Delaney

2008-03-06T15:54:00.000-08:00

“God, you’re adorable.” Dean’s mellifluous voice from behind startled me. I didn’t stop working as I replied:

“Eh, it’s just the view.” I was several feet above his head, barefoot, in paint-stained jeans, with a big t-shirt that I think I accidentally stole from him tied in a knot at my waist.

“Well…” He laughed. “You ready for a break? I brought fries.”

I turned and grinned down at him. “Where from?”

“That little place next to the laundry mat on fourth.”

“Ooh, Little John’s? Great! I’ll be down in a sec…” I never realized how high up this part of the wall was.”

“Okay.” He shook his head. I think it amused him that I said things like that.

“Does it look all right?” I kissed his cheek and turned to look up at the wall above the bar where some of my favorite photos and movie posters had left clean squares of old yellow paint. Now slowly being covered by a rich, rust color.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” I climbed onto the wide counter top where we always sat when the place was closed. “Too strong, overpowering, maybe. We could need more muted colors in here.”

“No,“ He joined me on the counter, “I like it. Just don’t use bright yellow or, you know, that sickly sixties shag green. And you’ll be all right.” He was unpacking the big brown bag. “Besides,” He said, popping a stray fry into his mouth. “Isn’t rust a muted color anyway? Damn, these are good.”

“I think it is, and aren’t they?”

“Still crunchy… Let’s see:” he reached deep into the rustling bag. “House marinara for you…”

“Ooh, you remembered. Thank you.”

“.. Uh, you’re welcome… and…” He searched, his brows scrunched and his left eye squinting.
“Ah-ha!“ He held up his prize. “Blue cheese-- for me.”

And so we sat on the for a few minutes, bathed in the warm glow of the afternoon light that filled the half-renovated shop, marveling together at one of the greatest snacks ever to come from a potato.

“Hey,” he said at last, scraping the last of the blue cheese dressing from it’s little cup with an especially soft-looking fry. “What was that you were singing when I came in?”

“Ahhgh. You heard that?” I felt the warmth of embarrassment on the apples of my cheeks.

“Yes.” He grinned. “What was it, though? I didn’t recognize the song, and just when I was beginning to think I’d finally gotten a handle on your musical well-rounded-ness.”

“Well, luckily for me, I don’t think I’ve played that one for you before or I might have to worry that you didn‘t. Recognize it, I mean. Hey--” I exclaimed as he snatched the fry I’d been waving around-- hand talker that I am.

“It was going to get cold!” He laughed. “Or flung at me in the heat of some passionate statement. So I saved you the trouble.”

“You’re probably right, but anyway, it was called ‘Call Me When You Get This’. Kind of an old song now, but I just randomly got it in my head today.”

“Hm.” He swallowed a bite. “I liked it. You’ll have to pull it out for me. Did you ever take voice
lessons or anything?”

“No… Why?”

“Because you have a beautiful singing voice.”

“Ha, yeah?” Surprised… Who wouldn’t be? Most guys think their girlfriends are terrible singers. I suddenly couldn’t believe it had taken me this long to realize I was someone’s girlfriend.

“Of course. Why would I lie about it?”

“Um, because you don’t want me to punch you?”

“Yeah,” he laughed incredulously. “I'm not worried, babe.” He grabbed another potato. “I did mean it though, no offense: I was surprised when I walked in. Hadn’t heard you sing before, I guess. Really singing, not just along to the radio or something.”

“Well, anyway, thanks. Most of my practice came from singing backup for the Delaney gang back in the day. And you may be interested to know that I am even on a couple of their recordings.”

“No kidding." He nodded. "I’ll have to see if Darrin or any of them have any layin’ around for me.”

2008-03-01T16:20:00.000-08:00

I couldn't figure out how to describe him. He was beautiful, but not in the traditional sense. Or the non-traditional sense... He was simply: balanced. So I said this:

"I don't know!"

Nikki laughed at my incredulity. "Just try," She said.

"He's gorgeous, for one." I tried. "He's got curly, coffee colored hair (Black coffee, I mean.) and this incredibly smooth, but not too soft, olive skin."

"That's a good way to start!" Nikki was grinning. She loved this stuff. I think she once told me it was a way of life for her to know how people thought of other people.

"Oh, it's incredible, and he smells delicious." I couldn't help but chuckle. "He does! Stop laughing, you know what I mean. God, forgive me but, I literally have to keep a little distance sometimes because I just want to put my face on him and inhale. It's a challenge to stop at kissing his cheek just once." I had to pause, the last bit had left Nikki incapable of breath for laughter.

"You know," She finally calmed enough to say, and quite seriously. "You oughta be sure you're not still in the infatuation stage. I mean, he could still just want that one thing, and once he gets it... Well, you know. I don't want to cast any serious doubt, but I don't want you to be taken in by some player guy either."

"Nikki," Looked her in the eye. "How long have you known me? Like, since you were born, right?"

"Well, pretty much."

"Have you ever seen me even show interest in a guy like that?"

She thought for a minute before answering very slowly "No.".

"Believe me when I say, I don't intend to now. It's been three months, and I'm still being careful. I mean, until he starts getting serious, and I hope he doesn't yet, I don't intend to either. Even then, actually! And you know how I am about all that, I'm pretty sure we have talked about it before."

"Yeah. Do you still feel that way?"

"Of course, more than ever. But that doesn't mean it isn't difficult. I've even talked to him about it, I mean we do spend a lot of time together late at night, and I'm sure it looks bad, but I can't help it if other people don't think I can handle it. He works all day, and I work on the diner all night. He just brings me dinner and helps me bounce around some ideas to get the place jumpin' again - no pun intended."

"I know that, I've been there for one of those before. And, just so you know, I trust you, Dear."

"Thanks. Now, see, that doesn't mean we don't, you know, make out-- I mean, don't you and Noah?"

Nikki blushed.

2007-09-15T13:49:00.000-07:00

“Is this what it's like, Nikki?” She, such a girl, was almost crying. “Do you just fit together? Or is it something else? I thought I was in love with Michael, but we were so… I think we were too close, you know? I think there comes a point where you can’t go back and be together as a couple because you’ve been through too much as friends.”
“I guess I get it.” She said. “But I don’t know if I agree with that, Marie-dear. I think you and Michael just weren’t right for each other. And everyone would have disagreed at some point, of course, but you changed a lot after you got sick. And when you came back he couldn’t handle it. And I’m totally not downing Bridge or anything, you know how much I love the guy, but he just wasn’t strong enough for you.”
“I don’t know. I’ve done trying to figure that whole thing out.” A flourish of past frustration welled up into those words… I hadn’t meant them to come out so unrestrained and it was quiet for a while before my mind wandered enough to continue. It was oddly clear but still cold outside the windows in Nikki’s little car, we’d spent so much time there recently that I couldn’t even remember whether we were coming or leaving Mitch’s as I gazed out at the little building. It’s battered red and now yellowed sign had seen generations, sympathizing with the life stories of a hundred groups like us before now. A symbol of familiarity and cheer on their dreariest days. It struck me that, with all of the Mitchell family’s renovations over the years, not one of them had had the heart to change the sign. It was just then that I decided, without conscious realization, that I would only have it repainted.
“So...” Nikki half-whispered, and suddenly I was back in the passenger seat. “What about him?” She was smiling. I know she said more about sparks or convenience or something, but she’d lost me to the answer at the end of the question.

2007-09-08T19:35:00.000-07:00

“Hey, cut that out.” I pushed his hand away. “You‘re messing up the window.”
“So?” He smiled. “It’s yours anyway.”
“Uh, yeah-- and you’re getting my window dirty. Quit spreading those germs around before I banish you, or something. I don’t know where your mouth’s been.”
“Yes, you do.” He laughed. “You know exactly who it belongs to and she can just reach it, if she stands on her toes.” He leaned over the table toward me, his lips soft as they gently grazed mine. His soft scent wrapped around my senses as he moved away; I inhaled deeply-- trying to take in as much of him as possible. "She's a very nice girl, you know. Might not appreciate the way you talk to me." Watching him take a good solid drink, I realized for the millionth time how much I liked the way he moved. With a calm solidarity that lacked both uncertainty and haste, he held the manner of a man who was comfortable right down to his soul.
“What?” He said suddenly.
“What?”
“You’re looking. What is it?”
“I’m not allowed to look now?”
“Oye, Marie…”
I laughed. “I just like your face.” I told him the truth. “I just do.”
“Oh.” He didn’t blush, he only blushed when he was embarrassed, but he did take another drink. The cold outside the window washed beautifully over his sunbathed olive complexion. His warm green eyes, never vacant, gazed over the dormant world outside as the sun slowly started it’s daily journey-- probably pondering the shapes in the stars still visible overhead.
We sat for a while, sipping our coffee, speaking occasionally… And when he left for work I realized, this was what I wanted. It took two years and a lot of growing and hurting and working and even a little re-learning… But this was it.

2007-05-24T10:48:00.000-07:00

"So... " He twirled his finger like a lasso without lifting his elbow from the table. "the whole place, huh?"
"Mm-hm." I could hear my own grin.
"Well," His weathered hand landed heavily and coffee sloshed over the edge of his mug, darkly circling the napkin I'd strategically set it on. There was a spark in his eyes, suddenly aglow beneath his gloriously raffish eyebrows. "I guess there's only one thing left to do."
"What...?"
Turning, he held up a finger and smiled as he took a deep breath... and then exhaled on the window.
____________________

“It was the cheesiest, most hilarious… adorable thing he’s ever done, Nikki.” The girl across from me was already laughing. “He drew a little stick man and a stick girl holding hands…” I was drawing very quickly with my fingers on an invisible window as I spoke. Nikki’s eyes shone— reflecting my own excitement. “And then, he drew a little heart between them with our initials ‘mm’ in it.”
“What did you say to that?” She leaned in a little.
“I didn’t know what to say!” I threw up my hands. “This has never happened before, and, I mean, Michael never did anything like this… And even he’s still not very prone to it. You know?” Nikki nodded in agreement. “Of course, being me, I had replied before I realized what I was doing.”

