“There is so much to be learned about someone from the little they remember and label ‘the past.'” -Seven Types of Ambiguity
I’m sitting in the lounge at work, reading a magazine about the big Oscar-worthy movies this year. Some of them look inspiring, and I start to make a list of the ones I want to see, but I’m interrupted when I hear a buzzing noise. It becomes louder in my ear. Then I feel something pressing, moving across my head. Chunks of hair fall on my clothes. I reach up to feel the area where the hair came from right as my eyes blink open in my dark bedroom. Just a dream.
I run my hand through my hair–still there…although I do need a haircut. The screen of my phone is lit up with a text on my nightstand. I rub my contacts to un-smush them, and the blurriness subsides. “Miss you,” it says. I sit up and swing my legs around the edge of my bed. I see that it’s nearly 1AM.
I power my phone off before clutching it in my hands and pulling it tight to my chest. As I fall back asleep, I wonder what The Writer was thinking when he sent that message. Why now? And just why?
* * *
The next morning, I awaken with phone in hand. As it powers up, I remember the text, and it makes me question myself. Not just “should I answer?” I don’t understand why he sent the text, so I should at least understand why I would respond. But I don’t know why.
I moved across the country with a mission, and he derailed me. Or maybe I just used him to derail me. I recognize that something is different now. I feel it within myself. I’ve changed. I’ve been damaged. I healed. I’ve grown. After two months without a sight of him, I decide it’s time.
We make plans. We’re going to see the film Like Crazy. I’ve been dying to see it since I watched the trailer months ago–even that two-minute preview was devastating. I had made my friends promise me that they wouldn’t let me see this movie with a boy under any circumstances (even though at one point I had plans to see it with Drew), but I can’t help myself. I can’t describe why precisely, but I knew I had to see it with The Writer.
But when I arrive at his house, I begin to panic. What if he invited Dalton? Despite feeling collected, there is no way in hell I can do that to myself. So I consider my options. Maybe if Dalton comes, I’ll pretend to throw up next to the car and just go home. Or I’ll get an “urgent phone call” that will require my presence elsewhere. No, that’s not it. I’ll abandon my car altogether and just Read the rest of this entry »