#a leaf falls

[m4g0rtz]

Today's polish gave me the perfect summer to fall transitional vibe. Not quite pumpkin and not quite neon I found this shade perfect for this time of year. It looked super bright and glowy in all lighting. It's ALMOST a dupe for Nemo, but this one is slightly brighter than that one I think. 🤔 This is A Leaf Falls from Great Lakes Lacquer.

[thelazyeye]

A Leaf Falls

Summary:

A movement in the distance caught Eddie’s eye. The wind slowed to a lull and when he turned his head he noticed a bright red leaf falling towards the ground. He watched it as it swished high above the ground. Its descent was a slow, loving dance with the autumn air.

Pairing: Reddie

Rating: General Audiences Prompt: August  29th- Song fic/ Poetry Word count: 2,023 Tags/Warnings: Angst, Unrequited love

Read on A03

Tag List: @tinyarmedtrex @richardtoz @aizeninlefox @chocolatemangoose @godtozier @itfandomweek @reddiepop

The autumn air was cool on his skin. It wasn’t cold enough for the wind to really bite at him but when it blew it sent shivers up his back. Eddie was laying in the grass in a clearing not too far from his house. It was on the outskirts of Derry but still inside the town’s limits. No one really knew about this little spot. Eddie had found it one day when he was much younger. He was on one of his walks to the train yards, eager to watch the trains roll in and out of Derry, when he decided to take a small shortcut through the woods. He stumbled into the clearing and fell in love instantly and in the years since it has become something of a safe haven for him. No one else knew about it. He’s never brought anyone here. Before this little clearing in the woods Eddie had never had any place to himself before. He had no privacy in his house. His room was routinely searched by his mother and every other space in their one-story home was communal. There was no space for him at school either. Lockers and backpacks and school notebooks don’t count as privacy. They can all be broken into, read, lost. They didn’t matter. There was no place in the world Eddie Kaspbrak could go to be himself until here so he kept it under lock and key. He was allowed to be selfish. And who knew the public world could be so private? He was on his back with his hands propped under his head. The sky was open above him and framed by a circle of trees. The leaves were starting to change color. Little traces of red and yellow were edging into the green expanse of his visual perimeter. Some of the leaves had already completely turned one color or another. Part of Eddie loved it. He loved when the colors started to creep into the world. Green was a beautiful color but after three whole months it became monotonous. The colors that came with autumn season were new and exciting. The problem was that this was short lived. Fall would inevitably succumb to winter and it would happen all too quickly. Soon the trees would be barren and the ground would get hard and the air would freeze. His entire world would be turned from beautiful, bright colors to a muted grey. The snow would come and everything would die along with it. There was something calming about the way the trees were dancing in the wind, though. The branches rustled together and the sound rushed past Eddie. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath through his nose. The air had that crisp smell – the one that only comes with the change of the seasons. Soon his senses would be used to it and it would become dull and unnoticeable, but right now he could smell it. He took another deep breath, trying to savor it. He knew it would be gone soon. Everything in this world is temporary. This was going to be one of the last times he could make it out to this spot. The school year had kicked off and the workload of his junior year was heavy. He had to get high marks to get into a good school, he had to prepare for his standardized tests, he had to take his SATs and ACTs and college placement tests. There was no more leisure time to wander out here and just be. Plus, with the weather dropping his mother was less likely to let him venture out without exact details on where he was going to be, how long he was going to be there, and whether or not he was going to be indoors. The winter months always made Sonia even more unbearable that she already was. Summer was dangerous because Eddie could fall and break his arm like when he was younger. Winter was dangerous because it was the season of the sick. Colds, flues, sniffles, coughs. They all sent her running and screaming to the hospital with Eddie in tow. It was fucking miserable. A movement in the distance caught Eddie’s eye. The wind slowed to a lull and when he turned his head he noticed a bright red leaf falling towards the ground. He watched it as it swished high above the ground. Its descent was a slow, loving dance with the autumn air. It’s beautiful, Eddie thought. As the leaf slowly fell Eddie thought of what brought him here to his sanctuary for one final moment of peace until the Spring reappeared. The red of the leaf was bright, the kind that mimicked the color of the sunset on a summer night when the light was stretching for miles and it lasted longer than should have been possible. Those were the kinds of nights that were filled with laughter and friends and the impossibly whole feeling that came along with it. Nights that were filled with warmth and love and everything Eddie has ever wanted in the world. Another shiver made its way through Eddie’s body causing him to bring his arms down and knit them tightly over his chest. He stayed on his back, though, head angled towards that one, falling leaf. It reminded him of himself. At the beginning of the school year Eddie had the distinct honor of watching, play by play, something that could be compared to a mating ritual. His best friend, and coincidentally the love of his young life, had met someone. Her name was