2006-04-23T11:47:00.000-07:00

Next I knew, he was gone, and I was sitting in my car in the parking lot at Mitch's. Listening to the end of The Mayer's Split Screen Sadness with my eyes closed, and pondering the almost pointless, absurd, unusual, awkward shortness of Michael's surprise visit. I mean, maybe he really did care and was just coming over to see if we (he and I) were okay. Or maybe he wanted to tell me something. Or ask me something. Or.... something.

I should have invited him to breakfast with us.

2006-04-01T22:51:00.000-08:00

Okay... hair, face, teeth... don't need to eat, my mind ran down the list as I roamed the back few rooms. Um... sweater! Yeah. Keys, notebook, both socks... matching shoes, gloves? Nah. I rounded the corner to enter the kitchen and quite nearly sent him sprawling.

"Ooh, I'm— my,— Michael?!"

Shock. The absolute last person, Jim Morrison aside, that I expected to fly into first thing in the morning greeted me with an apology. Michael Bridge, in my house, probably having already eaten his portion of whatever my family was still working on in the dining room, and perhaps even more disarmingly handsome than ever for the fact that he was, indeed, the first thing I was really seeing on the morning when (I thought) I needed him least.
And he smelled incredible: clean and strong and calm, like soap and newspaper, or autumn.

"What are you doing here?" I willfully relaxed, sensing that I had recoiled on contact.

"Good morning, Marie." He kindly held his laughter. And then it disappeared, taking his smile with it. "Did I scare you?"

"Yeah." I dismissed it with a soft smile. "Don't worry about it though."

"Sorry." I hated it when he said it that way, hanging his head like a chastised pet. Sometimes I thought I hated him for doing it, but I didn't really. I couldn't. I mean, seriously, to see Michael was to like him, and to know him was to love him.

"I said don't worry about it, I'm fine." That came out a little harsher than I meant. I walked past him into the kitchen. "So," Awkwardness. "What's going on?"

"Oh, I, uh, just came to see how your reacclimation to home was progressing." Yes, he really talks like that. "Have you seen any of the others yet? Aside from, uh, Andrew, I mean."

"Yeah, actually." My answer came as I finished a glass of water. "I had dinner with the Delaneys last night."

"Serious?"

"Yep." The 'p' on that word always popped when I said it.

"How was it?" His eyes followed as I dug an apple out of the fridge and rinsed a small paring knife that had apparently been used to cut one earlier.

"It was good." I plied my words casually, not wanting to make him feel discarded, and wondered suddenly if Andrew had said anything about my weirdness with Michael. No one had mentioned him. And whoever had called Noah had overlooked him.

"Good." Michael nodded slowly.

"Apple?" I offered him the first piece on the end of the knife.

2006-03-27T09:37:00.001-08:00

I woke on the floor of my old room again and turned cautiously onto my back. Staring up at the ceiling fan, I found myself wondering first when the fifth blade had cracked, then how I could be so sure it was the fifth and not the first.
The nightlight flickered joyously, making snowflake shadows through the cobwebs on the ceiling... It was Michael who'd called them that first. Snowflakes, I mean. One night, a long time ago, when the whole gang dozed on the living room floor after a long and exhausting game of Twister.

Michael.

He was the only one who hadn't ended up at the Delaney's last night. A mild, sad sort of terror gripped me as I realised I had barely noticed his absence. I wondered if it meant anything, shoving down the obvious answer.
My cellphone buzzed in my pocket, sending tremors through my spine.

"Hello?" My voice, in it's usual morning glory, creaked out with less effort than I'd expected— but you've not have known from the sound.

"Marie?" It was Nikki. "Whoa. Did I wake you?"

"Nuh-uh." I shook my head, stifling a yawn. "I've been awake for a few minutes. "

"Oh." She said. "Well, we're all heading out to Mitch's for breakfast. They wanted me to call you, in case you want to come, but they were all too afraid to wake you." By 'they' I knew she meant Andrew and Darrin; the argument before the phone call must have been hilarious. The very idea brought a smirk I'm sure she could hear.

"Cool." I stifled another yawn, already tying one of the shoes I had slept in. "I guesss I'll see you all in a few."

"'kay." Nikki yawned. "Make sure you're awake before you drive. And stop making me yawn."

"Don't worry. " I hung up and dropped the phone. Throwing myself back onto the mass of blankets, thanking God for starting my day so well.

2006-03-27T09:37:00.000-08:00

2005-11-27T22:08:00.000-08:00

Dinner was amazing. The company, the food, the atmosphere... I can't possibly describe how I felt at the Delaney's house that night. It was like someone had emptied out all of the awfulness inside of me and left me clean and ready to start again when I left.

Somehow we all ended up in the garage after dinner. The four of us, I mean.

The Delaney Garage is like another room. The green on the walls between the posters and neon signs matches that of the pool table in the center. And at the back of the room is a raised sort of stage where there is a full size, weighted keyboard, several guitars, microphones and stands, a drum kit and a tower of amps.
And the whole place smells like electronics and soda.

I took my shoes off when we entered and curled my toes in the black shag carpet.

"Mmm..." I sighed. "God, I love this carpet."

"I think you say that every time you come over." Nikki rolled her eyes and laughed.

"She's right." Darrin shook his head as he watched me shuffle across the room.

"Soda?" I looked up just in time to catch the cold Pepsi aimed at my head.

"Whoa... Thanks, Andy." I laughed as two more flew past me to Nikki and Darrin.

"Yeah, thanks."

"Mmm..."

"Ready...?" Andrew grinned expectantly, holding a can for himself in one hand.

Slowly, we all counted:

"One... Two... Three!"

Four cans clicked open, and the rush and hiss that followed echoed in the drum heads.

"That was awesome!" Nikki hopped onto one edge of the pool table and sipped ostentatiously, swinging her legs. The rest of us were laughing too hard at the memory to complete the old ritual of Open, Sip, Ahhh...

Then someone turned on the radio and we played a few games of pool before the caffiene began to let us down. Darrin and I won the last one.

"I knew we'd get it eventually. " We high-fived.

"Yeah." Darrin laughed, I stuck my tougue out at his siblings.

"Whoa, it's ten." Nikki's eyes widened.

"Who's up for another round?" Andrew threw up his hands, wrinkling his nose just so to fix his glasses.

"Me!" Echoed thrice around the room and cans were soon flying in several directions.

... Including an extra one, toward the door, where Noah had suddenly appeared.

"One," He grinned without showing his teeth, beginning the ritual before anyone could object. "Two... Three!" The jubiliant hissing was was all the merrier this time for the extra person, and we finished the round with a loud sip and a habitually timed "ahh..." before someone said:

"Noah, man, what are you doing here?"

"Someone told me Marie was back, and I figured this was the best place to find 'er." He laughed. "And don't any of you try to convince me that I was wrong." His index finger hovered long enough to point at each of us in turn before it followed the rest of his hand through sandy blonde hair, which promptly fell right back into his face.

2005-11-26T21:58:00.000-08:00

"Lord, we thank you for another day of pleasant business, and for another night on which our table is laid with more food than we can eat." Mr. Delaney began as we held hands with closed eyes 'round the table. "We ask you to bless it and make it good for us— and to keep strong the hands that worked laboriously to prepare it, so they may do so for many years to come." A light chuckle passed over the table at that, and a few hands were squeezed a bit. "Also, Lord, we thank you for bringing Marie back to us...Amen."

Andrew's thumb caressed the back of my hand in his as the amen echoed around the table.
And then, it was time to eat.

2005-11-23T15:56:00.000-08:00

In the instant it took me to realise that the creature before me was indeed the girl I remembered, she had flown nearly across the room, with a silent swiftness she could only have inherited from her mother, and wrapped her slender arms around me —almost twice.

"Marie!" She sighed delightedly. "What are you doing here? I missed you more than I ever imagined I could and —Oh, you're so thin— Are you all right?"

"Well, I am now." I couldn't help but smile. "Let's see," I held her out, looking her over with a comically critical eye. My height (at last), her chocolate eyes were framed in dark, mascaraless, lashes; long enough to make a snuffleupagus jealous. In the same way, her light brown hair was held just out of her face by a wide checkerboard ribbon that matched the laces on her shoes.
Her childish adorability had matured into adolescent cuteness, and she suddenly looked all of the seventeen "and a half!" years we had been given with her. "I love your hair," I smiled, stroking it a bit.

"Thanks." Her cheeks grew rosier.

Darrin abruptly stepped forward, bent down, and kissed me on the cheek. "It's good to see you alive." He grinned. It took a moment for me to recover, hopefully not long enough for any of them to think strange thoughts. But this was very out of character for Darrin, who rarely spoke in paragraphs; though not, perhaps, as strange as it would be for Noah— Much less Michael. But then again, he was likeliest to change, being the youngest of the three; and it is seldom unpleasant, to be kissed on the cheek...

"Just wait 'til Ellen hears about this, ey?" I laughed, perhaps in time, although I am quite certain there is no way to conceal it when one blushes.

"Yeah." He chuckled. And I'm pretty sure his cheeks took their turn for colour, then. Ellen Fehr was a friend of ours from high school; a pretty girl, not to mention smart and ambitious, she left precisely afterward to become a lawyer, and later a doctor... Darrin had written her every week since she'd gone.

"How is she anyway?" I asked, which drew an involuntary smile.

