Lilli Contreras Peaches

[Peaches]

Lilli Contreras

“Peaches!” His arms were a little too long, knees a little too wobbly. His hands were big slender things, with cold pink fingertips, blood red rubbed knuckles. He had big fluffy dirt gold colored hair, with deep brown eyes. Not deep in the sense of color, but deep in the sense that you didn’t want to look into them for too long. The longer she looked into them the more they looked black, she could see herself in them and that made her squirm. He wore faded brown pants that were just a little too short, cream colored socks peeking out from yellow shoes. A loose white shirt hung from his wiry frame, paired with a faded salmon pink bomber jacket. “Come now Peaches. Let’s go.” She took his hand and led him along. His eyes bore into her back, face unchanging. Peaches used to frighten her. It wasn’t that she had felt unsafe, he was just rather cold, both literally and figuratively. He had appeared one day, sitting on the couch, her bright orange tabby rubbing against his slender legs. She looked at him, and he looked at her. She didn’t call the police like one might think a single woman living alone would do, instead she thought she was losing her mind. She went on about her day, trying her best to pretend she couldn’t see him following her like a stray dog begging for food. On the second day she called her friend, who thought himself to be a ghost whisperer, or whatever it was called.

“Oh I see him alright,” he said, circling him, taking him in. He followed with his eyes, face rather unchanged besides the tired look he tended to get around four in the

afternoon (he often tended to slightly mirror how she was feeling on the inside which was really the only unsettling thing about him). “Well what is he?” “Not a ghost, that’s for sure. I don’t think he’s a demon either. Maybe he’s your guardian angel or something.” “Well I would most certainly hope not,” she said, slightly distressed, twisting the ends of her blouse. On the fifth day she called her mother. “Honey, are you sure you’re sleeping alright? “Of course, why would you ask that?” “Well you keep going on about this man, but all I see is this rather cute little puppy. Who’s a good boy huh,” her mother cooed at him, petting her hair and rubbing his ears as he sat hunched over on the couch. He looked up at her, raised eyebrows and a slightly tilted head as if asking a question. And for a slight second she saw him as her mother did, a little golden doodle who quite honestly looked rather bored. She turned away from him then, not standing to see him. Every night he watched her sleep, or that’s what she assumed he did. Each night there he would be, sitting at the foot of the bed, or standing in the doorway. Head rested on the door frame, looking at her, eyes half closed, no emotion in them. Sometimes she’d close the door in his face, which he didn’t protest to. Or she’d get up and face him the other direction. Though one morning she walked into the living room and there he was, sleeping on the couch. He looked as though he had fallen asleep sitting up, feet on the floor, his upper body slumped over. A stream of light had fallen over his face, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, breathing softly. She crouched on the floor in front of him and looked on in awe, before he slowly opened his eyes, looked a bit surprised, sat up and rubbed the sleep from his empty eyes. On day eight she learned her best friend saw him as a cat. Day 27 her dad didn’t see him at all. Day 29 her co-worker could actually see him as she did. “Oh yeah, I have one too,” she said, as she sipped her

coffee from across the table. “Really!? Then where is he?” “Oh I usually leave him at home. He’s been with me for awhile, and I’ve learned if I ask him something nicely he’ll do it. Like staying at home,” she explained, as if they were having a totally normal conversation. She looked back at him, playing on the couch with the bright orange tabby. He looked up at her, his eyes made her feel violated, she rather hated them. On day 46 she learned that he rather liked the song This Side of Paradise by Coyote Theory. She was chopping carrots in the kitchen, a pot of soup on the stove, the music playing in the background. He caught in out of the corner of her eye, head swaying back and forth in time to the song, he yawned a small whimpering sound really, foot tapping on the floor. “Do you like this song?” He looked up at her, blinked, showing no real sign he even understood her. “Can you nod if you like it? Because if you don’t I have no problem playing something else,” she said, wiping her orange stained fingers in a kitchen rag. He stared at her for a minute, then nodded, it was a small gesture but noticeable all the same. “Come dance with me then.” She pulled him up from his chair, placing his hands on her hips, wrapping her arms around his neck. “See? Just like this.” They swayed back and forth, the whole time he looked at her, tiredness in the small lines around his eyes, she’d like to think they were laugh lines but he never laughed. They danced like this for she’ll never know how long until she stopped, wrapping him tightly in her arms, asking to be held. They stood that way, half chopped carrots on the counter, soup spilling over the pot burning on the stove. She later learned he was rather fond of love songs in general. Most of all appreciating Al Green, as some mornings he’d wake her up, tug at her sleeve until she’d follow him into the living room, point at her record of Al Green’s Greatest Hits

