Driftwood and Rose, After It All
This story was originally posted to Twitter on May 7, 2022. It is the end of a story, written out of order.
Today the two of them are nestled up in the boughs of a vast tree, one of the few around to weather the flood unscathed. Beneath them the water swirls and dances, unsure of what it is and unsure of what it wants to be and as hungry as the tide ever is, but up here they’re safe.
It’s not the most comfortable perch, of course it’s not!
A moth-eaten blanket and a few pillows sealed up in plastic are hardly enough to make a branch’s rough bark as palatable as a sun-warmed beach or a well-polished stone, but those place are long gone and they must make do.
But still, here they are.
Drift’s wooden limbs inlaid with mother-of-pearl traceries finally starting to show their age, and Rose’s wrinkled skin split by plates of silvered ceramic—a reluctant concession to the options that Drift has always offered her.
Two things that aren’t all that little, that are nothing like they were when they made each other, huddled together at the end of a world that’s been ending for as long as they’ve been together and will still be long after they’re gone.
Drift fans herself with her tattered hat.
“Hey,” Rose says, “do you remember that day on the beach? The time you tried negotiating with seagulls and gave away half our food right before they stole the rest of the picnic basket?”
“Oh, goddess,” Drift sighs. “I still don’t understand why they took the soda.”
“They just dropped it in the ocean, didn’t they?”
“Mhmm. Took three of them to carry it over.”
They both fall silent for a time, staring out across the water. Rose stretches and cracks her back; Drift stays perfectly still.
“That was a good day.”
“… it really was.”
“There’s no way the beach is still there, is there …”
“No. It was washed away ages ago. The lighthouse too, I think.”
“Really? That’s sad.”
“I think the museum on top of the cliffs is probably still there, in some form. Maybe some of the trees too.”
“… huh.”
Rose twists to face Drift, lets her eyes rove over all her carefully polished body, all those elegant carvings and details and the cracks that they haven’t yet had a chance to repair . She can’t help but preen a bit; she always does like Rose looking at her.
Finally Rose reaches out and taps one of her torso’s panels.
“We found the wood for this there, didn’t we? And the shells.”
“You did! That was back before I was able to do much of anything, remember? When I was just bones and a mask.”
“Oh yeah … and your first hat.”
“Yeah! That old thing,” Drift chuckles. “You really knew what you wanted me to be back then.”
She can’t help but blush; her nostalgia is always cut with fond embarrassment. The memories of a much lesser self, a self who didn’t know any better.
“You seemed to like it.”
“I did.”
“Do you not any more?”
“It’s a lot to put on all the time, you know?” She shrugs and fans herself again, an idle motion that makes her suddenly less tattered hat ring with the little sounds of everything hanging from it. “The hat’s heavy.”
“Ha! … but that’s not what I asked.”
“No, I guess it’s not.”
“… well?”
“These days it all feels kind of silly. Being the Driftwood Witch … it’s all right as a game, especially with you being a bit of a brat, but …”
Rose rubs Drift’s neck, strong fingers pressing against the place where her threads all converge. It’s the sort of touch that never fails to make her sigh in satisfaction, even when she doesn’t arch her back in pleasure.
“I’m sorry.”
“No! No, it’s not that …” Drift tilts her head in thought, hands twitching as she tries to find the right words. “Do you remember Lavender ?”
“Of course. She’d be hard to forget!”
“Ha, yeah. She was always so much. Writing herself into the sunset, really …”
“It always struck me as a bit egotistical.”
“Something like that. But at the end that’s all she was, you know? She gave herself entirely over to her title, to her dolls, to being a witch. She was hardly a person. I don’t think she even noticed when,” Drift gestures vaguely.
“Huh … do you know if she’s still around?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe? But … early on you seemed to expect that I’d follow a path like that. You didn’t understand when I didn’t want to.”
“… yeah. I really am sorry, Drift.”
She reaches out to cup Rose’s cheek in her hand, her joints only squeaking the smallest bit as she moves. “Don’t be, love. I’m so very happy with how we ended up, and we wouldn’t be here if not for all of that.”
“A-ah …”
“And I’ll never get tired of that look.”
Rose sputters something, still so easily reduced to that after all their years together; from below the water watches and laps at their tree’s trunk. For a time that and Rose’s breathing at the only sounds that fill their ears.
“… I do feel a bit nostalgic now, though.”
“Hmm?”
“Even if that beach is gone I’d like to go see.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It just seems Right, you know?”
Drift stands and stretches, balancing effortlessly on her narrow perch; she fans herself with her hat one last time and puts it on.
From beneath its wide brim, from behind the shells and beads and sea-glass that drip down from it in a glittering veil, her eyes sparkle with something that wasn’t there a moment before.
Rose blushes as she takes her hand.
“Then let’s find out what’s there now, my dearest doll.”