"She's good." He said. "Almost done with year four—"

"Oh... Andy..." I laughed sympathetically as he entered for the third time with eyes rubbed absolutely red. He looked like he'd been sobbing for hours. Darrin and Nikki turned as I spoke, but were met with a sullen:

"Shut up."

2005-10-12T11:43:00.000-07:00

"Nooo problem, Marie dear," he cooed sardonically, and then chuckled. "You gave a great reason."

"Yeah." I smiled, moving on to the tomoatoes. "God, I love your house."

"Well, technically, it isn't mine anymore— but I get it, thanks. I love the old place, too." He grinned.

Darrin and Nikki were out playing in the garage. I hadn't noticed until now, but they had been all along; it was a spin on an old Delaney tune that caught my attention, I think. An instrumental interlude they had used between tracks. Soft, even mournful, piano laced with bluesy guitar riffs over a subtle bass/snare pulse.

"Do they even know I'm here?" I nodded slightly toward the sound.

"I don't think so." He smiled a little and shook his head.

"Did they know I was coming?"

"Unless one of my parents told them,"

"Wow." I laughed. "They do know I'm in town though, right?"

"Yeah. Of course." I'm still not sure if that was sarcastic or not. "Well, my mother should be back from the store by now— God, Marie, you broke the charm of the gum, I'm dyin' over here."

"Sorry," I smirked, even though I meant it. "But you did ask for it."

"Fuck," He said, daubing his eyes with a damp paper towel.

"Hey, I'm back, guys." Mrs. Delaney entered in all her blue-jeaned glory. I always imagined she'd have made a great soccer mom if any of her kids had gotten into it, which they hadn't.

"How's that salad comin', Marie?" She spoke using the same dainty swiftness with which she unpacked the groceries.

"Almost done." I sliced into olive number two, having eaten number one.

"Perfect." She threw the onions into the warm pan. "Oh, Andy, you should just go wash those eyes, dear— you're only making them redder by rubbing." And suddenly, poor Andy, he was gone. "Get Darrin and your sister on the way back?" She called gently after him.

"'Kay." Sounded dejectedly from a few rooms away.

I finished the salad while he was gone, and was tossing it when they all entered. Nikki was the first to see me.

2005-10-11T08:58:00.000-07:00

"So, what took you so long?" Andrew asked, handing me a knife and a piece of gum. "Helps keep you from crying." He held up an onion.

"Ah-ha." I turned back to a cutting board surrounded by deep leafy greens, peppers of every colour, a big cucumber, a pickle, a few tomatoes, and a can of black olives with a lid shredded by an old fashioned can opener— the electric one had given out less than halfway through the job.
The gum was soft, and boasted a taste that matched its rosy colour; I mulled it around a bit as I busied my hands, shredding the lettuce first.
The Delaney's kitchen was a sweet combination of blue and yellow on white. There was a pot of water on the stove, not quite boiling; and a pan with a blot of oil, awaiting a purpose. A small cobalt vase, ablaze with bright yellow carnations and sleepy tulips, sat on one counter; enticing my curiosity as to where Mrs. Delaney had found tulips at this time of year.

"Well, I told you this morning that my parents weren't back?" I began at last.

"Uh-huh." He said cheerfully, not turning his attention from the onion he was dicing.

"They still weren't back when I got to the house. 'Laina was thoroughly freaked, and Ben was worried - but he wouldn't admit it." Andrew shook his head. "So I told them we'd call the police if they weren't back by dinner, and we just hung out for the rest of the afternoon— but they walked in right in the middle of an old cartoon around five..." I sighed. "'Laina was asleep and Ben was getting there," I grinned. "I wish you could have seen us, sprawled all over the living room. Anyway, it turns out, they didn't just have dinner."

Andrew stopped chopping and laughed. Recovering only long enough to say "Wow." before doubling over again. And it really hadn't been that funny to me until I saw him absolutely lose it— the whole thing had been quite stressful for me so I didn't really think about how crazy it really was. I did laugh a little then, but not half as heartily as he did.
By the time Andrew could breathe well enough to speak again, he was crying.

"Fuck." He said. "And I thought I was gonna get away with it this time." He used a hand towel to dry his eyes. "It's a good thing I don't wear eyeliner anymore. That stuff used to run so fucking bad..."

"Well, with as much as you wore," It was my turn to laugh.

"Yeah," He chuckled. "That's when I figured out the gum thing."

"Anyway, so my parents spent the night and most of the morning in a hotel without telling us— which is something they've never done before— scarring my sister for life, and effectively grossing Ben out, and I couldn't get out until six," I gasped, having said all that in one breath, and sighed. "So, here I am." I shrugged. "Sorry I'm late."

2005-10-04T15:27:00.000-07:00

It rained all the way back to the house.
I pulled the sleeves of my sweater over the palms of my hands and gripped the wheel with icy fingers, taking deep draughts of air thick with the comforting scent of wet earth.

Then, for the first time since my return, I had that feeling, the touch of warmth inside, that meant I was home.

2005-10-03T10:33:00.000-07:00

"So, where've you been all this time?" I asked, watching him add sugar to his otherwise black coffee.

"Wait— I thought of something while I was back getting coffee." he didn't look up as he slowly stirred the dark liquid, savoring the very scent that rose with the steam. "The other night your parents took your car and theirs, right? But they were out when you got to the house, and still weren't back this morning, so..." He squinted. "How did you—"

"Oh," I half-laughed. "My parents left my car at the house before they went out yesterday."

"Oh, okay." He grinned. "You failed to mention that."

"Sorry." I sipped my tea.

"Nah. Don't worry about it." He took a deep draught of coffee. "What was the question again?"

"'Where've you been?'"

"Aaaaahmmm..." He pursed his lips and his brows nearly connected as his head shook slowly. "I don't know." He shrugged. "I haven't left town, if that's what you mean."

"No," I half-smiled, taking another sip. "What have you been up to? How's everything been? What's new, Andrew?"

He laughed. "You're a poet—"

"Don't even finish that." I pointed at him. "It was on purpose."

"All right, all right," He chuckled. "Well," he thought for a moment. "I have my own place now. It's small, but it's just me and I'm never there anyway, so, fuck yeah. Umm... I've got a couple new things recorded... My parents were divorced for a year and then re-married eachother—"

"Are you serious?!" I almost spit tea on him.

"Yep." He nodded and drank. "Weird, huh?"

I nodded.

"The strangest fucking thing about it," He said. "Is that they never fight anymore. God, I swear, they used to fight all the time— And you'd never know it, to see them now."

"I...umm..." I stuttered. "Gosh, Andy, I really don't know what to say."

"Neither do I." He laughed. "Fuck, I don't know if I should be angry or what..." He shrugged again and looked outside. It was getting darker. "I guess it's all right though. As long as Nikki isn't messed up, y'know?"

I just nodded again.

"So, who else have you seen?"

"Just Michael."

"Wow."

"Yeah. I think I'm gonna head over to Hal's next and see if Noah's there."

"He isn't."

"How do you know?"

"Just because I don't see 'em doesn't mean I don't know what they're up to." He smirked. "Noah only works on weekdays, not weekends."

"Oh,"

"But..." He sipped his coffee. "I'm going to my parents' for dinner tonight, you wanna join us? Darrin and Nikki will definitely be there."

"Sure," I grinned. "Two more, at once."

2005-09-23T10:11:00.000-07:00

He's right, of course. There isn't anything wrong with my loving Michael. I guess there was, once. When it was impossible for us to be together —to become the cliché "us"— but it isn't now... I'm just afraid to say anything to him. I mean, first of all, I don't think Michael would ever say anything about it to me; he doesn't even want to talk about what happened the other night. But, you know, I would die to know whether... deep down... whether he liked it...
And secondly, I'm afraid to scare him away from me. That he won't even be able to be my friend if he knows... Yeah, I know, if they don't understand, they probably aren't worth it in the first place— but that doesn't lessen the pain of their absence. That saying is like trying to put one of those little round bandaids, that are barely any good for a pin-prick, on a gaping wound that needs stitches.

...At least, that's how I imagine it.

God, I am so sick of thinking about this...

When Andrew came back to the table I was composed again, and resolved not to talk about it anymore.
I saw him differently, when I finally stopped thinking about myself. And he was a picture... Not really striking, in his dark blue jeans and baseball shirt; but, suddenly, everything about him interested me, from the tips of his shaggy, shiny black hair, to the asphalt smudges on the white rubber toes of his red Chucks.

2005-09-22T08:38:00.000-07:00

"I forgot...Oh," I laughed, shaking my head. "I forgot."

"What?" He almost looked guilty.

"You always say that."

"What? ...Fuck?"

"Yes."

"I do?"

"Yes! Isn't it on purpose?"

"No." He shrugged. "Does it bother you?"

"Oh, it'll be all right when I get used to it again." I half-smiled. "Just... Don't say it around 'Laina. You'd think she'd know better by now, but I caught her swearing at Ben last night."

"Your brother Ben?" His right brow raised just slightly in accordance with the left side of his mouth. "Isn't he older?"

"Yep." I nodded. "I don't think she knows."

He laughed. Thunder rumbled softly overhead. The tea was delicious, smooth and comforting; I felt the colour come into my face as it's warmth coursed through me. Andrew sipped his second cup of coffee and ran a hand through his hair. A soft tune I knew but couldn't name began, and I found that I was suddenly very fond of his glasses.

"So, how's Michael?" He asked. "I haven't seen him since—well, yesterday. But I haven't talked to the guy since God-knows-when. He really didn't say much yesterday either..." He mused.

"Yeah." I began, rather intelligently. "It was kind of weird being here again, and everything... Especially af—" I caught myself. Andrew's eyes flickered.

"What?" I didn't answer. "That's what's really bugging you, isn't it? ...Marie?"

