Kitchen Floors and Open Doors: L'Amour et le Crane
by Demeter

chapter three

The last day at the lake was always bittersweet for Joan. After a month without T.V. or a laundry machine (not that she did laundry) and in close proximity to her family, she was always ready to go home. Still, summers at the lake were some of the best times of her life.

This summer had been particularly blissful. Somewhat reluctantly, her parents had allowed Grace and Adam to spend the last week with the family. After two days of perfect behavior, their parents had relaxed their hawk eyed suspicion and let the teens do their own thing.

Tonight, they were enjoying their last night of vacation in front of a campfire on the beach. Joan leaned back against Adam and sighed in contentment as he absently stroked her hair. Her relationship with Adam had always tended to be the center of whatever drama there was in her life. Lately however, barring an awkward few days the first time they "went to third," he had become a very stable presence in her life. That combined with the conspicuous absence of her omnipresent friend conspired to make her feel like the universe was giving her a break. In retrospect, she should have supposed that it was inly the calm before the storm.

Her mind turned, as it often did, to the last time she and Adam had found some "alone time." She tingled in a very comfortable way, a blush staining her cheeks.

"What are you thinking of Jane?" asked Adam softly, his breath caressing the back of her neck.

She shivered even though the fire was hot against her legs. She pulled his head down so she could whisper in his ear and told him with a mischievous grin.

Adam blushed and ducked his head, glancing nervously towards Joan's brother. He needn't have worried. Grace and Luke were fast asleep, a tangle of arms and legs on their blanket.

Adam bit his lip for a moment then scooted back. "Come on Jane, I want to show you something."

Unquestioningly, she rose and followed him as he picc\ked up their blanket and his sketch book and headed into the woods by the lake.

The summer night was cool after the heat of the fire. Joan walked close to Adam, moving in time with him as he put an arm around her shoulders. They reached the boulder that Joan had whimsically named "magic rock" when she was young for the way it glittered in the moonlight. They turned left and shortly came into a clearing that Joan had never seen before. In the middle of the clearing stood an ash sapling, bathed in moonlight and glowing ethereal white.

It was beautiful in a way she never would have appreciated before she met Adam.

She was overcome by how much the quiet boy beside her had brought to her life. It finally registered with her that she had found something that some people never find. She looked at Adam and saw the man he would become, almost was really, and loved him already. The power of the realization brought tears to her eyes.

"Jane, what's wrong?" Adam looked at her with concern.

She laughed damply, "I'm fine, it's just….I realized something."

Adam looked at her questioningly so Joan continued somewhat nervously, a little worried about telling him that she couldn't see herself love anybody else for the rest of her life. After all, he was only 17.

"I love you," that part had become easy enough through repetition. Adam smiled, Joan went on. "Who you were…who you are…who you will be…all of you…forever, and I think I just figured that out… if that makes any sense." She finished in a rush.

She looked at Adam with such heart-breaking vulnerability that he simple pulled her into his embrace, holding her close.

"I have this dream," he murmered into her hair, "of you and me. We're old and you're all wrinkly but you're still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Sometimes we're walking, sometimes washing dishes, mostly just sitting around. But every time, you look at me and tell me you love me and it so normal and I wake up feeling so happy I could burst." He pulle away and looked at her. "Is that weird?"

Joan laughed through th tears flooding downm her face. "No," she said, "It's perfect," and she kissed him because at that moment there was nothing else she could possibly do.

Later, Joan woke up wrapped in a blanket, a tree root digging into her back. Disoriented, she sat up and looked around. Seeing her shirt slung over a nearby bush, heat rose to her cheeks, f\staining them red. She clutched the blanket to her and wandered around stiffly, collecting her clothes. She was sore and kind of sticky but deliriously happy.

Just as she pulled her sweatshirt over her head, someone entered the clearing.

It was God, looking rediculosely good in the moonlight, hand in courderoy pockets. For the first time, Joan didn't notice. She groaned.

"What, come to lecture me on the evils of pre-marital sex?" She said.

God looked at her seriously. "Do you think it was wrong?"

"No," Joan replied with a secret smile.

"Then it wasn't." said God, "But I still wish you hadn't."

"Why?" asked Joan, curious.

"Because it is going to make what I ask you to do next much harder."

Joan followed His gaze through the trees where Adam was barely visible on magic rock, intent on his drawing.

"No." Joan said, backing away in denial, "Oh no. You cannot ask me to do that. Not after what I've already done to him, not when we're so happy, not after…" Joan broke off, a lump rising in her throat.

God looked at her sadly. "I'm sorry Joan, but something terrible is compin. If you stay with Adam, if you allow him to get involved, he will die."

Joan looked at God in openmouthed shock. "die?" her voice was tiny.

God nodded, "what is coming is for you to face and you alone. You cannot ask him to die for you, nor would you. I made you to do great things Joan. I ask hard things of those to whom I give great gifts. Have a little faith and everything will turn out okay." He turned and walked away, leaving Joan standing alone in the middle of the clearing.

It took her a long while to steel herself to her task. She trudged slowly towards magic rock.

Adam heard Joan scramble up the rock and smiled.

"Jane," he stood up, leaning in to kiss her.

She turned her face, her cheeks were damp with tears.

"What's wrong Jane?" Adam asked immediately, "are you okay?"

She nodded slowly.

"What's going on then?"

Joan took a deep breath. "We can't be together anymore."

Adam's look of concern turned to shock and anger. "That's not funny Jane…Is this about…what happened?"

Joan shook her head mutely.

"Then what is it! Why would you do this?" Adam was hurt. Joan could see it, and he was fighting back with the fury of a caged animal.

"I…I can't tell you." Said Joan, unable to meet his eyes.

He threw his sketchbook to the ground in rage. "You know what the worst part is Joan," his voice cut like kives, "I'm not even surprised." He walked off without looking back.

She looked down at the picture he had been drawing. It was her, tangled in sheets, bathed in moonlight, pefect. Joan let go and sobbed.

Helen Girardi found her there in the morning. Joan offered no explanation. She wouldn't speak to anyone.

At home in the last few days before school she stayed in her room, barely eating or sleeping, mostly just crying. The first day she managed to drag herself down to breakfast, she hid behind the paper to avoid the concerned faces of her family.

There in front of her was a full page feature on the piece that local artist Adam Rove had exhibited in an open gallery show. It looked like it had once been perfect. Wings spread, wide and gleaming, and abstract face suggesting humor and life. In its finished form, it was burnt and broken, racked an ruined, slouching towards Bethlehem. Attatched to the sculpture, mysteriously entitle "Joan" as the article went on to say, was a poem by Baudelaire. For once, Joan was glad she was no good at French.

L'Amour est assis sur le crâne
De l'Humanité,
Et sur ce trône le profane,
Au rire effronté,
Souffle gaiement des bulles rondes
Qui montent dans l'air,
Comme pour rejoindre les mondes
Au fond de l'éther.
Le globe lumineux et frêle
Prend un grand essor,
Crève et crache son âme grêle
Comme un songe d'or.
J'entends le crâne à chaque bulle
Prier et gémir:
- "Ce jeu féroce et ridicule,
Quand doit-il finir?
Car ce que ta bouche cruelle
Eparpille en l'air,
Monstre assassin, c'est ma cervelle,
Mon sang et ma chair!"

End

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