Sprig Magazine
Founded in Meanjin
Made for everyone
Shop
Dusted Sincerity
by Jaedyn Liebenberg
The afternoon sun draped over her half-naked body. She wore only denim shorts and a bra, and it was as though the dimming light was grateful for that. Sunlight curved over her thighs, her stomach, her breasts, and the thin glasses on the tip of her nose. Dust glinted in the amber rays delicately kissing her skin. I was envious. Not of her. But of the sun that should caress her with such familiarity, seemingly declaring that enveloping her was a task only it was worthy of.
She glanced at me, smiling, and went back to her book. ‘You know, you’ll be less hot if you take your shirt off.’
I looked away from her, staring at the ceiling. Smoke trailed from the cigarette between my lips.
As I pushed myself up, Belle’s eyes drifted to me. She watched as I took the hem of my white shirt with two shaking hands and pulled it off. My hair fell over my shoulders, leaving my breasts uncovered.
Belle’s eyes lingered before meeting mine. ‘See? Don’t you feel cooler?’
‘Barely.’ My cheeks were florid. But I could blame the thirty-seven-degree summer day for that.
I put out my cigarette on the silver ashtray atop her bedside table. A thick coating of dust covered the wood. I dragged my fingers through it.
‘You should clean more often.’
‘I like the dust,’ she said, putting down her book. ‘I think things feel well-kept like that.’
I rubbed the dust between my forefinger and thumb. I felt like it stuck to me. Or perhaps I stuck to it; wearing away, disintegrating like an old book that Belle would say she had cherished for one too many summers, now returning to the earth. She did care for her things. She cared for me. That care was decorated in her silk underwear that I knew she would lay me down in before packing soil over my head.
Belle reached over me, resting a hand on my shoulder, and grabbed the cigarette box beside the ashtray. She took out a cigarette with one hand and leant back. Both warmth and an unfair coolness imprinted on the skin that she touched. I convinced myself I liked the feeling, whatever feeling she chose to impose on me.
I did. I was sure I did.
‘Lighter?’
Taking the cigarette from her mouth, I put it between my lips. I lit it and breathed in the smoke. My fingers pressed against her soft lips as I brought the cigarette back to her. She grasped it again. Smiled. Coyly.
She took a draw of the cigarette. ‘Thanks…Maren.’
I detested how well my name fit in her mouth; how well she knew it fit, and how that meant nothing. Spring had passed. Summer would pass. I would find the shape of her mouth in another woman, as I hoped she would one day do to mine.
Jaedyn is featured in our issue 01 print . Get your copy here!