I wasn't going to, but he seemed so truthfully in earnest. I knew he wouldn't wring it out of me, but maybe that's how he always did. With a deep breath that ended in a sigh, I related to him the events of my night at the Bridge residence, including what I could remember of the nightmare and what happened when Michael woke me. I could feel myself turning red until my cheeks were so hot they almost burned. And when I was done, he laughed.
He actually laughed.

"What are you laughing at?" I tried not to sound exasperated, but I was flushed and nearly warm enough to sweat.

"You." He chuckled. "God, Marie, I had no idea you were so amish. You cried on a guy's bare shoulder, it happens." He shrugged. "Are you seriously telling me that's never happened to you before?"

"Of course it hasn't!" I said, a little insulted that he could think otherwise.

"God!" He laughed incredulously, and then stopped. "Oh, I'm sorry, Marie." He was still smiling. "I really am... I can tell this was a huge deal for you guys. But the rest of us seriously thought you two had at least kissed by now."

"What are you talking about?" Indignation got the better of me. "We've never—"

"Don't even start." Andrew held up a hand, smiling again. "You and Michael Bridge have had a mutual thing since you met, and you know it. You should see the way your eyes flicker when he looks at you." He tried to bat his eyelashes, but it didn't work. "Now, I didn't say there was anything wrong with that..." He continued gently. "You don't have to turn so red." He brushed the hot spot on my left cheek with his thumb as he lifted my head. I smiled. He was so sweet and so frustrating, the way he made things sound simple— even when they weren't. "Michael's a good guy with a secure future. All that plus fucking tall, dark, and handsome? How could anyone begrudge your wanting to spend the rest of your life with him?"

I shrugged.

"Think about that," He said. "And eat your fucking cookie. I'm gonna go get some more coffee."

2005-09-21T14:24:00.000-07:00

"You're wearing glasses." It was somewhere between an observation and a question.

"Well," He looked surprised. "I can take them off..."

"Oh, oh, no— I didn't mean that... Actually," Through mental thoughts about how stupid I sounded and what a great new impression I was giving I realised: "They look good." They looked really good. "You didn't always need them, though, did you?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "I used to wear contacts all the time, but I just got sick of poking my eye, you know?"

"I did not." My eyebrows raised. "I never knew you wore contacts at all...huh," I shrugged. "All these years and I didn't know."

He laughed. "God, Marie," He said. "It's good to see you."

I could only grin in reply. Feeling more welcome then than I had since my arrival. I stirred my tea, letting the steam collect on my fingers.

"You still haven't told me what's bothering you." Andrew sipped his coffee. For some reason, out of everyone I knew, he seemed to enjoy it the most. He had a passion for it like nothing I'd ever seen, except when his fingers met the piano. "Was it really my glasses?"

"No." I laughed. "Oh, I love this song..." I swayed as the first few lines of 'I will follow you into the dark' echoed in the sleepy diner.

"Me too." His eyes smiled. "God, I used to hate stuff like this, now it's essentially all I listen to."

"They really like thier DCfC around here, don't they?"

He nodded, waiting.

"It's everything, Andy." I sighed. "It's like I came back to a different place, or an alternate reality, or jumped dimensions, or something... Or maybe I'm still asleep and this is just an elaborate dream. Everyone's different now, sort of, like something happened to all of us while I was gone and now there's a hazy sadness over everything. And..." I searched for some other way to say it, but complication detracted from the truth. "And it hurts." I stopped stirring my tea, still barely too warm to drink, and sighed; suddenly captivated by the ripples bouncing back and forth in the teacup. "I thought I was done hurting, you know? I wanted to come back to everything the way it was— and I knew that wasn't going to happen, but... I just didn't think it would be this way."

He nodded and sipped his coffee. I'm not sure what I expected him to say but, whatever it was, he didn't say it. "You, dear," He began. "Had some very quixotic expectations." I studied the reflections in my tea as he took another draught of coffee. "Marie," He said in his quiet, matter-of-fact, way. "Something did happen." Andrew's hair fell almost straight into his eyes as he leaned just forward, and I noticed, for the first time, the half-moon scar on the left side of his bottom lip; where a silver ring had formerly resided. "You got sick." Pain crossed his features for a moment, I saw it in his eyes; an almost imperceptable wince, a ripple over the glossy cobalt of his iris. And then I knew: it was my fault. "First, you were gone." He went on. "And we could all deal with it. I know it sounds weird, but we all learned to get along without you..." He shrugged. "Nothing really changed until we found out you were sick."

Ouch. Well, out with it, at least I knew he'd not hide anything. "What happened, Andy? I think everyone expected Michael to tell me, but he didn't. And not knowing anything is making me crazy."

"I can tell," He smirked, handing me the pencil that had apparently been sticking out of my sleeve. He was quiet for a minute before he continued. "Without you to book them, we pretty much stopped playing gigs anywhere but here— and that only because Mitch felt sorry for us. Michael got real fucking busy with school, so he pretty much stopped playing anyway; Darrin kept playing though, he still does, as obsessively as ever. And I taught Nikki a bit on the piano because she asked me to... God, she is a natural. You should see her play, Marie, I fucking swear." Andrew absolutely glowed with pride for his only student, who was also his kid sister.

"Really?" I couldn't hide my amusement. I had forgotten his fondness for a certain expletive, and how oddly normal it sounded when he used it... I should have remembered, Andrew had always been the 'swearer' of the gang. He loved the f-word, used it as casually as the rest of us said 'um'—and never any others. I had been accustomed to it once.

"Fuck yeah." He said acutely, draining his cup of coffee. I laughed outright. He must have needed to get comfortable, this was the Andy I remembered. Changed, yet so essentially himself.

2005-09-19T14:15:00.000-07:00

I took a tiny table in a windowed corner, where I sat alone with a glass of water for a while. The clouds had returned in force over night and now churned powerfully, if not lazily, following the horizon as far as I could see.
The awkwardness of Michael's departure the previous afternoon had not lessened, and Andrew's strange behaviour still puzzled me. I took my hair down and combed it listlessly with my fingers as I gazed out the window, unconsciously following a particularly dark bit of cloud with my eyes...
Hope of finding Andrew here and getting some kind of answers to the growing myriad of questions that boiled furiously in the confines of my head had been gainless; according to the waitress he was not on the day's schedule, and never worked Saturdays besides.
Yet I sat for a while, in spite of myself, deciding perhaps to head over to Hal's and see if Noah were— but, then, Michael might be there.

It grieved me all at once, how everything had changed. I dreaded seeing the others, fearing the pain in their eyes at my wan appearance, and the strangness of worn relationships. What had happened to everyone? A sadness hung in the air over everything. What could have done this? Surely my departure hadn't caused such oppressive quietude, had it?
I rested my head on my arms, folded on the table, soft in the oversized gray of my sweater. A streak of lightning flashed from the sky to the ground in the distance.

"Hmm." The familiarity of that warm voice carried indelible delight. "What are you doing back here so soon? Couldn't get enough of that spaghetti?" I smiled up at him as Andrew slid into the seat across from me— I hadn't finished my spaghetti. "Hey..." He spoke softly, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I half smiled, then shook my head. "No." He was quiet for moment.

"Before I ask you what the matter is, can I get you anything?" He smiled. "Coffee... or somethin', you know, besides water?" He flicked the end of the bendy straw in my empty glass.

"Actually, some tea sounds pretty great right now." I assented.

"Cool, I'll just be a sec." Andrew grabbed my glass and strode away. There was surprisingly little time for me to organise my suddenly scattered thoughts before he returned, with a white teapot and cup, two oatmeal cookies, and a mug of coffee for himself. "Okay," He said, aligning the corners of four sugar packets. He tore them open, sighing as he emptied them into his coffee before he continued. "What's the matter?"
His vibrant blue eyes met mine gently from behind— wait... he was wearing glasses.
Andy never wore glasses.

2005-09-15T09:54:00.000-07:00

"Ben! You left the water running!" she moaned, then acquiesced. "What?"

"Who's..." Ben grimaced. "Russell?"

"Some guy who works at the pizza place," Her answer was as nonchalant as her phone conversation had been animated. "He has, like, a bunch of siblings and his mom was in some movie back in the seventies... Yeah. Anyways, he's just a really nice guy— And he gives me discounts sometimes."

"Oookay..." My thought found voice through my brother. It'd been that way as long as I could remember. We'd been mistaken many times for twins as kids; to the point that people mistook us for eachother on the phone— even after his voice changed. "Well, uh," He looked around and put his, still damp, hands in his pockets. "Let's pick a movie then."

That took forever.

Ben and 'Laina had a very boistrous, entertaining, childhood insult filled argument because she insisted that we watch Twister for, what he called, the "trillthousandth" time. But, at last, everyone settled on a theme, an idea I'm not quite sure was mine, and we were up very late watching the old nineteen-eighties favourites we'd grown up with; beginning with E.T., The Breakfast Club, and Back to the Future, and ending somewhat ironically with The Neverending Story.

The next morning I woke first, squished between the two of them. All of us on the floor, legs outstretched with our backs against the couch. Scattered kernels of popped corn looked at first like twisted bits of fabric to my sleepy eyes. For a while I sat still, watching the sunrise from the window behind as reflected in the fingerprinted foil inside of an empty bag of Funyuns.
The tv channel changed every other second, each one static with a different number. I smiled slightly when I noticed, someone sleeping on the remote brought to mind the memory of the salt and pepper song Ben and I made up when we were five and seven years old.
Simple lyrics to a catchy, if not monotonous-unless-you-made-it-up tune. We'd dance around in the living room watching the static tv after our mid-morning videotape in t-shirts and underoos, chanting "the salt in the pepper and the pepper in the salt" until laughter broke the rhythm... I almost laughed imagining then, what it must have looked like.

