Hey kids. Love me, leave me reviews. Cause you're gonna love what I've got hidden up me sleeve!
Patrick went back to Wilmette today. I didn't. I'm not ready yet. I don't think I could stay with either of them. Not yet anyway.
Pete came over yesterday. We laid out on the roof. Just laid there. It was nice. Calming. He asked me to go back with him. I just kept quiet. My throat was tight and it felt like I couldn't breath. My lips felt to dry to open for fear they might crack and split. He let out a s disappointed sigh. Then he left. And I sat in my room for two hours. Crying. But I don't know why. This is so much harder than it was meant to be. A lot harder than it should have ever been.
All I ever wanted was for Patrick to notice me. I wanted so badly to be the girl he points to and says "That's her." Now my life is just one huge mess. The word Love is being thrown around like a rag doll. So much so I think its starting to lose meaning.
And every time I think, it just can't get anymore complicated. Something else happens and I'm fucked over in a whole new way.
I sit on the edge of my bed and stare down at my forearms. Covered with ink now. But two years ago the ink wasn't there to cover the scars. It was stupid. I know that now. I didn't do it much. But that doesn't make it better. It seemed to get worse when we were apart. Patrick would leave for a tour. Or L.A. Or New York. And I'd sit in my room on the phone with him. Crying so hard it hurt. With a pretty pink box cutter I'd stolen from work. Making tiny little scratches. Then longer deeper ones that seeped blood. And I'd cry harder because I knew that he knew.
Pete would tell me how Patrick spent hours balled up in the corner of the van crying when he thought no one could hear. He turned me in. And I spent weeks with Dr. Sever during their fall break. I'm ok now. I think. I hope. But I can't tell.
I lay back on the bed and throw my arms up above my head. I close my eyes and think back. Things were so much better when we were kids. Easier. Patrick and I have an interesting history. It was on Ville Brook Rd. in 1988 that we first met. I was three. Playing in the back yard on the tire swing by the pond. Back and forth. Swish. Swish. Back and forth.
It was June. Warm and breezy. My overalls slumped and hung low to my scraped knee and bruised legs from conquering our couch. Down to my pink jelly sandles. I jumped off and wandered over to the pond. The ducks were swimming. It was so pretty. And I just wanted to play with them. So I did. I followed them all the way in to the pond. But it got too deep and I couldn't touch the ground anymore. I shrieked and flailed my arms to keep above the water.
That's when Patrick ran over and jumped in after me. He saved my life. He pulled me out and clung to him for dear life. He told me what a pretty baby I was. Much cuter than his gross little sister Sarah. I looked up at him with big green eyes and smiled. He promised me then. He'd love me and protect me forever. I became his ever present shadow that day.
And I have been since then. I wish I could go back. I wish I were 11 again. When all we did was play war and climb trees. Or bum a ride from Jil to the mall. It never mattered to him that I was a girl. I was an equal. That mattered to me. He mattered to me.
Memories don't fade. Its true. I remember every detail of my life. Every moment. Every emotion. The good. The bad. Even those I never wanted to have. Its difficult to pin piont where I think I went wrong. If I did go wrong.
Two days of flipping through Mom's photo albums hasn't lifted my spirits much. I can remember the last time I did this. When I first admitted to myself that I was in love with Patrick. I spent a week in this den pouring through these albums. Looking at my life piece by piece. My birthdays. Christmases. Halloweens. Thanksgivings and Easters. Every phase. Every fad. Every rebellion failed.
My mother walks into the doorway and smiles. She has that look. The "I'm your mother, so I know." look. I look up and frown slightly. I hate when she gets that look. She sits beside me and runs a hand over my hair.
"What's wrong Ane? And don't you dare tell me 'nothing' I know you. And I know that look." She says wrapping her arm around my shoulder and pulling me closer to her. I lay my head on her shoulder and sigh. I have an answer. Not one I want to admit to. But one I want fixed.
"Its not nothing. That's the problem mom. I don't know what it is. I think I'm in love with two people. I'm more confused than I ever thought possible. And...ugh...its just not fair." I push out my bottom lip and grunt. Maybe I can get sympathy and she won't send me back to face my problems. I doubt she will. She'll spout off an clichÃ© and tell me she knows I'll make the right decision.
"Ane, My Ane. The things you manage. I don't know what you expect me to tell you. All I can day is to follow your heart. As clichÃ©d as it sounds, it's the truth." She squeezes me once more and kisses the top of my head before leaving the room.
I sit there for a few minutes longer. I don't know what I want. I don't want to make a decision that could change the rest of my life. I find myself in my room. I don't remember walking up. But I guess that doesn't matter. I look around and grab my bag.
I stuff the few things I brought. And the few I want to take. I tell my family good bye.
The drive back to Wilmette is quiet. I pull up to the red light that begins my decision. Straight leads to Patrick. And right leads to Pete. I know the easiest thing would be a left turn to Niki's to hide for a few more days. But I don't want to hide anymore. I'm tired of being unsure.
The light changes. My hand lingers about the blinker. I push the pedal and go.