L'Ermite

“She naturally loved solitary places, vast views, and to feel herself for ever and ever and ever alone.” - Virginia Woolf

[dialermite]

charbroussard​:

Tillie is on the verge of scowling and telling the other person to “fuck off”, but her brain registers the voice as something familiar. Its only when her vision settles that she recognizes her friend; Always there when she needed her, always beautiful. “Dia,” she sighs, dragging her name out as long as her breath could last. The corners of her mouth instinctually lift to form a smile, something she couldn’t quite help when the other girl was around. Suddenly she isn’t so anxious anymore. The quickened heartbeat she’d been trying to conceal had altogether dissipated. If Dia was here, this dance may actually be something she’d enjoy - something fun. She lifts her hands to gently cup her friend’s face, and plants a quick kiss on her right cheek. With the dim light of the setting sun surrounding them, she doesn’t notice the berry lipstick stain she’s left on Diana’s skin.

“You’re jus’ th’pers’n I was looking for!” Her voice is a few decibels too loud, but luckily for her, the music helps to conceal her shouted slurred words from onlookers. She frowns at her words suddenly, lifting her hand to cover her heart to show that what she says next is earnest. “Well, tha’s a lie - but! I’m glad to see you. I didn’t expect to see you. Y’know - at all this.” She makes a sweeping gesture towards the door that separates them from the dance. In the midst of the movement Charlotte notices her empty hands. “Oh shit.” Her head snaps to the side, eyes peering in the grassy area just next to them. She was searching for the faint glimmer of light reflected off of the silver flask, but was having no such luck. Her knees bend to lower her down. She frantically pats the spots next to her, and when she comes up empty, she starts to crawl around in pursuit of what she’d lost. In all of her panic she forgets that Diana is standing there watching her.

Dia’s eyes frantically searched Tillie’s face, watching the expression change from anger to something else that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but she knew she liked it. She felt her face flush hot, as if all the blood in her body rushed to meet the spot where Tillie kissed her and she felt herself instinctively pulling away from the girl though she wished badly that she hadn’t. Her fingers moved to touch her cheek, feeling the waxy print left behind by her lipstick. She did not bother to rub it away, wearing it instead like a badge. 

“Was I?” She questioned aloud, in disbelief. She hadn’t even told Tillie she was coming to the dance. Her suspicions were quickly settled with Tillie correcting herself, and a tinge of disappointment crossed her mind. “I wasn’t planning on going until yesterday. I didn’t see you in time to tell you, I figured I’d just meet you here.” She watched as Tillie went scrambling, looking for the flask she’d brought with her. Now, she was feeling a strong wave of second hand embarrassment, glad that all of the passing students were paying them no mind. She allowed this to go on for a moment, seeing the flask quite plainly from her position but wanting to give Tillie a chance before she grabbed for it. Tired of waiting, she pulled the flask from its position in the grass and dandelions, twisting open the cap and taking a sniff of what had put Tililie into her current state – rum. Without thinking, she took a hard swig and felt it made its way down her throat, cheap rum at that. “Come on, get up, you’ll get your dress all dirty,” She said, holding a ringed hand out to her friend, “it would only be a favor to all of these other girls, but we can’t have that.” 

[charbroussard]

open //

Tillie stumbled down the old corridors of Le Troadec with a hazy mind and a belly full of liquor. It wasn’t like her to openly be in such a state, but she figured the circumstances more than justified her behavior. School functions made her nervous. In the three years she’d been at her university she managed to avoid them. She much preferred the safety and quiet of her room, where small talk and dancing were not a requirement. She thought she’d be able to make it to the end of her fourth year without giving in. But here she was, spending her Friday night in a dress she hated, succumbing to the fear of missing out on extra credit. 

She’d assumed the alcohol would calm her nerves, but in truth she felt the same amount of anxiety. Though, now, she was a bit more willing to dance if the music was acceptable. Tillie takes a swig of the alcohol again, wiping her chin with the back of her hand as she makes her way towards the event. She doesn’t know who the flask belonged to. Having stumbled upon it while sitting on a bench in the SLUG earlier today, she decided to keep it. What were the odds that the universe would give her exactly what she needed to get through the night? She wasn’t going to pass it up, that was for certain. Upon opening it, she couldn’t tell what the dark liquid was sloshing around in the container. However one whiff clarified that it was rum. It’s so strong she almost gags, and when she takes a sip it burns her throat. But it’s all she’s got, so she doesn’t complain.