'Laina's head pinned my right shoulder to the edge of a couch cushion, the frays from the short brown braids that came over her shoulders swayed in a trance, following the air from the fan that spun quietly overhead. As I looked down on that little face, it became real to me again, how adorable she could be. It had been a long time since that hit me, 'Laina was going to be a beautiful catch when she got older.
Another thing struck me then, that I thought "older" instead of "grown up". I didn't want her to grow up, I still wasn't grown up. And I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Not after hearing what growing up was really like from the people who'd taken the plunge.

Benjamin Lancaster looked positively handsome in repose as he was. Thin enough to look tall and muscular enough to keep from being gangly, with soft strands of dark chocolate hair curling just before they reached his eyes. He had long eyelashes, for a boy, but his eyes didn't look feminine; and the marks on his hands and fingers from the instruments he loved so well added a surprising amount of character to his lightly tanned skin. I looked at him for a minute, imagining various futures for the brother who should have been my twin. From shadowy, industrial apartments where he could work alone to his heart's content, to penthouses in big cities with a small family and a big name...
The neon number 86 showed on the tv for the twelfth time.

Carefully, so carefully, and surely not without some supernatural aid, I disentangled myself and rose without waking either of them. Leaving the tv on, so the absence of the static wouldn't ban the dreams their faces told were sweet, I covered them with a soft netted blanket and fled to the warmth of a shower so hot it almost burned.

And, before long, I found myself back at Mitch's.

2005-09-13T23:12:00.000-07:00

I woke to the sound of shattering glass and then water flowing through the pipes in the walls to the kitchen, where the knob squeaked as someone turned on the faucet; the yellow light nearly blinded me as I entered upon a very familiar scene.

'Laina knelt on the ground, picking out large pieces of what had once been a glass, while Ben stood in front of the running sink.

"How did it get way over here anyway?" She complained. "Ow! —Damn it, Ben, that makes two today—Oh," Guilt flushed her sprightly face. "Hi, Marie."

"Don't say that... 'Laina." I reprimanded, with as much sternness as I could muster through my amusement.

"The other one wasn't my fault." Ben claimed, turning to me. "Marie, what kind of moron puts a glass in the sink with the disposal?"

"A normal one." I laughed. "You're supposed to check in the disposal before you run it, Ben."

"That's so stupid." He shook his head, disgusted. "People should just put the dishes in the other sink. Then we wouldn't have this problem. They should make a disposal with a laser sensor, or something, that tells you when there's a glass or silverware in there before it turns on."

"Yeah." 'Laina nodded sypathetically. "But they don't. Now, get the broom... Besides," She added. "That wouldn't help your dropping stuff all the time." She rolled her eyes. Such a steriotypical gesture— yet, somehow, my twelve-year-old sister had made it her own.

"Anyway..." I laughed again. "Hi, guys." They both brightened and waved.

"When did you even get here?" Ben asked. "And why did you sleep on the floor? You look like hell."

"I've been there." I quipped. "I overthrew their leader and now... I rule..."

Ben laughed.

"You're weird." 'Laina shook her head as she dumped the sparkling shards into the trash can. "When's dinner?"

"I don't know." The brother shrugged. "Who knows when Mom and Dad'll get back, and I don't feel like cooking."

"Let's have pizza then." I jumped in before it could get ugly.

"Yeah." 'Laina nodded emphatically.

"Hey, pizza's good." Ben assented casually, trying to hide the excitement the spark in his brown eyes betrayed as he turned to me. "Wanna split it?"

"Sure."

"Hey, we should go rent a movie, too!" 'Laina skipped after us toward the phone in the dim living room.

"Nah, let's just watch something we already have." I said, pressing the speed-dial.

"Can I do it? Please, Marie?"

"Okay, fine. But no anchovies or pineapple." I handed 'Laina the phone, which she hung up and redialed —from memory.

"How often do you guys have pizza?" I whispered to my brother.

"Not that often," He smiled guiltily.

"Shhh!" 'Laina put a finger to her lips and pressed the phone harder to her ear. "Hi, Bryan, can I please speak to Russell?" She said sweetly. "Thanks." Ben and I exchanged bewildered glances and watched her intently. "Hi, Russ," She grinned. "I'm good, thanks. You? Oh, that's great...What?" She laughed. "Oh my gosh, people are so stupid sometimes... Ummm... Okay, I'll take two large thin crust, one just just cheese, and the other... Mmmmh... That hawaiian one? Yeah, the one with the pineapple? Right... Yeah. But could you do me a huge favour and take the pineapple off one half? Thanks, Russ, you're so awesome... Twenty minutes? Okay. Bye, Russ."

She hung up the phone and sauntered into the kitchen. Ben and I just watched her go, mirroring eachother's stupification. Her groan of frustration reached us seconds before she reappeared.

2005-09-12T13:43:00.000-07:00

The sky had all but cleared, a tired haze hung in place of the vigorous billowing clouds that had flourished overhead only hours ago. I squinted involuntarily in the light as he walked me to the door.

"Thanks..." I ventured.

"You're welcome." He said, before I could continue.

In the shade of the porch I didn't have to squint as I watched him turn back to the truck. I couldn't wait anymore. It had bothered me all the way back, I couldn't stop thinking about it, and it was going to make me crazy.

"Michael," There was more urgency in that than I meant to grant. He turned around. "Last night—or, or this morning—" I stuttered until he cut me short.

"You're welcome, Marie." He said without smiling. And then Michael Bridge got in his truck, and drove away.
I stood there until he disappeared before, numb and suddenly alone, I turned back to the house.

The emptiness from the street crept over me as I fumbled with my key in the lock. The door swung smoothly on its aging hinges; and the loneliness of my old home, devoid of light and company on a breezy winternoon, struck me with a surprising wave of pain.

I stumbled through the hall toward the room that had once been mine, searching for some warmth or familiarity to salve the ache in my chest; it came from a night-light in that bedroom, sputtering and flickering with age, singing to the shadows that danced on the walls and ceiling above.
There was a sort of sanctity to the place, everything sat where I'd left it three years before. Except for the things that had been moved when I went to the hospital. A few books were missing, pictures, they'd taken my lamp and the old tv to 'Laina's room... The bed was made, untouched since I'd left it; the same wrinkle across the center of the coverlet escaped my hand but not my eye.
Something about it kept me from resting on the bed. It felt as if I would disturb some peaceful ghost of myself, were I to upset the chaotic order I had left it in.
So I stole some blankets from the hall closet and spread them out on the floor, where I lay down.

I tried to write, but no sufficient words would come; lead hovered over paper— now and then scratching the surface by accident, but would leave nothing intelligible.
Finally, I just lay there, watching the shadows and the flickering night-light, and I guess I fell asleep.

2005-09-09T22:24:00.000-07:00

"Hi, Marie." An offensively sweet voice came on the line.

"Hey, 'Laina." My greeting was met with complete silence, until I remembered. "I mean, Jo." I rolled my eyes, Michael was laughing at me.

"Whatcha doin'?" She simpered.

"I'm at Mitch's with Michael and I gotta go." At the mention of Michael she nearly squealed in my ear.

"Michael Bridge!? Oh, I haven't seen him in for-ever! Give him a kiss— from me —will you? From me? Please, Marie?"

"Okay. Fine. I really have to go, 'L— Jo."

"Okay, don't forget, from me." She said.

"Okay. Got it. Bye, Jo."

"Byee!"

"Spare yourself— don't ask." I held up a hand as I set the phone, a little too harshly, on the table between Michael and I. "Oh, wow, the food's here." I still can't figure how I missed it's arrival.

We ate without speaking. Except once when I asked Michael for the salt. Something seemed to have dampened his good mood, I didn't really blame him. Maybe the strangeness of the past two days had struck him... or maybe it was Andrew.

Had it really been so long since they'd seen eachother?

The drive to my parent's house was equally uneventful. Michael had retreated back to his old habit of brooding. I always imagine his thoughts being much louder than his actual speech, since he never listens to the radio; not any FM stations, anyway. And it caught me then, the silence inside his truck. And the strangeness of the idea that we had gone anywhere alone together in it. That had never happened before. Why not?

Propriety.

Everything was about propriety. Our friendship was absolutely drenched in it, it always had been. That wasn't a bad thing, was it? Of course not. Then why did I have this weird sinking feeling about— oh, last night! I hadn't forgotten, but it rushed me then, in all it's hideous incongruity, with a question. Why hadn't Michael said anything about it?

2005-09-08T21:33:00.000-07:00

I stared after him a moment, completely incapable of response. In less than an hour, I had lost and rediscovered - or rather, been rediscovered by - one of my once closest friends. Or at least some semblance of him.
Andrew Delaney still had the same shaggy black hair, blue eyes, and pale skin; he wore the same clothes, the same red chucks. But he didn't sound like Andrew... Andy. This one spoke too quickly, and smiled too wide.
Michael was looking at me. I smiled— still not quite over the idea of looking at him. His dark brown eyes, like black coffee, beckoned warmly, but were not quite transparent.

"What?" he said. I shook my head.

"Do you guys still practice a lot?" I started slowly, one question at a time.

Michael makes this noise when he is thinking about how he wants to say something, it's somewhere between an 'oh' and an 'um', and really drawn out— he did it then.

"Not really. Things kind of slowed down after you left." He said at last.

"What do you mean?— ahck." I squirmed as the cellphone in my pocket buzzed. "Just a sec." I laughed to Michael, who was himself chuckling bemusedly. "Hello?"

"Marie?"

"Ben!"

"Hey, Marie."

"What's up?" I think my brother is the only one I ever actually say that to.

"Nothin'." He said. "You?"

"Guess where I am?"

"I don't know—uhm... Mitch's?"

"Good guess."

