Some first-person Grace drabble set right after the end of the second season school-year. Please, r&r so I know whether to continue or not.
What if I told him? What if everything came rushing out one day, knocking into him in a wave of... of what? What is it? Are there words for this that don't come from a Hallmark card or a teen novel?
I pull the covers up over my head and try not to think about this. After all, is there any particularly good reason I should tell him? Besides the obvious 'get rid of the giant lead block in my stomach' thing, I can't think of one. Coffee would be good. The only way to sort something out at 5 AM on a Saturday is over coffee.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, and make the left turn out into the hall. Mom won't be up for another few hours, she zonked out a while ago. Somehow, with my eyes half-open and no recollection of descending the stairs, I've managed to make my way to the kitchen, and put on a pot of half-caf, no less.
30 minutes later, I'm wide awake after my first sips of the steamy hot liquid. I resist the urge to quote Airplane and mumble "I like my coffee black, like my man.", just for the sake of irony. Because it's becoming increasingly clear how I feel about a certain computer-screen-bleached geek.
I can't help wondering if he knows everything I'm feeling already, and maybe he's just waiting to see how I'll bring it up. But, dammit, I highly doubt he's telepathic. Never showing any signs of recognition all those times I thought 'I love you' have lead me to believe that it just isn't happening. Of course, I have a few good reasons to be glad he's not. For example, all of those times I mentally shouted "screw you!"
I could write him something, but can you really get much more lame than that? Anyway, I refuse to make myself write. Especially for someone else. Besides, every single word in the English language that people normally use under the circumstance seems dull or idiotic or straight out of a 90's sitcom.
One would think spending inordinate ammounts of time in a creepy biology closet filled with dead animals in jars would say it plainly enough. Especially considering what was being done in there.
The first weekend of my summer vacation, and I'm already wishing for a distraction. Get it together, Polk. I down the last few centimeters left in the mug, change, and head out on a walk. It's 7:00. No matter how much I try to kid myself, I know where I'll end up.
Should I continue with this? All constructive comments welcome. xD