The swing of the music guides the girl to Baker Hall. She’s dreading seeing the familiar faces of her peers, but she feels a few sips braver than she did before. After taking one last discreet swig, she reaches into her purse to hide the flask. But in the brief moment where her eyes neglect the view ahead, her body knocks into someone else. Her feet don’t quite catch up and she’s falling forward before she has the chance to stop herself. A desperate hand clutches the other person’s arm to avoid crashing into the ground, but her flask flies out of her grasp and slides a few feet away in the process. “Shit-” She whispers sharply. She wants to shout a thousand insults, but she knew that her mouth wouldn’t work as fast as her brain wanted it to. She also knew that this mess was probably her fault. Realizing her hand is still clutching their arm, Tillie releases and stands up straight as quickly as she can, restoring her balance. “Um watch out?”

[dialermite]

Diana loathed dances and could not explain to herself why that evening she had chosen to go. Why she had bothered finding a dress in a local thrift store, why she spent an hour in front of a mirror getting her blonde finger waves just right. Perhaps, in the back of her mind, she believed something incredible might occur, or at least something that beat sitting alone in her room all night. Besides that, her cousin had sent her a long letter in the mail urging her to try something, anything, social. Looking down at her dress, she felt silly. It was structureless, a very pale gold, and covered with intricate beading. At the time of purchase, she’d thought it would match her hair nicely, which it did, but being dressed so ornately embarrassed her, it didn’t matter if there were girls there dressed for royal galas instead of a Sadie Hawkins school dance. 

Tragically, she was terribly sober. She had alcohol and she had hash and she even had magic mushrooms, but the more anxious side of her brain told her if she arrived off anything, she’d feel even worse. In the moment, she was learning how wrong she had been with her judgment and wished terribly to not be sober. Maybe that would make the dance bearable, maybe then she’d want to dance at all. 

Having removed herself from the dance and standing just outside, for at least some fresh air, she watched from the shadows as a very familiar face all but stumbled toward the building. It’s only a moment more before Tillie is falling into her, the accompanying flask landing somewhere in the grass. Then she realizes, her friend doesn’t even recognize her. “Are you okay?” Her eyes narrow, as she uses her two hands to steady the other girl. 

[dialermite]

charbroussard​:

→ dream a little dream of me, diana & tillie

Tillie’s mind was always racing, ever focused on what was to come. If it wasn’t homework, it was an exam. If it wasn’t studying, it was helping to organize meetings for SNCC. If it wasn’t for school, it was about her family, her budding plan to reach out to Beatrice - or similarly, how her father would react. It seemed that the part of the brain  responsible for helping her to relax was permanently switched off. But as Tillie is lying there on Dia’s bed, feet propped against the wall and head hanging off the edge, there is nothing else she can think about but how wonderful her music is. Her talent had always amazed her. From the first time she heard Diana play until now, she had only improved (which Tillie thought was impossible). And though she would never say it aloud, every opportunity she had to listen to Diana felt like an honor. She watched her attentively and quietly, careful not to distract her with any noise. As she plucks away at the strings of her bass, Diana’s face is calm but focused. It was an expression that Charlotte had grown familiar with during times like this. A soft smile draws her lips upward. She thinks now, just as she’s always thought, that Diana is the most beautiful person in the world.

Her eyes fall to a close so that she can take it all in, but the music carries her somewhere else. Suddenly she’s fifteen again, sitting snug in the bay window by the porch of her father’s home. Lenny is playing his saxophone outside into the darkness of the front yard, Dream a Little Dream of Me’s familiar tune swelling in the humid air. The fireflies light up to cheer him on. The willow tree gently sways its branches. Tillie is humming along softly. For a moment Diana is there too, that familiar playing face cemented on her features. The deep tones of her bass ground the song, but her delicate voice lifts it to new heights. If there was ever a moment of pure happiness, this was it; Tillie’s private band - and they are the perfect duo. Neither is too loud or too eager, Lenny saves Dia in the spot she fumbles, but allows her to shine everywhere else. Tillie could stay here forever.

But Dia’s voice pulls her out of her thoughts. Suddenly she is back in Le Troadec, back in their little world. “Yes, Dia. You’re boring me to tears,” she scoffs, finally opening her eyes. As intelligent as she was, Tillie never quite understood how Diana could say the most ridiculous things. How could she ever be bored when there was so much talent to admire? How could she be bored when she was with her favorite person? “You already know that I don’t mind. But if it bothers you so much why don’t you just play another?” 

