Sixth Street — By Grace Tsichlis
artwork by Sonia Redfern
Despite the moonlit sky, it was the kind of weather where sweat pools above your lip and under your arms seconds after stepping outside. She was ahead of me, having just stripped off her sandals. Her older, quiet, probably Republican-voting boyfriend was behind us, calling after her. He was wearing a plain gray t-shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots–which slowed him down. We ran across the capitol lawn, the Texas flag thrashing in the wind. Bright spotlights shone on the ornate rotunda, flaunting its slightly reddish-pink hues. Our 7th grade history books taught us that the building was constructed in the Italian Renaissance-Revival style, but that was a faint memory now. The walk from Sixth Street to her apartment was only a few blocks, but the intensity of the heat, the humidity, made it feel like miles and miles. I was desperate for ice-cold water to revive me, to rinse away the sugar coating my throat after too many watermelon daiquiris.
I took off my Vans and the soft grass was warm on the soles of my feet. I ran to catch up with her and we linked arms and ran as fast as we could to the next streetlight. Just the two of us. The stars in the sky sparkled, laughing at our earthly bodies covered in sweat and grime. She left her front door unlocked so we tumbled inside, and gulped a gallon of water—too exhausted to wipe off the sparkly eyeshadow and black eyeliner, too exhausted to do anything else other than collapse on the polka dot sheets she’d had since we were young.
We used to stay up late watching The Hobbit in her childhood bedroom, but now we got drunk in her college town. We used to jump on the trampoline in her backyard until our legs were jelly, but now we went out with her boyfriend. I wished I could remember how they met. Only hours ago, he was reluctant to step in while a man wearing burnt orange hounded me to do shots with him. His passivity in the corner laughable while my best friend screamed fuck off over the music, raising one arm above her head–the other gripped my hand. He appeared when the yelling grew inescapable.
In her bedroom, he cranked up the A/C and threw a pillow and blanket on the floor next to the bed. Her cat snuck through the crack of the door and meowed loudly, but none of us moved.
Grace Tsichlis lived in Texas for most of her life, but now resides in Chicago, IL. She received her MFA in Creating Writing & Publishing from DePaul University in 2024 and her BA in English Literature from Midwestern State University (TX) in 2020. Her work can be found in Crook & Folly, They Call Us, and Raging Opossum Press. When she’s not reading or writing, she loves baking and watching stand-up comedy.