the camera lens. But she doesn’t want to film this moment, and can’t quite convince herself she wants to be anchored. Perhaps she’ll just drift away.
Poetic as the thought may be, she knows that she’ll carry on. ’ This too shall pass’ has been her mantra since she was 11 and her new glasses meant she was suddenly the subject of every unoriginal bully in the vicinity, since her dad left with a half hearted apology and a new ring on his finger. She’s just allowing herself a few moments of teenage melodrama first.
The silence registers as her inner monologue quietens, and then swiftly breaks, as though on cue. The window is painstakingly screeching up its holdings, pushed from the outside with no handles to ease the climb. It’s a sound from a horror movie, and Ursula would be frightened if not for the tiny blonde figure who’s pushing the frame.
That’s just her personal nightmare.
She makes no move to help, can’t bring herself to. She removes her glasses and wipes the spotted frames instead, hoping it’ll provide some clarity. By the time she looks up, the other girl has tumbled over the ledge and is standing nervously in the centre of the room.
“You left before I could say anything” Hero whispers, afraid to break the stillness that has filled the room.
Ursula shrugs, turning away. “ The answer was obvious.”
There’s a rustling behind her before Hero appears again. She looks pained, and Ursula can feel her heart crumpling inside her chest, because this is what she had wanted to avoid, what she couldn’t help but do, even now, even when she was breaking in two. Protect Hero Duke.
“It wasn’t to me” Hero murmurs, and Ursula has to drop her gaze because what is she supposed to do with that. Where can she go from here?
Then there’s warmth down her front and blonde hair swinging in her face and soft, oh so soft lips resting on hers. A brush of a nose along her cheek, a whisper of a hand along her neck, and a breath shared in the space between.
She doesn’t understand, and the world is fuzzy and blurred and cold, as Hero pulls back. The blonde takes her hand, twists their fingers together; pink nails interspersed with mint.
“I love you too” she says, and the whole world refocuses, and Ursula can see