Heather and Richie had taken a liking to her immediately. In fact, Richie had taken a liking to her sometime last year. He did some pigtail pulling and everyone thought it was a lost cause when she punched him in the face towards the end of the year. As it turns out, over the summer she had changed her mind and Richie had changed his ways. He must have been hanging out with Ben too much because Richie had gone from pigtail puller to suave master of romance and swept Heather off of her feet. Eddie got to watch as Richie picked out flowers for her. He got to help him choose outfits for both everyday school interactions and actual, real life dates. He got to listen as Richie filtered up against lockers and at the lunch table. He got to see, first hand, as Richie was pulled further and further away from him. The leaf floated down slightly before cutting a sharp right and moving up in the air a little bit. It stayed for a moment before gliding down again. It wasn’t fair. Eddie was absolutely head over heels for Richie and he had somehow become his right-hand wingman for Richie’s romantic escapades. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t actually worked. Heather was absolutely wooed and her and Richie were now going steady. They have had 5 total dates over the course of two months, Richie had gotten her flowers three times, and they had kissed roughly 20 times that Eddie knew of. He wasn’t counting on purpose. He just sort of knew. And that was only what Eddie knew of. He doesn’t want to think about what they’ve gotten up to behind closed doors. Heather has been to Richie’s multiple times and Eddie knows for a fact that Richie’s parents were gone at least one of those times. Richie had told him himself. He was all smiles and winks and nudges and Eddie prayed to a God that he wasn’t sure he believed in that it was just Richie’s regular banter. He prayed there was no truth behind those jokes. The leaf sunk slowly before a small bit of wind caused it to spin harshly two times. Its red body moved fluidly through the air. It looked light and free, something Eddie could only hope to be. Eddie had spent the majority of his life pining after Richie. When he first realized he wasn’t straight it was an undeniable panic. He avoided Richie for weeks until he snapped and crawled through Richie’s window. Richie had been mad but forgave Eddie without question. He didn’t know why Eddie vanished from his life but he accepted him back with open arms. After that, Eddie relished in all of their physical contact. Richie had always been a particularly touchy friend. He always had an arm slung over someone’s neck or his feet on someone’s lap. Any chance he could, Richie Tozier was touching one of the Losers. It was all completely platonic, of course, but Eddie lived for those moments. He always felt awful after. He wondered what Richie would say if he knew that his gay friend cherished their shared touches. Touches that were only supposed to be friendly. Richie would probably be disgusted or mad. Eddie was basically lying to him. He was basically using Richie for his own gain. He disgusted himself sometimes. For a minute, Eddie thought he had a chance. He always thought Richie was closer with him. He always thought that maybe, just maybe, the touches came more often and lingered just a little longer. Maybe the kisses on his face and the cute, cute, cute Richie always called him meant more than just guys being dudes. Apparently not. Apparently, that’s all they were ever going to be because if Eddie knows anything about anything it’s that there was a hickey as plain as day on Heather’s neck at school today and it sure as fuck didn’t come from a curling iron. A buzzing noise shakes him out of his thoughts for a moment. His backpack back was lying where it was haphazardly thrown about three feet away from him and he had purposefully left his phone buried in the small front pocket. This was not a place for distractions. He’s brought books and school work and journals out here before but he refused to bring his phone into this. This place was private, sacred. He unplugs entirely when he’s here. It’s like he leaves this dimension and is teleported to an entirely new world. Realistically, he knows he’s a ten-minute walk from his front door but there is an unspoken feeling here. If he intentionally brought his phone into this space it would taint it. It would be like bringing someone else here and it would disrupt the illusion of peace and privacy that he’s created. He opted to ignore the buzz. The only way he would check it is if he were leaving and he isn’t ready to leave. Not yet. He isn’t ready to face reality again. Instead, his attention falls back on the leaf. It’s farther to the left when his eyes lock onto it. There’s something captivating about the way it’s falling. The way it spins around and around with itself. The way it dances its red, lonely dance to the ground. It’s a rite of passage for a leaf, Eddie thinks, it’s on a journey to the end of its life. When it finishes its descent it will be dissolved into the soil and continue the cycle that is life. This leaf’s death will aid in the composition of the soil and bring nutrients to the dirt. It will help the grass regrow in the spring, maybe even lend a hand to the tree from which it fell.   Maybe that’s what Eddie is doing. Maybe Eddie is the one dancing that lonely dance. He’s spinning by himself and falling faster with every passing movement. The only thing that’s waiting for him at the bottom of his fall is a cold, unforgiving ground and the confirmation of his heartbreak. He’ll float to the bottom and rest in the dirt until his body finally breaks down and he becomes one with the world around him. He’ll give life to his friends and family. He’ll return his love from whence it came. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll grow into the strong oak he lies underneath and he’ll stand tall again.