"Come on, man, think about it— you've been gone and practically dead to everybody for almost three years. Why wouldn't Michael take you there before anywhere else?"

"I thought of all that, I guess. I just hadn't put it all in a string like that."

"Ha." Ben snickered. "Well, anyway, Mom wanted to know if you'll be back in time for dinner."

"What? Of course. Why would she even have to— Oh, God, hit her for me, would you?"

"No way, man. I need these hands." He laughed. We'd been raised with the notion that the juvenile hand to strike the parent would shrivel up and fall off. "Besides, she's a girl. But I'll tell her you said a bad word if you want. That usually shuts her up."

"Okay." I smirked. "I better go—"

"Wait— 'Laina!" He shouted, suddenly far away.

2005-09-07T15:33:00.000-07:00

Michael was the first to stop laughing, a strangeness in the smile that lingered on his features.

"Hey, guys,"

I was still trying to stop laughing, if only to alleviate the ache in my stomach, when the server spoke. I looked up and met my favourite pair of deep blue eyes... three years...
My laugh was arrested by a grin so wide and real that it was almost painful.

"Andy?" I heard myself say. "Andrew Delaney?"

"In the flesh." He nodded.

"What are you doing here?" I said before he could continue. It was an amazingly stupid question.

"Well," He shrugged and looked around before saying slowly. "I-work-here..."He took a deep breath. "Welcome to Mitch's Mixes. Create your own mix CD for forty cents a tune. We also have great coffee and killer shakes - or you can try our curly fries, maybe some lasagne? I'm Andrew," he pointed to the nametag on his apron. "and I'll be happy to help you with anything you'd like today."

"You memorized all that?" I blinked.

"Yep— well, not exactly, I change it up a little, you know, so I won't sound like a robot... So, what'll it be?" He continued. "The usual?"

Michael nodded.

"Thanks, Andy." I said.

"Sure." His eyes smiled. "I'll be right back." I watched him walk up to the bar, hop up onto it, and slide across to the other side.

"An-drew!" The girl yelled at him, rolling her eyes.

"What?" He said. "Now you have something to do." They kept talking as she followed him through the swinging door to the kitchen, where I couldn't hear. I turned back to Michael, who hadn't said a word.

"So much for not seeing him." I grinned. "You weren't kidding about no one coming here..." Someone would have known where Andrew spent all of his time, how did his own family not know? "..Michael?" His expression hadn't changed. "Are you okay?" I waved a hand near his face.

"Yeah." he laughed. "Wow. This was definitely the last place I expected him to be."

"Talk about hiding in plain sight." I marveled. He nodded. "So, why'd he quit the band?"

"I don't know. He wouldn't say."

"Okay." Suddenly, Andy returned. "Caramel coffee somethin' or other for you," he set a huge steaming mug before me. "And a regular iced tea for you." He slid a tall glass to Michael, and set a sweating pitcher on the table. "With," he pointed. "lime instead of lemon— there you go. Your food'll be up in just a few minutes." And he was off again before we could stop him.

2005-09-06T15:59:00.000-07:00

We pulled up to a very old, very familiar building. Michael sighed and sat back abruptly as he put the truck in park.

"I haven't been here..." he said. "In I don't know how long."

"What?"

"I never come here anymore. I've been too busy with school and stuff."

"Wait-What?" I was dumbfounded. A long time ago, we'd all loved the place too much to be away from it for very long.

"Yeah." He shrugged. "I guess none of us really do anymore... Come on, you'll see, we can talk more inside."

I stopped outside the car to stare up at the old sign against the clouded sky. So strange, with how many times I had looked at it, it had never been more familiar than it was at that moment.
With a shock I realised, I hadn't heard anything about the rest of them, or the band, at all. Not even my parents had mentioned them... I guess everyone just figured Michael would catch me up.

The tinkle of the hanging bell and a subsquent crash from somewhere in the kitchen registered somewhere in the back of my mind as we stepped through the door.
Rows of booths in blues that complimented the smooth rust coloured walls (or what there was of them between the windows) were exactly as I remembered them, maybe a little more worn, but unmoved. It was the same with the long wooden bar and stainless stools, and the tables; each one topped with a band poster under a hard enamel surface. The carpet was new, sort of a giant collage of overlapping circles in soft coffeeshop colours. And everything was washed in a warm light, just bright enough.

The place was empty, save for a couple in the back, and the girl behind the counter; scrubbing invisible spots on the bar as she mouthed along to the Death Cab for Cutie song playing softly overhead.
Michael and I took a tiny table in the center of the room— one of two with a Delaney poster on top. The other was bigger— a corner booth in the back where we all used to sit.

"Wow." Was all I could say.

"Yeah." He echoed. And then there was silence again, except for a slow Beach Boys tune that made me smile; I traced the familiar lines of the poster on the tabletop with an almost transparent finger. "What?" Michael mirrored my almost-smile.

"This song." I smiled, hoping he would be the one to start the aforementioned 'talk'. "Mmm... It smells really good in here." The intoxicating aroma of the strong coffee the place was famous for had finally penetrated my not-quite-awakened senses.

"Yeah." He said again. More silence. Then: "They sure are taking their time sending a server, aren't they?"

"M-hm." I nodded. "Oh well. I don't really mind waiting— I mean, it's not like I have anywhere but home to go." That drew a smile. "So, um, what's up with everyone? How's everyone doing? I can't believe you guys don't come here anymore, do you all even talk?"

Michael just laughed at me. "That was a lot of questions." He said.

"I know." I shook my head. "I know, I'm sorry."

"Let's see..." He rubbed his chin. "Uh... let's do this backwards."

"Okay."

"All right, first; yes, we do talk. Just not as much as we used to. Second; as far as I know, everyone is fine. Uh... Third; Noah works at Hal's now, Darrin spends all his time in the Delaney Garage writing music, and - when she isn't with him - Nikki is working on finishing high school."

"Jeeze." I blinked a few times, still tracing the tabletop. Michael watched my finger for a few moments and I realised something. "What about Andy?"

"Uhm..." Michael mused, then sighed. "Honestly, I don't know, Marie. He left the band a while back and none of us really see much of him anymore."

"Wow." Again, it was all I could manage. Andy was one of the most passionate members of Delaney, family and band. "That's kind of weird." I continued, intelligently. "Who plays keys for you guys, then?"

"Nikki." he replied, and then, apparently in response to my telling expression. "Yeah, never would have guessed?"

"Nope, oh, no. Especially the way she idolized Darrin."

"Remember when she tried to have her hair cut like his?"

"Oh my gosh, yes." I laughed.

"Was it you who caught her at the barber shop before they started cutting?"

"Yeah, it was me." I recovered. "Kind of pointless though. Since she cut it herself that night."

We both laughed, probably louder than is proper in such a place. And suddenly we were just talking and laughing about all kinds of things we used to do— until the server finally came.

2005-09-05T00:04:00.000-07:00

The warmth inside the blue truck was contrasted by the mist outside that hadn't quite cleared. A haze hung over the roads like a sheer curtain, blanketing, but not quite obstructing, vision.

It's quiet in here, except for the sound of my pencil on this paper. I wish my pen hadn't run out. This gray lead looks so boring next to the vibrant blue.
Anyway, it's so nice, sitting here with him again. I don't know why. I mean, he hasn't said much— but I guess he never really did. I wonder if he remembers what happened last night.
Maybe it was all one huge nightmare. Oh, God, I hope it was. It was so horrible, I can't believe it. Maybe that's why I wish it was a dream.

I don't know.

I did miss him though. I should tell him. I mean, I would want him to tell me; besides, maybe if I'm open with him, he'll be more open with me?

Here goes nothing.

"I missed you." I declared. Honestly expecting very little, if anything, in response. I just wanted him to know I had, even if he didn't have anything to say about it.

"Well..." Dang it. I blindsided him. Why had I never learned to be subtle? "There can't have been much to miss. You strike me as the sort who would have quite a few friends in college."

...is all he said.

Yeah right. I've NEVER had a lot of friends— and he knows it. I wish I could take a picture of the evil smirk on his face right now.

Oh well. I guess that's better than no response at—

"In case you're curious, I missed you too." he added with a smile.

Nevermind. Better late than never.

Uh oh. He's making the what-IS-she-writing-in-there face again. Man, I haven't seen that one forever. I'm gonna answer him and see what he says.
Besides, I've got so many things in my head right now that they're having pedestrian showdowns and not making sense.

Ergo, I can't concentrate.

"Everything." I said. Closing my notebook and focusing on the point where the road vanished far ahead. There was a low, familiar, growl. "Was that your stomach?"

"What?" Look of complete confusion: priceless.

"You were wondering what I write in here all the time." I knocked twice on the cover of my notebook. "And then, your stomach growled."

"Yeah," Michael said after a minute. "I am kind of hungry, but we're almost there." he shrugged. "It's all right, I'll get something on the way to the mechanic's shop after I drop you off." It was quiet just long enough for me to think he was finished. "...How could you tell? About the notebook thing."

I laughed. "You make the same face every time, Michael." Wow. The truth— that felt good.

"What face?" he was incredulous. But how to describe it?

"Well... Well—I don't know! It's your face... It's sort of, just curious, I suppose, but it's not the same as normal curiousness." Hearing myself go on like an idiot made me feel all of ten years old again. I wished I could shut up, but Michael always makes me talk. "It's... I guess it is a bit different than it used to be, but I could still tell." Forget ten and go down to seven.

His laugh was worth it. And then his stomach growled again, louder.

"Oh, now you've done it, Marie Lancaster," he shook his head. "Let's go eat."

"What did I do?" my turn for incredulity.

"You reminded my stomach that it was hungry. " He stated. "It was listening, you know."

"But, don't you have to—"

"Not really."

"You told your Mom—"

"Oh, yeah, the truck. I do. But that's tomorrow."

