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A door swung open with a loud squeal, and Historia heard a familiar voice call out, “You ready?”
She grinned, shoving a final thing into her bag, then glanced around the small room just in case. “Coming,” she called back. Her gaze flicked over her neatly made bed, a small projector that speckled the ceiling with stars that Historia had gotten for Ymir and Ymir loved, a floor clean save a sweatshirt (Ymir’s, probably) lying in the corner, and a bookshelf, the books lined up by color in an arrangement that made Historia happy every time she looked at it. Three books were askew, jutting out from the uniformity ( pride and prejudice, the princess bride, and, yes, twilight), and she stood up to correct them, pulling them out briefly. A small object lay behind the books, and Historia lingered for a second, before picking it up and slipping it into her purse. She pushed the books back, closed the zipper on her suitcase’s pocket, and told her room that she’d see it in a couple of days.
The suitcase thumped down the steps. Ymir’s freckled face was waiting for her at the bottom.
“The car is packed,” said Ymir. She glanced at the suitcase, looking rather large next to Historia, which wasn't really fair. "For our two day trip." She was already reaching to take Historia’s suitcase. Historia gripped it for a second, but Ymir smiled at her, and Historia let her take it, if only for the sake of Ymir’s ego. Let her think she’s a good girlfriend.
I am a good girlfriend, Ymir’s voice said incredulously in her head, and Historia almost laughed at the fact that she was thinking of Ymir’s hypothetical responses while the woman stood right next to her.
“What?” Ymir was looking at her curiously, noticing the half-smile tugging at Historia’s lips.
“Nothing,” said Historia. Ymir shook her head, putting the key into the front door. “Just you,” she finished, and gave Ymir a quick kiss on the cheek. The key froze in the lock. Historia’s smile grew; Ymir was full of so much bravado, it always amused Historia how little it took to shake her. Ymir blinked, grinning, and then with a satisfying click, the door was locked.
Ymir threw Historia’s suitcase in the back of their old Subaru Forester, and then they were off, Ymir at the wheel, Historia shotgun.
Historia blasted “Life is a Highway” to kick off the journey (it is a known fact that shotgun gets music rights) and the two of them pulled out of their neighborhood bubble, screaming “I’m gonna ride it ALL NIGHT LOOOONG!”, Ymir winking at Historia after amending the lyrics to something a bit more suggestive. Historia mock threatened to play the little Einsteins theme, or even worse, EDM, and Ymir hastily apologized. She settled for Mr. Blue Sky instead, and turned the volume to a less ear-splitting level.
It was looking to be a wonderful day - the sky was still a pale morning blue, the sun fatigued from its recent awakening, and there was not a cloud to be seen. Eight in the morning, and the day was full of promise. Historia had wanted to leave at 6am, perhaps even 5, but Ymir, remembering how much of a beast in the morning she was, convinced her - with the promise of homemade pancakes - to go for a slightly later departure. Ymir kept her word and made Historia blueberry pancakes, making herself chocolate chip ones. They were part of the three things she could make, her other two specialties being peanut butter and jellies and the oh so difficult packaged ramen. It was fortunate Historia enjoyed cooking; she especially enjoyed the look on Ymir’s face after tasting one of Historia’s meals. That was a tangent Historia could go on for hours. Oi, she really was enamored. She reached into her purse to reassure herself of the object she had slipped in it earlier, running her thumb along the cardboard edge. Just touching it filled her with butterflies. Historia turned back to Ymir.
Ymir was tapping her fingers to the beat on the wheel, singing along to Don’t Stop Believin’ in a surprisingly good voice. She noticed Historia watching her, and instantly switched voices, going for a silly croon on hold on to that feeeeelinnn, trying to crack a smile out of Historia, and succeeding, because how could Historia resist someone so cute?
“Stop for coffee?” asked Ymir.
“There’s a cup next to you,” said Historia.
Ymir glanced at the cupholder and saw the cup sitting there. “You’re the best.”
“Please, let me record that,” said Historia.
Ymir stuck her tongue out. “You’ll never hear it again.”
“Oh,” said Historia, “there’s snacks in the back too.”
Ymir opened her mouth.
“Yes,” said Historia, “there are whoppers. And takis.”
Ymir flicked the blinker down. “I stand by my earlier statement. You are the best.”
They merged onto the highway. The gps said, in a uncharacteristically posh accent, Ymir must have messed with it, “In 12 miles, stay in the left lane to merge onto 5 north.”
