Percy

My Thursday nights are full of rituals that are only weird if you stop to think about them… Which I do, often. Thursdays have always been my time. When I was a kid, it was the day that my mom worked late, so I was left to my own devices. Over the years, traditions kept forming. Like the Brooklyn bridge tradition. When I was 16, my mom got in a car crash- on a Thursday, of course. Because every life-changing moment, good or bad, happens on a Thursday. I could only stay for a bit with my mom in the hospital, but then visiting hours were done. All I could think was that I needed to go. I needed to leave so I went on a sort of autopilot. Next thing I know I'm standing on the Brooklyn bridge, staring at the dark water. The churning water mirrored the emotions swirling around inside of me. I came to some sort of realization that night, but I don't think I ever or ever will figure out what it was. All I know is that I felt a feeling of calm wash over me, and everything felt like it would work out. Ever since that night, every Thursday, I stand on that bridge and think. It has never been as profound as that one night, but it became a routine that I depend on. Every once in a while when I go on vacation and miss my Thursday rituals, as soon as I come back, I head to the bridge.

Things like that. They just become a part of me. For some reason I just cram them all into a Thursday evening, I guess so that I keep all the crazy on one day. Sometimes the schedule changes as I take out places and things that I don't feel are as important or I add things when I feel I need them.

The cafe that I visit late on Thursdays became a part of my routine when I was taking refuge from a storm late at night and this was the only place open. It was a sanctuary then, and it is still now. The people I meet here are interesting characters that I would never encounter elsewhere. Now, the deserted tables and Hanita's caring welcome is something I need.

As I sit across from Annabeth, her hands clasped in mine, grey eyes wide, I realize her, sitting across from me is something I need in my life. She needs to be part of my routine. Not one day a week, but all the time.

Annabeth has sort of froze, but because she has yet to pull her hands away, I take it as a cue to keep going. I gently start to blow, hoping to warm her freezing hands. She sucks in a breath but still doesn't say anything. Her gaze travels to our hands, blistered and cold, but our hands, and then back up to my eyes. Neither of us moves, my next breath caught in my throat. I didn't know that I was missing this part of me that just reappeared? Because something has clicked into place, filled a hole in my chest that I didn't know I was missing. I haven't known her long. I don't know much about her. But I do know this: she's amazing. Her laugh, smile, walk, everything is what I know and it's enough. I don't know how I know this, but I do. I need her.

"Order up!" The words pierce through the heavy silence.

"Okay! I hope your hands are warm!" I cheerfully say, putting her hands down. Good god, someone takes me now. I hope your hands are warm. Honestly. As I jump up from the table to get our food- no table delivery here- and also to get away from my stupidity that I can't seem to get away from and my awkwardness, I see a small smile playing at the corner of Annabeth's mouth. Well, at least she finds me amusing.

I grab the greasy brown paper bag, the amazing smell rising from the paper wrapped sandwiches. I need to make two trips for the coffees as well.

I take my seat again across from Annabeth, sliding her the coffee as well.

"So where are you from?" That was subtle, right? I want to get to know her, but she seems like a kind of private person. I can't think of any way to really advance this conversation without being direct.

Shooting a look that says, seriously, we're doing this now? Annabeth turns her full attention on the incredible sandwich in front of her. She finally forces out, "I'm from San Francisco." I sit there in silence waiting for her to meet my gaze; when she finally does, I raise my eyebrows at her: There's more to it than that. Heaving out a huge sigh, she elaborates. "I grew up in San Fran with my dad, step-mom, and two stepbrothers then got accepted into my dream school in New York. And here I am." The way she ends her sentence makes it very clear that we have reached the end of that discussion. We both turn our full attention to our food, a palpable tension formed between us. It's not until I'm a couple bites from the end of my meal that she turns the conversation back to me. "So, Percy. Aren't you going to tell me about you?"

"Uh, sure. Just my mom and I growing up. She worked very hard, while also having to deal with her troublemaker son. I swam on my school team, sucked at school and make a lot of friends." As I'm speaking her original indifferent exterior falls away and she starts to lean towards me with more interest. I try to make my story more interesting, telling her dumb stories about the times that I fucked up, just trying to make her laugh. It makes me so happy when she finally does. The more that I get into my stories, making them as exciting and interesting as possible without changing the story, Annabeth beings to open up. When I tell her about the time my mom got me a tutor to try to help me understand history and I spent the entire time at the library, running through the shelves trying to shake the tutor, Annabeth laughs and says she spent a lot of time in the library. It's the little things that capture my attention such as her love of guidebooks because she loves imagining herself traveling to obscure places.

I pull out my phone to check to see if Jason has texted me because he said he would once he talked to his boss to see if they needed any civilian help with their task-force that they want to implement to try to get a handle on the increased drug activity. There's no text from Jason, but there is the time, and it gives me a shock. "We've been here two hours," I say looking up at Annabeth incredulously. Normally, for a person with ADHD, sitting in a booth for two hours would be considered the worst kind of torture, but I barely noticed the time passing.

"Oh wow. I guess it's a good thing I have late classes tomorrow because I won't get a lot of sleep."

"How would you feel about staying with me for a little bit longer?" There's still a couple of things I normally do, and most of them I don't need, except for one. "Would you walk to the Brooklyn Bridge with me?" Please, says 'yes'. I mentally cross my fingers.

"Sure? Isn't it kind of a far walk? And it's pretty cold out." She has a point.

"Yeah, but maybe we can get you a blanket or something?" She looks at me incredulously. "Yeah, no, you're right. We'll figure something out. Take a cab? I don't know, but please come." From the moment I thought about taking her I wanted her to go to the bridge with me, but know there's this intensity like she has to come. I want to share this moment with her so badly.

"Alright. I'll come. But if I lose a finger because of frostbite or die from hypothermia, I'll sue."

So I've been reading back on what I wrote when I was basically a baby, and it's a lot worse than I remember it. I could go back and rewrite it a bit if enough people want. I have most of the rest of the story written out, but it needs a lot of work, so if you guys really want I'll keep going (I might anyway, but I'm really busy.) I wrote such short chapters. Wow, I'm amazed that you guys stuck with it as long as you did. I think that my writing style and voice and basically everything has matured a lot, and I think- I hope- that it's better. Please tell me anything: If you want me to keep going, rewrite the beginning or change something. None of this is set in stone. I didn't write out a long So this is where I've been section because I don't know if anyone cares, but if you do and you want to know, just tell me… this is assuming that anyone will actually read this stuff.

-Demi