[bridgeburningbitch]

"l(a le af fa ll s) one l iness"

— [l(a] E.E. Cummings (I think about this poem a lot)

[bambiwarnock]

[we-hold-each-other]

l(a le af fa ll s) one l iness

'A leaf falls in loneliness'

[thegagglehound]

A Leaf Falls

A new short story by Aaron Geer

   The rain plummeted to the ground disastrously that day, and it sank like lead into my clothes, shoes, and hairs. I had forgotten to pack my umbrella when I moved out of Riley’s apartment so I was an open target to the rain. I should’ve packed it, I thought, I should’ve remembered. I could easily picture my umbrella in the foyer leaning against the coat rack. Along with all the other miscellaneous outdoor items, the umbrella would be snuggling near the register to keep warm and dry.

   Grandpa Williams had given me the umbrella before my departure to Kalamazoo.

   “Take this,” he said while I was giving my goodbyes and see-you-soons to Aunts, Uncles, and other members of my immediate family, “you’ll need this when you get out there. Now, just help me up.”  He grabbed my arm and started to lift himself off of the chair. Because of consistent hip problems, including four replacements, Grandpa Williams had nearly been immobile for the last year of his life.

   “Grandpa,” I said while he grabbed my other arm for support. Trying to find the right words to say to a man who can barely lift his legs without pain and trying to find the right words to say to your grandfather who can barely lift his legs without pain are two totally different scenarios, and I didn’t want to be a part of either of them.

   His grip tightened on my forearms. “Come on and help me out here, Mike,” he said, “I know they say I can’t, but I know I can.” He was referring to my mother and her two sisters, who, at their age, felt it their duty to make sure that Grandpa would be in as little pain as possible. “When you’re stuck in this chair all day you miss the feeling of carpet, the cold wood floor in the morning, the stiffness of the bones when you lay down.” His grip weakened and he sat back to his chair. “I’ve been sitting in this chair for so long that the only memories I am starting to have are in it.” He looked to me, “Now you name me how many lasting memories you can have sitting down?”  I could see emotion from a man who hid not only feelings, but his bare legs to the world (“I’ve never seen his shins,” Aunt P said while we were laying by the pool, while Grandpa assiduously sat in the shade drinking Manhattans).  

   I looked to my left and out towards the front yard. The rest of the family was watching the little ones run around, or in the basement playing Euchre. To justify his sudden burst of life, I asked where he would need to go. 

