~*~
Spoiler
Hello! I really wanted to post this as my end-of-summer chapter. So I did. 
This is supposed to be a letter of sorts and not as a continuation of the last chapter, so it's being narrated by someone else. Btw, for those who read the last chapter, Chloe is the dead girl. I'll find a way to incorporate her name in the last chapter somehow. Thanks for reading!
This is supposed to be a letter of sorts and not as a continuation of the last chapter, so it's being narrated by someone else. Btw, for those who read the last chapter, Chloe is the dead girl. I'll find a way to incorporate her name in the last chapter somehow. Thanks for reading!~*~
Chloe,
Do you remember the first time we met?
I was eight and irritated that my mother wouldn't let me go to Daniel's birthday party because we had to visit your mom at the hospital. She had been described as 'my best friend from high school' by my mother but was 'this stupid pregnant lady' to me. I held a fit at home and my mother told me I had three minutes to change into my sweater because I was going and that was final.
I went to my room, threw my clothes on the floor and watched Transformers instead, my version of a rebellion. My mother came in, surveyed the scene and told me if I didn't get dressed within the next two minutes, she'd take away my Game Boy Advance. That scared the living shit out of me, as video games were my life and I grabbed anything from the floor, tossed it on and ran out, grabbing my jacket and shoes and going to the car barefoot. I was still mad at my mother but I guess the fear had outweighed the anger.
We drove to the hospital and I think of how even then, I always hated the smell of hospitals. It has the scent of Lysol and rubbing alcohol, like they have to clean not only the blood and disease from the place, but the emotions and humanity too. And everything so fucking white like a asylum, like they used a nice, clean needle to extract the color, until nothing but mind-numbing blankness is left.
My mother was pulling me along, her manicured fingers gripping my wrist tight, yanking my arm when she felt I was moving too slow, while muttering about traffic and ungrateful children. I knew she was in one of her moods, because it was nearing the end of December and I stayed quiet and faintly angry, stumbling along, counting the cracks in the linoneuom floor, stepping over each one to make sure the childhood rhyme-step on a crack, break your mother's back- wouldn't come true.
She looked perfect, as usual, her black hair, cut in long, jagged layers, her bold features stark against her pale Winter skin, looking nothing like the suburban moms we saw glaring with disapproval and envy at the supermarket, or the mall or the post office or the PTA meetings. Everywhere we went, people stared; women, glancing once, twice, three four five six seven times, a forced, awkward smile on their lips, jealousy clear in their eyes.
The thing about my mother is that, regardless of how much you hate her, how much you truly despise her, you want her to like you, because she is beautiful and beauty is the sweetest poison in the world.
We kept walking down the white halls, a scowl still on my mother's face until we turned and suddenly a flash of bright, child-friendly colors, clowns and ballerinas painted on the walls and I knew we had reached the children's room. It was empty other than a teenager dozing on a bench against the wall and you.
You were sitting down in one of those stupid red kiddy chairs, intently drawing something, with your crayons lined up like little soldiers and your shoulders hunched in determination. My mother called you with this bright smile on her face, asking how you were and whether you had eaten and it was the first time I had ever seen her smile all month. You kept up with the cute small talk for a few minutes and then said she would leave us two to play while she checked on your mom.
I begrudgingly sat next to you and it was silent for a couple of minutes, you coloring and me thinking about how dumb it was that I had to sit next to some stupid girl who still played with crayons like a baby while Daniel and Aiden and everyone else were probably having a snowball fight or eating cake or something. I was actually so lost in thought, I almost didn't hear you when you spoke to me.
"Well, are you going to sit there and look dumb or are you going to help me?"
I blanched; no girl had ever called me dumb before and I was readying my arsenal of playground insults when you looked at me, lips pursed, eyes glinting, as if daring to say anything.
"What are you doing?" I said, changing my mind last second on calling you a stupid poopface.
"I'm fixing the card for my sister. She was supposed to be a boy, so I'm making the dragon into a girl and I need help." you replied, biting your lip nervously as you looked over the paper you had been drawing on. It had a big green blob, next to a big orange blob that was burning the big brown blob next to the words, 'Welcome Home Lucas' in fourth grade penmanship.
"I don't even know your name." I said.
"So ask."
I was confused by you, this loud, weird girl with her caramel hair in cutesy pigtails and the greenest eyes I had ever seen. I stared for a couple seconds before asking.
"What's your name?"
"Chloe. I'm nine and my mom said that I'm older than you by a six months, so that means you're eight. I already know your name. Tyler. I like it."
"Well. I...like your name too and even though you're older than me, I bet I could still beat you up"
"I bet I'm smarter though."
We both nodded with reluctant agreement and then bent over the card. I drew a pink blob over the green dragon blob, effectively changing its gender and you tried to change Lucas to Lucy, giggling when it turned into Lucays.
About ten minutes later, your father came to get us; dressed in a starched dress shirt and long black pants, his shoes so shiny, you could almost see your reflection in them. He held both our hands and took us to the maternity ward, where the walls were painted pastel pinks and blues and the nurses seemed less tired, less upset, with a joyful step in their walk and soft smiles on their faces.
The hospital was different here, not so white and clean and perfect. It was full of antsy soon-to-be fathers pacing the halls and other new fathers on the phones or smiling so wide, I wondered how their faces didn't crack.
We reached the hall where the newborns were, the guttural screams from the women in-labor subdued by the thick door we went through. We stood behind the glass window, staring in at the dozen or so babies, sleeping or crying or just looking around, curious about this new world and happy to be alive.
Your father pointed out Lucy and you concentrated on her, as if etching every inch of her to memory. We looked a little while longer, not speaking, just staring at this tiny creature, that wasn't here yesterday, breathing and cooing and using little pudgy feet to kick up in the air, like she was bored with the light pink incubator she was in, like she was ready for the world.
We had play dates almost every other day, mostly at my house, because your parents didn't want two children running and jumping around like banshees around newborn Lucy. We collected bugs and played pirates and one time, I even went through a tea party. It was the only time I could remember waking up and feeling excited and safe and happy.
God. I wish I was eight again. I wish I could rewind nine years, spin a time turner, travel back to when we ate toast and orange juice for breakfast, not Advils and Ginger Ale to ease away the hangovers, to when the biggest problem was who took the last popsicle and we were always asleep by nightfall, no matter how hard we tried to stay awake.
These days I stay awake, no matter how hard I try to sleep.
Tyler.
~*~
Spoiler
Reviews and likes are appreciated and most of the time returned. If you want to be notified for upcoming chapters, please let me know somehow in your review or something, so I don't randomly bother you if you're not interested. :]
Next chapter is right here. :}
Could I be notified of updates please?