"Michael!"

"What? I didn't say exactly when, did I?"

"You..." I shook my head, I had never seen him like this before. "You're a genius." He smiled broader than ever and turned back to the road as I straightened in my seat. "Where to, Sir?"

"Oh, I don't know..." There was the old Michael. "Wait— yes I do."

2005-09-04T13:46:00.000-07:00

Two minutes of multitasking in the bathroom and I found myself wandering into the kitchen. Michael's mother looked as if she would be rushing, but hadn't the will, as she poured her coffee.

"Good morning." She said, in her way. I waved before crossing my arms over the bar.

"Gosh, I didn't realise what time it was." I sighed, resting my head on my arms.

"Oh, I know." She groaned.

Seven Minutes Later:

"Come on, Mrs. Bridge, it's really no trouble. I don't want to be a burden." I grinned, I just couldn't help it. Michael had walked in behind her right at the end of that and shook his head at me.

"No." His mother closed her eyes. "Your mother would—" She raised a finger, and then dropped it. "I take that back—You" She raised it again. "are not going on the bus. That's it."

My eyes made shapes of the tiny tiles on the countertop. I traced one with my finger as I answered. "... I could walk..."

"Marie!"

"Seriously," I pleaded, sure of a horrible smirk on my face. "I could, it's no trouble, only a couple miles, right?" I shrugged. "And who's to say I can't catch a bus if I get tired?"

Mrs. Bridge's mouth opened, but it wasn't her voice that spoke.

"Me." Michael's deep voice reverberated in my ears. "I'll take you." He said.

"But, Michael—" I started.

"No, I don't have any plans today, it's not a problem." He defeated my arguments. "Mom, you can go ahead." A glance at his watch. "Ten-ten. If I'm not mistaken, you're already late. I'll take Marie to the Lancaster's, I have to drop the truck by Hal's anyway, and come back for dinner—or something."

Who could argue with that?

2005-09-04T09:43:00.000-07:00

But then, I remembered, I already had.

Clarity came as consciousness surfaced. His hand on my shoulder brought me back from the depths of a nightmare I couldn't recall and, before I was completely aware of what was happening, my arms were around his neck, tears flowing silently onto what I suddenly realised was his bare back. He must have been wakened by my coughing and come down in such a hurry that he forgot a shirt.
His skin was so warm where my neck met his shoulder, it soothed the frozen emptiness left in the wake of the forgotten nightmare.

He was speaking, I think I had been at first, but I don't know what I said.

"It's okay." he soothed. "It's okay now, you're here, we both are, and—"

Horror flashed down my spine and into the pit of my stomach. What had I done? What was I doing? This was all wrong, it wasn't supposed to happen this way. Michael and I, as much as I suddenly realised I wanted... I pulled away from him. Rather more harshly than I intended.

"I'm sorry, Michael," I could only whisper as mortification stalled my tears. "I didn't mean..."

"Are you okay?" he demanded. I could never deny him a reply when he spoke to me so.

"Yes." I think I was lying.

"Marie, look at me," he said, softer; it was more a question. "...Marie..."

"I shouldn't have done that." My thoughts flew through my lips and my reproach was audible. "I'm sorry." I didn't look at him. That wasn't enough, but it was all I had.

"It's—" he hesitated, he knew it wasn't. "It's fine... Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yeah." My teeth were chattering, but I wasn't cold. "I'm okay, I—" I took a deep breath and exhaled a shudder. "I just had the most awful dream." The loose hair that had fallen over my shoulders and into my face was suddenly making it difficult to breathe, I ran a restraining hand through it. He was still just standing there. "Oh, but I'm okay, now."

He sighed. "Do you want some tea or something before you sleep again? ...Milk?" I heard his impish grin, and couldn't contain a partial laugh.

"No, thanks." I studied my hands, face up in my lap, the thumb of my right feeling the dip in the palm of my left.

"Okay," he whispered. "I'm gonna go back now, all right?" I nodded. "There are peppermints in the cabinet next to the stove if your stomach is bothering you. Don't be afraid to knock if you need anything." I think I nodded again as I heard his bare feet cross the tile, probably freezing at this time of night, or morning - whenever it was.

"Michael," I stopped him when I heard the deeper thud of his foot on the first carpeted stair.

"Hm?"

"Thank you." If I rubbed any harder, I was going to wear a groove in the palm of my left hand.

"You're welcome, Marie." And he'd disappeared up the stairs again.

I heard the squeak of the faucet in the kitchen, Mrs. Bridge was making coffee. A clock began chiming somewhere. I counted... four, five... eight... ten. Ten! So late. Stupid weather. I should have been dressed by now.

2005-09-02T18:51:00.000-07:00

The room was gray when I woke early the next morning, the clouds having gathered again in the night. And it was still raining, or had stopped and begun again. I lay still, comfortably mummified on the futon, and listened.

Vague recollections of nightmarish loneliness and tears began to creep through the fog of sleep that hung over the city of my mind. Something... I had to apologise to Michael... What? ...The dream... The emptiness... dark, dark... dark what? ... And then Michael... Michael's hand on my shoulder... He woke me up... I was afraid... So warm... He was so warm... Worried... My throat burned... "It's okay" he said... I'd been coughing... Dreaming and coughing and crying... He rescued me.

I had to apologise to Michael.

2005-09-02T15:23:00.000-07:00

He's gone to bed now. I wrote. He's going to come back though, I just know it. He's going to come down and tell me that he knows, someone told him. Or maybe he just figured it out. He knows I lied... But if that's true, why is he being so nice to me?

I should have told him a long time ago... I hate myself for doing this. Why can't I just say it? "Michael, I didn't come to your COLLEGE GRADUATION because I almost died. And I didn't tell you because I was afraid you would leave school to come to me— and I didn't want you to fail. Oh, and you know what else? I didn't tell you that I lied to you because I was afraid you would hate me for lying to you and go away."
It's so stupid of me to think that he would do that. Michael wouldn't.

Would he?

God, I should just tell him. I really should.

This couch is so comfortable, I just wish I could sleep. Being here again is so strange, it feels like home, but then —it doesn't. I feel like I should cry but also like I should laugh until it kills me, and I can't do either one. What is wrong with me?

Maybe—

"Marie?" Wow. That was so much sooner than I expected. His voice echoed from the staircase across the tile. "Marie, I—"

"It's okay." I interrupted, dreading what was to come, but happy to hear him again, my voice wouldn't raise more than a whisper. "I knew you'd be back."

"Can I sit here?" Again. Duh for an answer.

"Of course." I put my hair up again, not sure when I took it down this time.

He sat there for a minute, brows furrowed. The thoughts that had troubled him at intervals all evening were coming to head — and it hurt me to see it on his face. I had to wait, maybe I was wrong, maybe he wanted to talk about something else. Maybe... I didn't know, I wished I could cry, or find some other way to relieve the tightness in my stomach and throat. But it wouldn't go away, and it worsened each time I looked at him.

"Marie," he finally began. "I know..." I looked at him and his eyes caught mine. It stung, more than I can explain - those eyes, so soft, glazed with sleeplessness, so hurt... "I know why you couldn't be at my graduation, why you stopped writing."

"I know you do." Stubbourn wretch, I held to my lie. "I told you."

"Marie," he sighed. "You didn't... You lied to me. " Oh no... It's coming. "Why c—"

"Because, Michael." Desparation cleared my throat. "I thought it was just a cold at first. And then... Well, I didn't want to hurt you. It was your last week of exams when I was admitted to the hospital— And you can't tell me you would have scored what you did if you were worried about me. You needed to sleep well, and to study without distraction." He started to speak, but I couldn't stop myself. "I told them not to tell you because I wanted to tell you myself, I meant to after your graduation, but—"

"But you couldn't even speak..." he whispered. "You couldn't walk, you could hardly breathe on your own. You were in a fever induced—" he paused, searching for a word. "Sleep. For days, Marie." I couldn't look at him anymore. But I heard him breathe deeply. "... And I didn't even know."

He was right, I could have died, I would never have had another chance to miss telling him how much I really did care about him. Wasn't that more important than a test score? Was that what he was trying to tell me? Of course it was. What a fool I had been, what a child, so unworthy of the pain he had gone through for me.

"I don't know what to say." I whispered hoarsely.

"Oh, Marie." he looked at me and I turned away from him. "I'm sorry..." He said. "Please don't cry."

But I was already. Hot tears burned my flushed cheeks. Michael's plea suddenly brought to mind the time Ben had explained to me that it was the worst thing for a boy to see a girl cry and know it was his fault. So I screwed myself up to hold it in and stopped crying.

"Okay," I heard myself say as I wiped my face with my sleeves. "Okay, Michael, I won't."

It was his turn to look away. I'm sure in horror, because I'm quite awful looking when I cry. But I wanted to make him smile —so I gave him the only comforting thought I had.

"Michael?" I whispered, my own soundless voice and the thought itself made me smile.

"Hm?"

"I'm here."

"Yes." He smiled slowly. A clock chimed somewhere in the house.

"You should get some sleep." I said, taking the last cold sip of my tea.

"Yes." he said again. "I should." He took a deep breath. "You should consider a little shut-eye yourself... Miss Marie."

"All right." I rolled my eyes at him, in imitation of my twelve-year-old sister. Somehow, everything was better, perhaps it was the talking that needed to be done. "Goodnight... Michael."

"Goodnight." he disappeared with a soft padding up the stairs again. I listened until I heard his door close, and then turned off the lamp.

2005-09-01T16:31:00.000-07:00

A head appeared around the corner from the kitchen, just far enough to see me.

"Michael?" What was he doing? "Michael, what are you doing?" I laughed, he looked like himself again, the way he'd always been. A light almost-smile washed over his features as he strode toward the futon where I sat with my notebook. Such a strange expression, what I wouldn't have given to know what he was thinking then.

