He did not even attempt to be polite to the rebound girl he had found the night previous. "I have to get home…" He rubbed his face, feeling faintly ill. He smirked, getting out of the bed, leaving before he could think about the past night's events.
"Pick up the phone…. Please?" He could hear the sigh over the answering machine, and the tone again. The apologetic one that tugged so repetitively at his heartstrings.
Some time, a little more than year later, he woke up, still thinking about her. His new job was dull and unfulfilling, but, truth be told, it was exactly what he expected from life without her. Nothing. No meaning. That was him as a pathetic teenager, though. He'd personally like to think that since then he'd grown a pair and got on with his life. He still loved her though.
Sometimes he imagined her, successful, famous, and well-off, in New York City; perhaps as a fashion designer, as he always knew she strived at. She certainly wouldn't be coming back to their neighborhood ever again.
He took the short walk to the factory a couple blocks away, punching his time card and readying himself for another day of lever pulling and silicon plate checking. The twelve hours ticked by as was normal, and he picked up his card again, and Philip Dale clocked out of work at five, walking back to his house.
That was his life now. Normal and plain. Dull. Ordinary.
The gentle rap at the door drove him out of his casual stupor, though it did nothing to excite him. He learned a long time ago that excitement wasn't a part of the 'I-work-from-five-to-five-and-have-no-friends-to-speak-of' kind of clique.
He was slow to get up and answer the door, surprised to find the object of his heart and soul, standing there in the door way, a bright smile on her face. "Andie?" She moved in, embracing him as if she'd missed him terribly. He felt his stomach begin to knot, holding her close. "Duckie! It's been so long since I've been back!" She drew away, following him as he welcomed her into his kitchen.
"So… er… how is Blane?" Andie waved her hand as if to dismiss that altogether. "We've broken up. Almost three months ago. I've been at college near Chicago… I wanted to call you so badly… and when I did, all those months ago, you never answered." He only nodded, looking at the dirty spot on the curtain beside him.
"I'm a busy guy. I'm a responsible adult now." She nodded, smiling, happy for his apparent success. "Well… I came by to visit and tell you that I'm transferring to college near here… I couldn't bear being away from dad…" There seem to be an air of incompleteness to the last line.
"How have you been, Duckie?" The nickname that he hadn't heard in ages startled him into laughter. "Well… no one's called me that in a whole year… I also have a horrible job and no life outside of eating and sleeping."
"Why?" "You forget that Duckie's 'life' was high school and following you around all the time. When you were gone I had some free time to get a job and get my own place and buy things like food and crappy furniture." Andie smiled. "Can we go talk… Like, over lunch?" He smiled, feeling younger, though he was only twenty. "Dinner, Andie. It's past six, now."
"So… we decided to part ways. Anyways, his parents found the perfect bride for him, and he's working for his father again, so, I guess I'm over it." He smiled. "That was always like you. You're so… good at being better. You just keep going." Her eyes flickered to her suddenly clasped hands on the diner table. "What about you, Duckie? Are you still 'going'?" He smiled.
"I can't say that I am." She nodded, brushing a vibrant strand of hair out of her face. "I think I'll get the tab on this one, Duckie. I still owe it to you for saving me at prom."
Later, when her car stopped in front of his house, he suddenly felt like the moment was right. Finally, he would talk. "Listen, Andie. I don't know exactly why you came back, but I think it's more than just your Dad, and I don't really care. What I do want to say though, is what I've always wanted to say." She smiled slightly, nodding. "Duckie," His "I love you," came out at the precise moment as her "I know." He felt a burning in his chest that he would have accounted to heartburn, had he not confessed his love a second ago; yet he felt it was more of a gratitude for her, for not laughing in his face.
"Y-you know?" "Yeah, I thought it was something that was always… you know… right there. You never really had to say anything." He felt a little dizzy as he stood there, leaning down in the doorway of her car.
