Author's Chapter Notes:
This one time in my creative writing class we had this long discussion about skinned knees and scabs and so this idea was born.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but a love for Twix bars.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but a love for Twix bars.
“At what age do you stop skinning your knees?”
It’s Tuesday, mid morning, they’ve both found themselves in the break room at the same time. Accidental, of course, she’d been in the bathroom and he’d just wanted something with caffeine to wake him up. And now they’re here together, surrounded by that hum of sodas being kept cool and candy bars being illuminated. They’re here together and she goes blank with the thought that maybe some of the air she pulls in is some of the air he pushed out.
She has her back turned to him when he speaks. She’s trying to make a decision, coins being turned over in her fist as she tries to keep her eyes off of his reflection in the glass. He’s leaning back in his chair, his hand resting on his soda can, his index finger drawing lines through the condensation. His eyes move back over to her and he catches hers in the glass, causing her to drop a dime onto the floor. She watches it roll under the machine and then she’s bending over, her navy blue tights getting dust on the knees as she reaches her hand underneath, fumbling around until she feels something cold and round.
She stands back up and starts slipping the coins into the slot. His question dangling in the empty space in the room, just hanging there, waiting for her to say something. She presses G8 blindly and hopes for the best. A Twix bar drops down into the bin and before she bends down to retrieve it, she pauses and stays facing the glass, saying, “I guess whenever it is that you stop being reckless and start taking precautions.”
The door on the machine is stiff and the edge of it scrapes the back of her hand as she tries to push it open far enough. She ends up with a candy bar and red, raw skin. She’s rubbing it absently when she takes the seat across from him, the chair’s legs scraping against the floor loudly. They both sit there and let the sound ring until it’s gone.
“I kind of miss it. Skinned knees, I mean.”
He crinkles his can a little before taking another sip. She focuses on opening the candy bar and not on the way he tilts his head back just slightly or the way his mouth rests on the lip of the can for a second after he swallows.
She offers him one of her Twix bars and he shakes his head so she shrugs and asks him, “Why do you miss it?”
He’s in mid swallow when she asks him so his words come out sounding strangled and caught up in liquid and meaning, “I guess it’s not really the actual skinned knee part of it. Just- There’s that sting, but you don’t even really care. You just want to put a band aid on it and get back out there. Or, I don’t know.”
There’s something veiled there like always. A statement with a surface made to be scratched away.
She wipes caramel from her bottom lip and she nods and finishes chewing before she says, “Yeah, I think I know what you mean. Kids are sort of invincible that way.”
His eyes shift to the window on the door, his head ducking a little so he can see between the blinds. She looks over her shoulder even though she already knows what his eyes have fallen on. Karen peers in with her mouth in a firm line before a cautionary smile makes its way onto her face and she turns, pushing the bathroom door open.
He lets out a breath, his eyes falling back onto his can as he spins it around and around on the table. She can hear that tinny sound of empty aluminum and something in her gut twists as she looks down at the half of her candy bar that’s left still.
His hand falls to the table, palm flat on the surface. When he looks at her, she feels his eyes like fingertips walking along her skin. He scoots his chair in, leans forward now, resting both of his forearms there on the table. She watches his fingers spread out like a fan before they curl back up into fists.
“We used to take risks and not care when the pain came, you know? We even welcomed it, comparing scabs and scars like they were badges of honor or something.”
She finally looks at his face for the first time today, not counting when he was merely a glass reflection. He seems older and tired. He brings up a hand to scratch his chin and she reaches out quickly, holding onto his fingers before she can even think about it.
He brings his hand, their hands back down slowly and presses his palm against hers. She takes in a breath and holds it in as his fingers fit into the spaces between her knuckles.
The sting comes when there’s the sound of a door swinging shut and his eyes shift again to where Karen is coming out of the bathroom, her eyes glancing in on them. And then his hand’s gone and she looks down at her face up palm resting on the table.
He’s standing, crushing his can in his fist and tossing it into the trash. He wipes his hands on the back of his pants and she feels like crying, but she stops herself. He nods in her direction as he leaves, walking back out into the office.
She stays there and waits for a scab to form.
unfold is the author of 102 other stories.
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