and wait for her to put it on. One day she walked in on him putting it on himself, she had started to grow tired of that album, she told herself she’d buy him better music. On day 63 she gave him peach tea, which doesn’t sound very important to most, but it was a rather big day for the both of them. She’d tried to give him food and drink before to little luck. He’d pick at it, maybe take a few bites out of what she assumed to be politeness, before choosing he didn’t like it and pushing it away from himself. Quite honestly he seemed to do just fine without food so she usually chose not to pick a fight over it. But on that particular day, she has made peach iced tea, black tea with large sweet peach slices brewed in the warm fall sun. She was enjoying her second glass when he appeared behind her shoulder, rather interested in what she had. He looked it over, smelled it, traced his finger in the condensation on the glass, face unchanging. “Would you like to give it a try?” she asked, leaning the glass towards him. He placed the straw in his mouth, taking a slow sip, and that’s when she watched the strangest thing happen, his eyes lit up. Not literally but they didn’t look so dead anymore, in fact they were a very nice shade of brown. He inhaled the glass, before remembering that it wasn’t his to finish, and looking at her rather timidly, he spoke. “Sorry.” It was a small sheepish sweet voice, unused to speaking, very quiet and slightly scratching. She stared at him for a moment, before laughing, she laughed herself to tears, before crying rather forcefully. His face returned to normal, the pleasant brown of his eyes unknown again, mouth silent. Day 81, she named him Peaches, gave him chocolate crepes, which like most things he showed little interest in, and took him to the park. He napped on the couch that afternoon, head resting on her lap, she sat there and read the same page of her book four times and still couldn’t remember what it was about.

Day 107 she showed him how to build a fire, and gather wood from the shed. They watched Christmas movies that day,

and in the evening she gave him hot peach tea and a large yellow scarf. On Day 114 she went to a party, leaving him at home. Her coworker was right, if she asked nicely he did just about anything she asked. Help put away the dishes, sit in the living room so she could sleep peacefully, find her keys, and stay at home so she could go to a party. She drifted through the party, seeing many people but taking very little. No one kissed her when the ball dropped, instead she downed her drink and went home, finding herself rather wishing for the company of Peaches, a thought that frightened her. She had started to notice other people had, well what was he, she hated to say monster, maybe he was a being, something she couldn’t quite understand. Whatever Peaches was other people had them as well, they all looked different, ones with long hair, no hair, dark clothes, large thick black boots, tattered blue jeans or button down shirts, some were even female. But they all had arms that were a bit too long, knees a bit too wobbly, large slender hands with cold pink fingertips and blood red rubbed knuckles. Deep brown eyes. Day 129 she painted his nails light green and showed him how to make banana bread. Day 140 they built a snowman together and she knitted him a pair of red gloves. Day 163 he picked her orange wallflowers that had barely bloomed, some still have a bit of dirt on the bottom. She put them in a clear vase above the fireplace and they baked a chocolate cake with raspberries, and to her surprise, he enjoyed it very much. Day 184 they gardened, and sucked on red clover while laying in the damp green grass. She noticed the longer they spent together the more he spoke. Never really complete sentences, only a few words pieced together, usually in statement or question form. Like asking her how she was feeling or answering a question. On one sunday afternoon however she got him to have a full conversation with her. “How are you feeling today?” “I’m...okay,” he answered, pausing between the words. 87

He did this often, he was quiet spoken and almost seemed like he was afraid of speaking to her. Voice small and sweet, posture shrunk away, fleeting brown eyes. “Do you like it here?” “Yes.” “Why is that?” she asked a question that had been on her mind for some time. “I...I don’t know. You’re...nice, I suppose,” he answered looking forwards at a group of children playing tag. It was a warm April afternoon and it had been some time since he’d been out of the house. “What are you?” He looked at her then, his eyes a soft shade of brown, they did that switching from unbearable to look at to rather warm and kind. She didn’t know why they did that, but it was one of the few things she rather disliked about him. He continued to look at her and she assumed he must either not understand the question or didn’t have an answer for her. “Would you like to be done talking?” “Please.” “Okay.” They looked on at that group of children and sat in silence for a long time, his face losing it’s warmth again, and she couldn’t decide if she should have left him at home or not. Today was day 231, and she decided to take him to the farmers market, walking hand in hand, explaining to him everything there. They bought fresh cherries, a cute little glass wind chime he seemed to rather like, and some red hair clips for his hair, which had started to get rather long. On their way out she ran smack into a man, falling over, landing hard on her tailbone, dropping her bag of cherries, the dark red fruit rolling this way and that. “Oh my goodness miss, are you okay? I’m so sorry, please let me help you up.” There stood a man, with curly black hair, light green eyes, grass stained jeans and fingers covered in dry peeling paint specks.

“Thank you, there’s no need to apologize, really I should have been looking where I was going,” she answered, accepting his hand. Raising to her feet she dusted herself off, reaching down to collect what was left of her cherries. “Really I feel terrible.” “There’s no need, it was an honest accident.” “Please just let me make it up to you,” he said, “Take you out to coffee or something.” She laughed a little, finding his persistence rather charm-

ing.

hand.

“Suzie, nice to meet you,” she smiled back, shaking his hand warmly. As Suzie walked with Peter she realized she couldn’t feel Peaches presence and that frightened her very much. Taking a quick glance behind her she caught sight of him, trailing far behind, and with what looked like real sadness on his face, brown eyes shiny in the bright sun. Knowing that he was still there made her feel better, but as Peter started to speak again she soon found herself forgetting all about Peaches.

It’s been three years since Peaches left. One evening he was with her, having dinner with her, sitting with her, taking naps on the couch, going for walks around the park. And then one morning when she came back from Peter’s he was just gone. Suzie knew he had actually existed, his things were still in the house, yellow scarf draped over her bed, red gloves on the coffee table, green nail polish and red hair clips left in her vanity drawer. She didn’t know why he left, though he always looked a little sad when she spoke of Peter, or when he stayed over, so she figured that much had been the cause. But that thought made her rather sad, Peaches had grown to be her good friend, and she missed him often.

“Okay coffee then, and your name was?” “Peter,” he said, a shy smile on his face, extending his