We realized we were soulmates almost immediately. It wasn't a hard idea to accomplish at all. She was just easy to get to know; she didn't hold much back. I tried to be the same way. That's not how it had always been, but she was good at getting information out of me when she wanted to, which was most of the time. To be honest, I really didn't mind telling her anything at all. I would've told her everything if she had cared enough.
I'm sure she did, she just had a hard time letting me know it.
-
Right now I'm walking around the town. I would be riding my bike, but I left it at Spencer's house last night. Right after the police got there, I took off running. Forgot my bike. Our bike. We had saved up together to get a new one after the "crash" we had two years ago. But as I said, I'm walking around, just waiting.
Waiting.
It's ten o'clock. From what Spencer's brother Glen said through the last text message he sent me, there are already people crowding around the city park for the memorial service. I could be there right now, but I'm not. Spencer wouldn't want me there. She wouldn't want me to feel suffocated and uncomfortable any longer than I needed to.
I need to run. I need to run through a freaking cotton field, but I won't without her. I could. I could because she gave me permission, but I won't.
-
"Penny for your thoughts?" She asked one day in Drawing class. I was supposed to be helping her with her shading technique, but I didn't feel like it at all. So I was just sitting beside her with my head down on the table. She was, at first, ignoring me altogether. But when it became apparent that something was wrong with me, she couldn't stop herself from trying to get information out of me.
She poked me in the side, over and over again, and swore she wouldn't stop until I told her what was wrong. As it became more obvious that I wasn't exactly bothered by her poking antics, she took my pen (strike one) and started drawing on my forearm (strike two), just above the scars she had left behind the year before in the pep rally incident (strike three.)
I should've lost my cool, right there in the middle of the art class. And if she had been anyone other than Spencer, I probably would've. But it was Spencer, and she knew I wouldn't try to fight her back.
"Come on, Ashley," she pleaded with me. "What's wrong with you today?"
"Nothing is wrong," I mumbled out to her. "Leave me alone, please."
"I know better than to leave someone alone when they're obviously upset."
I wish I had known better too.
-
The air is colder than it should be. It's usually not too cold at this time of year in this part of the world, but it is tonight. She hated the cold. She hated to see her breath fogging up the space in front of her. "There are some things that are never meant to be seen," she'd said. "Breath is one of them."
It's hard to walk through the streets of this town without holding her hand, because she always made me do that when she was feeling cold or nervous, which was often. It's harder to walk through these streets knowing I'll never hold her hand again.
It's hardest of all to know the truth.
-
She always swore that the truth was the most important thing in the world. I would argue that peace was greater, hope was even better than that, and surely love could surpass the rest. But now that she's gone and left some of her thoughts to me, I can see that without truth, you would never know if someone really loved you. You wouldn't know if the peace you felt was real or if it was just the calm before the storm. You wouldn't know what there was to hope for.
-
I would tell you more about the past, but it's the present at the moment, and Glen is calling me for the third time, so I'm answering it, but let me warn you, I've never liked this guy. Neither should you.
"Where the hell are you?" he says before I can even manage a "hello" or "what's up?"
"I'm on the corner of Brookshire and Camelot Road. Why do you care?"
"I don't," he spat. "Your sister is here and she says your mom wants you home. And I didn't think you'd want me to start this thing without you."
"Well, why don't you tell my sister that you're not her messenger? I'll be there later. Don't wait around for me."
I'm sure he wasn't planning on it anyway. He was less patient than his sister ever was, in the worst kind of way.
-
We were walking around the school after hours one day when she just started crying. I wasn't sure why, and I wasn't sure how I could stop it. So I just took her hand, trying to make her feel more comfortable. I guess it kind of worked, because as soon as my flesh touched hers, she took me in a neck-breaking hug. You know the kind of hug I'm talking about. She was showing me exactly how upset she was by transferring her emotional pain into my physical pain.
We stood there for a while, with my arms around her waist, and her head on my shoulder. I think it helped me as much as it helped her.
I couldn't really tell you when that day took place. It happened more than once.
-
Spencer was sometimes bad about inviting me over and then forgetting that we had plans. But that was okay; I totally understood that she had a horrible memory. Once, she told me to come over to her house so we could go fly kites, but she didn't answer the door when I knocked. Since she had given me a key a few months before and told me to let myself in if I wanted to, I slowly unlocked the door and entered the foyer.
I heard the piano being played in the study, so I figured it was Mrs. Carlin and decided I'd go listen for a minute. She loved to play for me because, as a fellow musician, I appreciated the hard work she put into her music. But as I got closer to the study, I realized it wasn't Mrs. Carlin. She only played old hymns, and this was a classical piece. Quick, precise. "The Spinning Song," if my memory serves me correctly. f
As I turned the corner into the study, I saw Spencer sitting at the baby grand. Her fingers were moving as fast as we had become friends (it was almost scary to see how bold and daring she was in nearly every part of her life.) Her eyes were closed, but I could tell her mind was far from resting, and her jaws were clenched tight as she hit the notes with certainty and audacity.
When she saw me there with a look of utmost curiosity on my face, she didn't stop playing. I had somewhat expected her to, but all I saw was a hint of disappointment in her eyes as she continued to play a song that showed anything but disappointment. As she hit the last sounding notes of the song, she looked overwhelmed with, well, I don't know. She placed her hands in her lap and stared down at them, like they had just gotten her into trouble.
"You play the piano?" It was more of a bewildered statement than a question, but she took it as a hateful interrogation and returned the answer as such.
"You just saw me play, didn't you?" she spat out bitterly.
"Hearing you was actually my first clue," I said with a smile, hoping she would lighten up.
"The fact that I play the piano," she said before pausing and thinking for a moment, "is one of the few secrets I'm keeping. The world doesn't need to know everything about me."
I didn't bother trying to argue with her. She had said enough.
-
"Aiden was a germaphobe. He used to wash his hands twice an hour, no lie," Spencer told me one night. It was technically morning—3am, on the dot, but it wasn't an unusual occurrence for her to decide to speak about something seemingly irrelevant at such an early hour.
"Why was that?" I questioned, not even bothering to ask why she wanted to talk about Aiden just before I fell asleep.
"He thought everything was out to get him, especially things he couldn't see."
"Has he always been that paranoid?"
"Yes, he always has, as long as I've known him."
I had to wonder, just how long had she known this Aiden guy? We lived in a small town, went to a small school, and it said a lot about the guy that I didn't know his last name. He wasn't well known, which usually wasn't a good thing. But maybe, I hoped, he wasn't as bad as he seemed.
I've learned from experience that things are always worse than they seem. Always.
"I miss him, Ash," she said, minutes later.
I didn't say anything in reply. Instead, I waited until all I could hear was the clock ticking and Spencer sniffling a few feet away, either from her cold or because she was crying. It may have been because of both. Either way, I waited. I waited myself to sleep.