“Well,” said Ymir. “The road trip is officially underway.”
“Yay!” said Historia.
“I think you mean hell yeah!” said Ymir enthusiastically.
“Hell yeah!” said Historia.
“LA here we come,” sang Ymir. She took a sip of her coffee. “Perfect.”
The 5 was far less traffic-y than Historia had thought. They passed the ocean, the brown grass, the mountains with boulders scattered across them. Ymir wrinkled her nose at the yellow 4.99 boasted by a gas station (“just wait until we’re in LA,” murmured Historia). The familiar surroundings fell away and they were in new territory, breaking into the unknown, passing places they had never seen before together. They passed concrete monstrosities bordering the ocean, two big structures each in a half-spherical shape, right next to each other, with smaller circular adornments sticking out at the apex of the domes. Ymir gave Historia a sideways glance, and Historia stared right back at her, daring her to say what she was thinking.
Ymir caved. “It’s the concrete titties!”
“First landmark of the day,” said Historia dryly.
Ymir whooped, and Historia couldn’t help cracking a smile.
“Next stop, Griffith observatory!”
“We still have over an hour,” said Historia. At Ymir’s look, she added, “In which we’re gonna listen to some jams.” Historia had a tendency to get inside her head, but this trip, she told herself she was going to live in the moment. To enjoy every minute. To keep that natural pessimism from leaking out. Old habits die hard, but she was trying. And Ymir nodded her head extra aggressively to the music in appreciation of this.
They sung along to some Kanye, and then Historia put on Another Day of Sun from La La Land, and then Ymir complained about Lost in Paradise missing from Spotify, so then Historia put on the Sea Shanties That Drop My Panties playlist to pacify her, because Ymir could never resist singing along to those absurdly catchy songs. The time passed quickly, as it always did when they were together, and by the time they drove up the windy road to the observatory, Historia had almost forgotten the source of her nervousness. She reached once more into her purse.
The lot was full, but by some miracle, a car was leaving, and Ymir patiently waited for it to leave. Historia was reminded once again why she was not driving in LA - it wasn’t that she was a bad driver, at least according to her, but driving did have a tendency to bring out a rather aggressive side of her. The last time she had driven Ymir, a bitch had cut her off and then had the audacity to slow down. Historia was not going to let that slide. After gunning it, zipping around and re-cutting the car off, Historia had looked at Ymir’s face and determined it was probably for the better she let the more level headed driver take on the awful driving LA was known for.
So Ymir waited stoically for the car to leave, then took the car’s spot, serving a death glare at a Prius trying to slide past her. They got out of the car, and Historia stretched, the feeling of standing pleasant after two hours of sitting in the car. It was warm out, and she was glad to be wearing a light dress. Ymir had donned a pair of sunglasses. She was wearing shorts and a tank top, but Historia could see the sweat forming on her brow.
“Summer,” she said, neither an explanation nor a complaint, just an observation.
“Yeah,” said Historia. “Don’t forget sunscreen. And water.”
“Of course,” said Ymir with a sigh, already putting on some screen. She threw the bottle of lotion back in the car and then they were off, the car beeping a goodbye.
The Hollywood sign was in the distance, the big white letters standing out among the brown and green shrubs dotting the hills. Historia turned around to tell Ymir about the sign only to find a camera pointed at her, already being lowered down.
“Ymir!” she said.
“What?” asked Ymir. “Can’t I take a nice photo of my girlfriend?”
“I wasn’t ready,” said Historia.
“Impossible,” said Ymir.
Historia stuck her tongue out, and then pulled Ymir over to her. “Let’s take one together.”
“If you want me to mar this beauty,” said Ymir. Historia gave her a look. “With my pure awesomeness. I can’t help that I take center stage in every photo I’m in.”
“Shut up and smile,” said Historia. Ymir grinned, and Historia snapped a picture before Ymir could start her commentary again. “Perfect.”
They wandered around the observatory, looking at the exhibits, at the pictures of far away stars and black holes. Historia was entranced by the weighted pendulum that knocked over dominoes, keeping time, going back and forth eternally.
“When we leave,” she told Ymir, “this thing’s just going to keep on moving.”
“Yes?” said Ymir.
“Well, like, isn’t that odd? That things just keep going, whether we think of them or not? Like in a month, I’ll just be doing the dishes or something, or watching a cat play with a string, and I’ll be like, hey, that pendulum’s still going.”