“As I figured.” Dia said, humored. Keeping with the rhythm of the original piece, she began to play freely, creating a conglomeration of bits and pieces of melodies she’d written but never bothered to expand upon. The tune became more upbeat, and swing-like. Closing her eyes and allowing herself to drift away in the music, she was transported back to New Orleans, on one of the evenings she’d sneak out the backdoor just to listen to the jazz musicians on Bourbon Street. She imagined herself playing among them, the lone bass player in a sea of brass. Her playing became more vibrant, with the echos of trumpets and saxophones to assist. Having been lauded as ingenious by her music professors, she was reticent to admit that her style of playing was based on the fantasy accompaniment that followed her, in a way she felt it was cheating. 

When she opened her eyes, there was Tillie, a sight just as welcome as the fantasy. “I hope that was adequate.” She said shortly, sipping from a cup of tea she’d forgotten on her windowsill. It was lukewarm but this didn’t bother her entirely. Plucking the E string and allowing its low voice to fill the room, she glanced outside. She could see students moving about, many heading to the library but some to the S.L.U.G. “You seem like you’re stressed with something, no?” Tillie always seemed to be, though, but Diana asked every time. 

[dialermite]

acaciabuchanan​:

- It was a small school and for the most part Acacia felt like she did recognize a lot of the faces she would pass. She would definitely not say that she knew every single soul on this campus but she did know enough from the various classes she took to the numerous organizations and clubs she associated herself with. But then there would be the people she would constantly just see, from the familiar faces of the people who typically got coffee at Topped Off at the same time as her or would frequent the same table at the library to study.

“It isn’t,” she quickly retorted, realizing the girl was not someone that she was familiar with. “I thought you were my friend. I run into her a lot around now and there isn’t many people that would come to the library so close to curfew, but it is a good a place to hide from whoever or whatever, I suppose.” Acacia took a cautionary step away, glancing above the girl’s head to see the letters on the aisles. The feeling as if she already spoke too much had settled in and she was ready to find herself an out, but her mind was coming up blank.

Dia blinked and then narrowed her eyes, studying the girl in front of her. The lack of recollection wasn’t a surprise, she had a tendency to stay to the shadows, speak little in class, and fail to appear at any and all social events with the exception of some open mics at Topped Off. It was, in its way, relieving that she could go anywhere without recognition or acknowledgment. 

“You’re in Dr. König’s advanced French class, right?” She looked away, suddenly uncomfortable with the eye contact she had been making, deciding rather to focus on her long white finger nails and the way they contrasted against the yellowing pages of the biography. “I sit in the back row. We do know each other.” 

[dialermite]

→ dream a little dream of me, diana & tillie

It was a typical Saturday morning for Diana, who had begun plucking away at her bass before she had eaten breakfast. In between sips of coffee, she’d practiced classical movements for class, before moving to the jazzier numbers she actually enjoyed. 

She was performing for her typical audience of one, a Miss Charlotte Broussard, who was truly the only person Diana enjoyed singing for anyways. With her, it felt more natural, as if she was the only person she was meant to be singing for. Regardless, Dia was much too shy to sing in front of anyone else, she’d only been able to sing in front of Tillie after years of knowing her.

Lowly, so not to wake up those in adjacent dorms, she began to play the opening notes to “Dream a Little Dream of Me,” specifically Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald’s rendition of it. The piece was practically carved into her bones, she need not even think to play it from beginning to end. Smiling softly, she began mimicking the scat Ella opens the number with, something she found a little silly to do herself. Her natural alto was never quite able to sing Ella’s high notes as smooth and effortlessly as the original, which embarrassed her every time, causing her fingers to fumble for just a moment. 

“I must be boring you,” she said to Tillie, still playing the tune “it seems I never stop playing this song.”

[weltenwellen]

Wislawa Szymborska from “Leaving the Movie Theater”, Map: Collected and Last Poems

[dialermite]

meredith-la-magicienne​:

Meredith glanced down just briefly enough to see the flask, before directing her eyes forward again.  She took it carefully, lifting it to her face to sniff what was in it– eyebrows raising at the strong scent of hard liquor – before sipping gingerly, relishing the slight burn.  “Well someone came prepared.”  Tightening the cap back on, Meredith grinned, if not directly at the other girl than for her.  “Thank you very much.”

As she slid the flask back across the table, someone else began speaking into the microphone and the audiences attention coalesced back onto them, providing Meredith the opportunity to actually get a look at to whom she owed her gratitude.  Her face was familiar, though she couldn’t place a name to it.  Another moment to consider, and then applause rang out again, cueing Meredith to shift her gaze back to the stage once more.  “Advanced French, with Dom, right?”