"Hey," he said, staring almost straight down at me from his magnanimous height. "I'm gonna get some tea. Would you like some?"

"What kind?" I grinned up at him, it was so - fun - looking at him again.

"Your favourite." he smiled.

"Sure." I smiled again, and stuck my tongue out at him, it was so cool that he remembered. He laughed.

As he walked away I realised that my hair was still down, I had used the pen holding up to write in my notebook. I don't know why, but it felt weird to wear my hair down when he was around. I mean, no, I don't know. It just felt, weird. I recalled a thousand times my Mom had told me not to wear it down around boys, because they liked it - but what was wrong with that now? Not willing to have it out with myself just then, I twisted it back up and stuck the pen in it, pulling another from the sock on my left foot. Unable to concentrate anymore, I just started twirling it with my fingers.
It must have started raining again. A soft patter trickled through the windowpanes behind me as I sat waiting. The bright tinkle of stainless utensils and quiet stream of boiling water eventually wafted through the hazy silence and, before I knew it, Michael was in front of me with an oversized mug; it steamed, lazily carrying the comforting, natural, scent of it's contents to my tiring senses.

"Thanks," I said as he set it on a coaster before me.

"Can I sit here?" Was his only reply. God, he still does that? Why? He knows he can, it's just me. Oh well.

"Sure." I lifted the mug and inhaled the reminiscent aroma of green, green tea - oversteeped, just how I like it. Again, I loved him, maybe even more than the time before; but again, with the surge of appreciation for his existence came the guilt of lying to him about mine.
A soft sigh escaped him as he settled on the loveseat across from me, his eyes closed. Michael's mood had changed, he looked tired now, disappointed. Hard guilt swept over me, catching in my throat as I struggled for something to say.

"Congratulations, Michael." I forced a smile for him.

"Thanks." He returned it with a genuine one. "But it really wasn't a big deal, you know."

"Of course it was." I scolded him. What was wrong with him? It was definitely a big deal. "College is somthing you waited forever for, and worked hard at; and to graduate with so many honours... Michael — it's great. You should be proud." More, just a little more. "...I know I am."

And then, he did something I hadn't seen him do in a very long time:

Michael Bridge blushed.

His cheeks actually turned red, and the maelstrom of curls on his head waved as he turned away from me.

"Sorry." I lied. I wasn't really.

"It's all right," he recovered.

"So, what did you do afterward?" I smiled again, speaking faster, unable to conceal the excitement that the previous moment had bred in me. I resettled myself for a long story, crossing my legs and taking a satiating sip of my tea before crossing my arms atop them. "I wish I could have been there, Michael —"

"I know you do..." he interrupted, a little harshly. I couldn't blame him, but did he know? Those words cut me, but I didn't want him to know. This conversation was supposed to be good; as much as I wanted him to know, I was too afraid to lose him yet. Like a coward I hid behind my smile again.

"You'll just have to tell me."

"Okay." He took a drink. The mug didn't look so huge in his hands. And then I laughed, because he apparently imitated what I had done moments ago. Awkwardly crossing his legs beneath him and setting his arms atop them. "Hey, I'm just following suit." he smirked.

"I'm sorry," Neither of the Bridge elders had problems sleeping, but surely this was an unusual sound in their home at such a time. "I should stop laughing, I'm going to wake someone."

"It's okay. My parents are probably just watching the news up there or something." He shrugged. "And besides, it would be my fault anyway for making you laugh."

"Okay." I surrendered, collecting myself as I sipped my tea again. Using both hands to hold the mammoth mug. "Anyway, what did you do? I know we alwayssaid we were going to go somewhere. And I was actually set to take you to Europe..." The truth again. Disappointment...

"Are you serious?" his eyes opened wide.

"Yep." I nodded, unable to look at him as I prepared to skirt around a different truth. "I would only have had to buy the tickets, well, and find someone else who wanted to come too. But then— well, you know." He nodded solemnly, maybe he didn't know.

"Well, Miss Marie, " he smirked, I hate it when he calls me that. "you should sleep. You've probably had a long day— and I don't like that cough."

"Me?" I feigned innocence and coughed melodramatically. "Sleep? Why, Michael, you should know how that goes." I stared at up at him for a minute. He shook his head at me, but he still smiled. "But you go on then, I'm sure you have plenty to do on the morrow, and you need more rest than I." I waved him off.

"Are you going to?" he almost commanded.

"Maybe..." I stared into space and pretended to rub the beard I don't have. He just glared at me. "All right, all right, fine. You go up, I'm going to finish this thought" I pointed to my notebook, nestled between the cushion and arm of the couch. "and then I'll go to sleep, okay?"

"Okay." he said helplessly, and shortly disappeared up the stairs.

2005-08-31T14:04:00.000-07:00

My family was to join us for dinner that night. Mom and Dad Lancaster arrived just in time, Ben and 'Laina were going to be on their way as soon as they finished their game.
They'd gone bowling. It had to be that day, they had to choose that day.

We were just starting in on dessert, and I was telling Michael how 'Laina doesn't answer us anymore unless we call her "Jo" (her middle name is Josephine) because she wants to like Jo from Twister - When my Dad's cellphone rang.

Ben's car had died and he and 'Laina (that is - "Jo") were stranded at an italian restaurant across town. They'd have to be picked up, it would take a while to get there, and it was already dinner time. We hadn't even started eating yet and we were going to have to leave.
Wait, I didn't have to leave. But what about Mrs. Martin? Or was it her dog? My Mom was taking care of one of them, so she'd have to stop there as well. But there wasn't enough time now for them to get Ben and 'Laina and do whatever she had to do at The Martin's.
But they could...

"Um, I have an idea." I said, breaking into a sea of apologies and debate over what to do. They stopped. "Dad, you go and see what's up with Ben and - uh - Jo," I fought a smile at the thought of Elaina's insistence that we change her name. "and, Mom, you take my car and see to Mrs. Martin - or her dog. You know what I mean..." That was awkward. "Simple."

"How are you going to get home then?" my Mother's right brow arched over a soft earthen iris.

"I'll figure it out," Crap, I smiled. "take the bus or something..." My Mom hated the bus, and I - well, everyone - knew that wasn't going to happen.

"Um..." She pretended to think. "No way." I think everyone must have chimed in on that, or I suddenly became telepathic.

It was quiet for a minute or two, it was kind of a sad silence. Not like when Michael and I sat in the living room earlier while we waited for everyone to arrive, it had always been silence with us; soft, comfortable, breathable silence. Not like this. This was hopeless. We'd all been alone for so long, this was supposed to be such a good night, and now we were all going to be separated again - for reasons that might even have been sillier than they seemed.

"It's all right, guys." My Mom was the brave one to break the silence. "We better go before it gets later. I'll just call that neighbor lady Rose is always talking about to check on the pup. I have her number here, somewhere..."

"Mom, come on. " I reverted to my twelve year old self which, I have been told, was very much like 'Laina. "I'll be fine."

"No, Marie - you're nuts!" She came really close to laughing outright that time. "You're not walking anywhere in this cold, and at night."

"Hey, um," Michael's father snaked cautiously into our conversation. "Mrs. Bridge here has an appointment tomorrow morning over by where you all live." Suddenly (as if I hadn't before) I loved Mr. Bridge. He looked at me. "I'm sure she'd be glad to drop you off on the way or something, right hon?" He slipped an arm over Mrs. Bridge's shoulders and pulled her close.

"Of course," Michael's mother smiled. For the second time that night I felt like a little girl again, begging my father with my eyes for a night of stories, and a few late rounds of Sorry or Life, over a glass of soda.

"Don't look at me." He assumed the position with an aimless smile. "It's your Mom's decision."

The Beginning

2005-08-29T21:47:00.000-07:00

It was cold, the day I came back. I hadn't seen him in three years. We e-mailed a lot, and in the beginning, we phoned on weekends - the phoning eventually stopped, but the e-mails didn't. That is, until I got sick.

I don't think anyone's really sure exactly what and how it happened. But it did. Some rare form of pneumonia or something like that, with feverish delirium that led eventually to a coma. They say it was four days, but, for all I know, it could have been a lifetime.

Anyway, I got better. Except for the weight I'm still trying to gain. And my skin is still pretty pale, not too bad anymore, but still.
Michael says now that I came back to him a ghost. Maybe that's why everything's so different, between us, I mean. But anyway...

It was disappointing, driving up to the Bridge's familiar house and not seeing his car. It had just stopped raining. I guess I just assumed he'd gone again. Having missed his college graduation while I was in the hospital, and I know he was planning on more education eventually, I couldn't have blamed him. Because I lied to him, too. I told him I was going to visit places we'd talked about since we met... But I was really getting sick.
I didn't want him to worry, he was doing so well in all his classes, and I knew concern for me would eventually take it's toll - and if he found out details of everything that was happening to me...

Anyway, it was like a movie when the door opened. I, Marie Lancaster, was prepared to fake a smile and be happy for Mrs. Bridge - even though I was really near devastation because of his absence - when Michael's face appeared.
At that moment, I loved him more than I had ever never told him. He looked so perfect, and surprised; he was taller than I remembered, his face framed in big curls so dark that they reflected the blueness of the rainwashed world that separated me from the amber warmth of this, the Bridge residence. I wished he would catch me up and carry me in, but, of course, Michael would never do that - even if he thought of it.

All I could say was "hi." I think he had started to say hello, but his expression changed when he saw that it was me.

"Hey..." he said softly, his voice as warm and smooth as I remembered. It was almost better than if he had carried me, just hearing Michael's voice again. "Well, come in, come on! Yes, I know, you like it— but it's kinda cold."

He hadn't really changed.