   “It’s in the bureau of the guest room.” It’s not that far, I thought. “It’s not that far, Bud, trust me.” He took the grip again.

   I took his arm across my shoulders and stood him up.

   “Heavier than you thought I would be, eh?” He smiled.

   “You could be worse,” I said, readjusting his armpit on my shoulder, “or I could be younger – either, or.”

   He let out a laugh so rich it was like finding El Dorado.

   When we finally got to the guest room after taking a break every three steps of fascinated pain, he held out the umbrella. “I know it’s not a lot, but the rain sure can come down there,” he handed me the umbrella with its worn navy blue covering cloth, and smooth handle. “I’ve had this for thirty years, and if you ask me,” he said, “I think it could have another thirty years of work in her.”       I should go back, I thought. The rain came down sweeping sideways slapping me in the face as if in disapproval. I stood against the immense brick pile that was Riley’s apartment building – holding two backpacks of material. I had all of the possessions that were at Riley’s: a small assortment of novels, a few dozen Cds, The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan, Miles Davis’ Bitches Brew, Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks, Talking Heads’ 1977, a collection of clothes that had compiled over the months, and, two collections of E.E. Cummings poetry.

   We had met each other in costume at a Halloween party.

   I knew only one person, Brian, the host, and classmate of mine in a writing workshop. He had invited me a week prior, and I had memorized the date, address, and time of the party while he was telling me. I wanted so desperately to take out a notebook and exchange our numbers so I could R.S.V.P. but I felt it unnatural, and quite socially awkward.

   “It’s critical to meet friends when you move to a big city,” my mother said to me before I left for the airport, “just think how many girls are there that could be the one.” Her words were etched in my brain for the next two weeks.

   I arrived to Brian’s house a half hour later than the time he said to arrive. By then, I thought, enough people would be there for me to feel comfortable - in a crowd it is less likely to be seen alone.

   I walked up to the door, knocked. I peaked in through the glass on the door and could see no one. After waiting on the porch for a few minutes a car pulled in the driveway.

   “Michael?” asked Brian from the backseat of an SUV. I felt nothing but the feeling to run.

   The host of the party is here after me.

   I arrived before the host of the party.

   I must seem like a kid on Christmas Eve.

   “Where’s your costume, man?” he asked me while he held a hat in the air. He stepped out of the SUV looking like Indiana Jones. Three others stepped out of the car: Shaggy from Scooby Doo, a ninja, and George Washington. They walked towards the porch. It seemed as if a gang from my second-grade-television-and-movie-conscience were about to hurl me off their porch, sending me screeching on the pavement.

   “You didn’t tell him it was a costume party, dumb ass?” said the ninja, interestingly tearing out nunchucks from a box he purchased at Toys ‘R Us.

   “The main reason we are having this party is because of the costumes, Brian,” said Shaggy, imitating the ista-stoned, peach fuzzed nuisance to the best of his ability, but failed miserably, sounding more similar to a pre-pubescent Barry White who is trying to then imitate Spacoli. “How are we supposed to have a Halloween party if people don’t know whether to dress up or not?” He coughed, walking past me into the house.

   “Yeah, man,” said George Washington, trying to light a cigarette.

   “I forgot to tell him,” said Brian, holding his whip in one hand, acting ready to strike if the ninja were to attack suddenly, if Shaggy were to reveal his true identity, or if George Washington were to bombard suddenly.

   George Washington stood mutely, smoking his cigarette, while I miserably rested myself against the porch railing.

   Brian looked to me and apologized. I accepted the fact, and walked towards the sidewalk. “But come back,” he said to me as he was opening the front door, “in an hour or so.”

   I arrived back to Brian’s two hours later. I had grabbed whatever I had in my apartment to make a costume, or something to resemble one. I didn’t have much, so when the party-goers asked me who I was supposed to be I would answer: “A man in a suit with an umbrella.”