Another student took the stage, this one clearly having been to slam poetry nights before, as every stanza was full of emphasis and enthusiasm, in an almost theatrical way. As he went on about the Viet-Cong, Dia’s eyes rolled into the back of her head. Not everyone had what it took to be Allen Ginsberg, apparently. “All the poetry greats were or are alcoholics, I think this is the right way to consume the art,” she took a quick swig, exhaling a bit to dull the burn, “it makes it hurt less, too.” 

Diana shifted a bit in the vinyl seat, angling toward Meredith, her legs crossed. “Yes,” she nodded a bit, “backrow. I don’t think we’ve officially met, I’m Diana, or Dia somedays. You’re Meredith, right?” 

[acaciabuchanan]

open.

Summer went by in a blink of an eye and Acacia had already traded in her tiny shorts in favor of long pants and sweatshirts. Even if the heat lingered on Louisiana, the school year was beginning and the hint of the fall winds and orange leaves filled her senses just by memory alone. That’s all she really missed about Maryland, how quick and fast fall came, but it always lacked the warmth in nature that was available in Louisiana. The moments when Acacia would get to look outside of her single apartment and see low hanging branches of the trees swing with the soft wind, tapping on her window to keep her up so she could finish her assignments and projects.

It was her senior year, only two more semesters until it was all over. Friends she made her freshman year have dispersed into their own studies and Acacia couldn’t fault them all for doing what needed to be done. The heavy fire inside of her was making her crave the comfort of the routine, the books and students and the safety of the four walls of the classroom that seemed to be the only thing that was keeping that dreaded ‘adulthood’ at bay. Which is why she found herself inside the library the night before the first day of classes, just skimming the book titles hoping one would pique her interest. An easy night in before the chaotic and energetic day to come in less than ten hours.

Her eyes caught another pair through the stacks and she followed them to the end of the shelf, seeing the eyes belong to a familiar figure. “Hiding or getting ahead? You only have one chance at a right answer to avoid me teasing you.”

[dialermite]

Dia was humming a little tune to herself, running her ringed fingers along the worn, cloth spines of the aging books in the biography section. The hum turned into a whistle, low and melodious, a tune her father used to sing while carving meat. The library was quiet aside from the quiet hum of people speaking in the floor above, and she liked the way the noise she made was absorbed by the thousands of pages of the books around her. 

Stopping, she pulled out a book bound in purple, the front bearing “Louis XIV, le Roi Soleil” in gold lettering, some of it scratched off and faded away by use and time. She flipped through the pages, looking at portraits of the king as he aged from boy to grown ruler. She wondered how heavy it must have been, wearing all those jewels and royal regalia. 

From behind her came a voice that was familiar but she couldn’t quite put to a name without a face. “Hiding, maybe,” she replied, without turning to look at her, “but how is that any of your business?”

[gifriverdale]

TATI GABRIELLE by Raul Romo

[meredith-la-magicienne]

It seemed like a good idea.  Meredith likes poetry.  Meredith likes Topped Off.  In theory, then, Meredith should like Poetry Night at Topped Off.

In practice, she does not.

She’s not miserable at all; she just isn’t exactly enjoying herself.  The mostly freshmen who step up to read their work are courageous, she thinks, but not good poets.  Not yet.  With time, perhaps some of them will be, but at the moment, it is all too easy to tell exactly what was just covered in Lit 101, and their desire for depth and resonance comes across so much more clearly than any actual emotion.  Occasionally, someone better takes the stage with something more interesting, but not often enough to convince Meredith she wouldn’t be better off at home with a book and some form of alcohol.

The most recent brave soul steps off the stage in the corner and Meredith smiles and applauds and waits to make sure they aren’t looking in her direction before she turns to her companion and pouts, “This would be better with wine.”

[dialermite]

Diana was, unexpectedly, enjoying her night. She spent most Saturdays at Topped Off, participating in the open mic opportunities. Tonight was different, however, a slam poetry night. She was nowhere near brave enough to go on stage and read something of her own but she liked hearing other’s, no matter how bad it was. Mostly, she admired the red-faced freshmen’s confidence as they read haikus about how girls in their intro to biology classes didn’t like them back. 

She could tell that the red head seated next to her, a girl she knew vaguely from French, was not entertained. “Wine would be nice,” she spoke softly, withdrawing a flask filled with whiskey bearing the Louisiana crest on it from her beaded bag and pushing it slowly across the round table to her, never making eye contact, “this might do though.”