“Well,” started Ymir. Historia waited a pause, and then continued.
“I know that seems self-centered. As if the world stops moving if I don’t see it. Like that Bradbury tale, No Particular Night or Morning. I think Hitchcock was onto something. It’s just so odd that things I don’t see are occurring, that right now people I used to be friends with are doing their own thing, drivers are being crazy on the roads, that the pendulum is still swinging. And the thing is, I don’t care much about all that other stuff. Because, oh, this will sound corny, but,” and here her hand drifted to her purse once again. She stopped.
Ymir waited for a bit. But Historia didn’t start up again. She just watched the pendulum swing back and forth.
“I think I get what you mean,” said Ymir. “I feel the same thing sometimes. But for me, it’s when I look up into the stars. And then you feel like a whole galaxy of things is happening, a whole slew of events lighting up space, and you wonder what you might be missing. But it doesn’t matter, because, because,” she took Historia’s hand. Historia stopped looking at the pendulum. “Any event that’s happening pales in comparison to what its like when I’m with you.” Ymir’s other hand fiddled with her pocket.
Ymir looked away suddenly, but Historia could see the hints of red peeking out from behind her freckles. The words had been taken from Historia’s mouth, but instead of bitterness, she felt grateful, pleased that Ymir had taken the thoughts out of her head and put them together in such a succinct, dare she say romantic, manner.
Historia hugged Ymir, ignoring the many passerby, who filtered around them, like salmon dodging rocks on their way to bigger and better things. She didn’t know how much longer she could withstand. Not long at all.
Ymir hugged her back, smelling like sunscreen and Taki dust and faintly of sweat. With every passing second, Historia’s resolve chipped away a little bit more.
She pulled away from Ymir, and then took her by the hand. “Let’s go outside.”
Ymir looked bemused. “Sure,” she said.
They walked to the terrance, looking out over the city of LA, watching the tiny cars angrily dart around the city far below. Historia watched Ymir watch the city, watched her flyaways catch the wind as if they had a mind of their own, watched her eyes glimmer with excitement at the views, and Historia made her decision. Now was the time.
Historia reached into her purse. But as she was doing so, Ymir dropped to one knee.
Ymir gazed up at her, and Historia was so stunned her hand remained stuck in her purse, hand clenched around the box. Ymir’s golden-brown eyes sparkled up at her.
“Historia Reiss,” said Ymir. The name sounded lovely in her voice.“You are the light of my life, the brightest star in the sky, my favorite person in the world. You helped me to remember what it was like to live, and every day I count my blessings to have met you. Will you, Historia Reiss, marry me?”
Historia glared at her.
“What?” Ymir’s brow furrowed.
Historia was not going to let the wind be taken out of her sails. She dropped to one knee as well, and, for once, she was looking Ymir straight in the eye.
“Ymir,” she said. “You’re quite good at giving speeches, so I’ll make mine short and sweet, which is, as you recall, the way you described me to your friends. You have made my life worth living. I love you to the moon and back, I love you as much as you love sarcasm, I love you for as long as that pendulum swings. Ymir Kristiansen, will you marry me?”
Ymir looked at her. She looked at the ring Historia was presenting. And then back at the ring in her own hand.
Historia waited.
A crowd had accumulated, without either of them noticing, and the only sound Historia could hear was the slight breeze whooshing by her ears.
Ymir started laughing. Her shoulders shook, her knee wobbled, and then it buckled, and she sat down with a thump. Historia stared at her. Ymir, with her cursed long arms, pulled Historia in for a hug, and then whispered in her ear, “I asked first, dummy. Yes, of course, yes.”
Historia couldn’t help the laugh that sprung from her mouth, all of her pent up nervousness and elation bubbling to the surface, and she yelled out, “Yes!” Whether that was an answer to Ymir’s proposition or a celebration of triumph, she did not know, but it was probably a little bit of both.
The tourists passing by clapped, and someone whistled. They dispersed slowly, getting back on with LA days of their own, random people off to live random lives, but Historia didn’t mind, because there was only one set of people having an LA day she cared about right now.
She pulled Ymir up, and they each slipped on their rings, simple metal bands that could be made anywhere but meant the world to their respective owners. Love, Ymir, read the inside of Historia’s. Love, Historia, read the inside of Ymir’s.
They grinned at each other, the two of them, their respective lives merging into one, ready to tackle the bizarre chaotic world together. A new life.