   The whole house seemed to be stuffed with drunkenness when I arrived. The vibes in the kitchen, basement, and attic were getting nasty, and the lack of available alcohol, from a dry keg, had put guests, who forked over five precious dollars for a cup, into a stir of craziness. And when the rain began everyone seemed to be upset. They would not only have to worry about walking home in the rain, but now could no longer linger outside to smoke. “I guess there’s really only one thing we can do,” said Hunter S. Thompson, resting a cigarette from his lips, “drink more!” Hans Solo and Ranger Rick stood behind the journalist in short shorts, carrying a full keg.

   By the time it started raining even more heavily, the guests of the party, and myself included, had really started to feel the effects of the alcohol. Bantering, heckling, and flirtation were the main topics of conversation when I arrived in the new main location of smoking, the attic. A space divided between writing (that’s my office, dude, Brian slurred when he gave me the house tour) and two couches so tattered they must have been from off the street.  Little room was available, but I had found a spot near the couches.

   “Excuse me,” I said to this brunette dolefully seated next to a masked bandit and that lackluster Ninja Tutrtle, Donatello, bantering politics, “but do you think there is room for one more?” Her costume to me was nothing to point out directly: a strapless Leopard print dress (“it’s vintage, actually”) with ridiculously onerous black gloves caressing her elbows (“found them near my neighbors”) and these red high heals (“not quite sure whose these are, to be honest”)

   She took a drag off a cig and nodded. I turned around coolly, ended up dribbling my beer all over her heals, and still managed to fumble while attempting to sit down.

   Eventually she said, “What the hell are you supposed to be?”

   And I said, “To be honest, I have no clue.”    “Well, to me,” she said, reaching for a stranded cup to ash, “you look like a man dressed up in a suit with an umbrella.”  

   I sort of chuckle, shake her hand and say, “I’m Michael.”

   And then she shakes my hand and she says, “I’m Riley.”    For the rest of the party we talked heavily, mostly in a drunken state: how I had just moved here from the Northeast, how she wants to join the Peace Core, and most importantly, how we both felt deeply attracted to one another, and wouldn’t mind spending the night with each other.

   “I chose Mike that night,” Riley would tell her friends after having a couple drinks at the bar, “because he had an umbrella and I didn’t want to get wet on my walk home.” Her friends would laugh.

   “What’s nice about an umbrella,” she said to me at the party right before we were about to leave, “is that it can’t keep you away from the unwanted obstacles in life, just dry from one of them. Rain isn’t just water, it is one being that gives vitality to so much, but is avoided by so many, and when you have this umbrella you can defy God, or whatever may be, and you don’t have to be constrained to an attic, or a basement with a dancing Banana.” She took my hand and opened the door to the front porch. “You see out here there are no dancing bananas or drunken ninjas – it’s just us, the rain, and this umbrella.”    We walked back to her apartment, and when we first walked in we didn’t worry about wiping our shoes off. Riley led me to her bedroom, a cozy and finely decorated room with an assortment of religious icons, and red tapestries.

   “I feel like I’m in a brothel in India,” I said after she turned on a lamp near the bed. Her glaring eyes penetrated deep into my thoughts and past my horrible sense of humor. “Are you saying I am an Indian whore?”

   “No, no, no,” I said, desperately, “it’s just that-“    She smiled and threw those monstrous gloves at me, and began to undress while I sat on her bed. I had no idea whether to undress myself, also, or to just stay where I was. I chose the latter for shear hope that she would be the one to take them off of me. She had a hard time taking off her dress.

   “I have no idea how I could possibly have zipped it up, but now cannot unzip it,” she said with her arms flailing behind her back.

   I finally got the clue and walked over and unzipped the zipper for her. Her dress fell to the ground. When she bent over to pick it up to put it on a hanger I noticed a tattoo on the side of her torso. “Is that an E.E. Cummings poem?” I asked.

1(a

le

af

fa

ll

s)

one

l

iness

   She nodded and walked over to her bed. I thought of Riley as that lonely leaf falling slowly towards the ground each autumn. She would hold on to the branch just as I held the umbrella, and just as Grandpa Williams had held my arms: with grace, fear, and elegance.

[onbeingbluetwo]

does anyone want to talk or something

idk