
Rich Schmitt/Staff Photographer
The Palisadian-Post is running a selection of winning pieces from the 2021 Pacific Palisades Library Association’s Summer Creative Writing Contest, which featured the theme “Help!”
The following piece was penned by Arrena Ruth Dorn, who was awarded first place in the high school Authors category.
The walls of Lillian Meyer’s room are a bright teal blue, bolder even than a peacock’s feather. It’s nearly noon, but she doesn’t feel like moving just yet. I have nothing to get done today, she tells herself. House chores can wait. Today is for me. It’s what she said to herself the next day, and the day after, and again until it was clear it was no longer true. This can’t last forever, she thinks. Eventually she’ll run out of clothes to wear or smell so bad that she can’t stand her own body. But not today, today is for her.
The walls of Lillian Meyer’s room are teal blue, as bright and beautiful as a tropical ocean. It’s July now, and she hasn’t done any of her summer work. Absently, Lillian wonders why she thought buying her own small apartment was better than spending the summer back home with her parents. Her parents would’ve made her start her work by now, but they haven’t had to for a long time. Lillian learned to be on top of her schedule. And now she is in her own apartment, staring out at a view of construction and run-down cars, reflecting on how she hasn’t started her summer work. She wonders how she managed to buy the apartment in the first place. She must’ve had money, and for that she must’ve had a job. Lillian wonders if she is still employed somewhere. She can’t remember.
The walls of Lillian Meyer’s room are teal blue, akin to the color of the sky. Today Lillian thinks she has plans, but she can’t remember what they are. Instead, Lillian turns on the TV and, when she sees nothing that interests her, she watches the construction workers outside her window, leaving various shows on as background noise until the workers go home and the infomercials start to bore her more than the silence does.
The walls of Lillian Meyer’s room are a pale teal blue, and for the first time Lillian notices that it isn’t the same color as it used to be. They’d been brighter once upon a time, hadn’t they? Bolder? Richer? Lillian finds that she isn’t quite sure. Maybe they used to be purple. Or maybe they were once green. She racks her memory for what the walls may have looked like, but everything looks the same there too. Lillian ponders over the color of her walls for minutes, hours, days. It isn’t until the pain in her stomach becomes unbearable that she looks away, and by then it’s unclear what time or what day it is.
The walls of Lillian Meyer’s room are pale teal blue, fainter still as if the color has been drained directly from the walls. Today, a pounding at the door interrupts Lillian’s thoughts. She waits to see if the pounding will go away, but after five minutes it’s clear she has to answer the door. On the other side of the door stood Jean Allesterre. “You missed lunch yesterday,” she said, pushing her way through. Lillian wonders who this woman thinks she is, then remembers Jean is her best friend and has never needed an excuse to walk in before. “You also missed our movie date,” Jean continued. “And every day of our summer writing class. You know there’s only 2 weeks left now, right?” Lillian has no recollection of planning any of those so she stays silent.
Jean helps herself to Lillian’s small couch, leaving Lillian standing. “What’s going on, Lil? What can I do?” Nothing’s wrong, Lillian thinks. I’m just taking some ‘me’ time. Out loud she answers, “I’m fine.” Jean frowns and stands up. She’s always had a good sense of when she is or isn’t welcome. Before she leaves though, she takes a small paper out of her pocket. On it was a phone number and a name: Sarah Malone. “This is my mom’s friend,” Jean explains. “She’s a licensed therapist who specializes in college students. She’s great to talk to if you ever need help.” Again, Lillian says nothing, but she takes the paper, knowing Jean won’t leave until it’s firmly gripped in her hand. Lillian is going to throw the paper away but the trash can is too far away so she sets it on the table and goes to bed.
The walls of Lillian Meyer’s room are gray. So are the floors. So are her clothes. I’m bored, she thinks. It’s the first real thought she forms all day. Lillian tries to think of things to do. She can write; she is still an English major after all, and writing has been her greatest joy for several years. She can draw just as she used to do every day when she was younger. She can go for a run, watch a movie, play a game, call Jean, eat food, do her school work, call her mom … It isn’t until the sun goes down, and up, and down again that Lillian decides she doesn’t feel like doing any of that. It isn’t until the sun goes up and down a few more times that Lillian finds herself at the dining room table, staring at gray walls. A piece of paper is resting on the table by her elbow and slowly, she picks it up. “Hello? Is this Sarah Malone?”
Sarah Malone is a 35 year old woman, with mousy brown hair and glasses much larger than her eyes. She visited Lillian’s house the first time, and left an address for her to visit once a week. By late August, just one week before the start of school, Lillian finally forms an opinion on her. She is kind and funny, but serious and focused. It’s a nice balance, and one that works for Lillian. She decides to commit to Sarah, schedules weekly appointments, saves Sarah’s number on her phone, and talks to her in her spare time. Lillian hasn’t told Jean she called the number yet, though it’s possible she already knows. Lillian hasn’t left the house for anything besides her appointments with Sarah. But she realizes as she prepares to meet Sarah again that she showers before every session. And eventually, at night when she stares at the walls instead of sleeping, the ache of dread in her heart doesn’t pull as strong. The walls of Lillian Meyer’s room are a faint teal blue—a far cry from the beautiful, bold color they once were, but it’s a start.
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