It’s not like I expected us to immediately be best buds, but I know something happened between us that night two weeks ago. Something good, and, yeah, sure, for the better portion of that night I let thoughts of pressing my mouth against that bottom lip of hers mess up my mind a bit, but it was more than that. There was a connection. Artist to artist. I mean, shit, I wrote like a madman when I got home that night. I couldn’t stop the words flowing from me.
So a few days later when class came back around, I tried talking to her, and while she replied, her responses were all too polite. Like I just found out I had a terminal disease or something. More like she thought I was the disease that was going to fuck up her perfect little life.
But whether she saw it or not, her life was far from that. And as I stared at her class after class, I made my mind up to do something about it. The old Annabel is still in there. I know she is.
And that’s how I became stalker dude.
I bend down to make sure the laces of my running shoes are tied. At least, I think they’re running shoes. I bought them from Walmart under the sign that said Athletics. Having turned into a “Hide Your Daughters” Lifetime movie, I have watched Annabel run this path the past three mornings. After trying unsuccessfully to talk to her in class, I figured this was my next best option. Of course, I’m pretty sure I haven’t run since middle school, so it’s looking like a 50 percent chance I’ll get a restraining order issued against me and a 50 percent chance I’ll end up dying of a heart attack, and all to talk to a girl who probably thinks I’m just a screwup.
I want to prove to her that I’m not. Talk to her about my writing. Share with her that maybe, one day, it could make me into someone. That I’m not just a construction worker living in a room above the bookshop my old elementary school teacher owns. Maybe one day I could start my own blog or magazine. I don’t know what I could do, but I do know, after spending some time with Annabel, I feel like I could do something.
Waiting for Annabel to run past me, I realize I should probably stretch or something, but even that feels like an algebra equation right about now. It’s not that I have two left feet or anything, but I write for an online music blog, which means that most nights my diet consists of hot fries and Dr Pepper. And while working construction keeps me fit, running is a whole other thing. It has to be hard-core if Annabel Lee does it. She doesn’t half-ass anything.
If I thought Annabel Lee looked good talking about music with the moonlight illuminating that red hair of hers, it’s nothing compared to how she looks running. Holy shit balls. I mean, I’ve seen her run before. There was that wonderful cheery-sunshiny moment when I honked at her during her morning run, and she flipped me the bird. But that was before I let myself really see the girl. Damn, I sure am looking now.
Gone are the jeans and band shirt. Tank tops might just be Kanye’s greatest creation. Legs that seem to go on forever. Boobs, well, jeesh, I could write a whole opera about those boobs…but even more alluring is the look on her face. She is in the zone. She is digging it. And she isn’t doing it for anyone but herself.
She doesn’t even notice me standing on the corner staring at her like a real creeper. Which means I am going to have to actually run to speak to her. I could just yell out to her, but then I remember about the honking, and I’d rather risk the heart attack.
She’s fast. Like cheetah fast. Like Mom heard you were smoking pot behind the supermarket and you had to rush home to destroy your stash fast.
I’m not going to be able to reach her unless I get moving, push harder. The closer I get, the more I realize that even if I did scream out as I fell to my death, she wouldn’t hear me. The music from her headphones is so loud I can almost make out the words from a good fifty feet back.
Bean’s Little Catherine. Holy shit. She is listening to Bean’s Little Catherine. Musical steroids does the trick. Soon, I’m right at her side. She yelps when she sees me, skidding to a stop. “Wha-what, what the hell are you doing?” she asks, not even sounding a bit out of breath.
“I-I…you know…run…the run thing,” I manage between pants.
“The run thing?” She raises an eyebrow. “Since when do you do ‘the run thing’?” she says, using air quotes.
If I open my mouth to utilize actual words, I’m pretty sure I’ll puke. So instead, I start jogging. For a moment, I can’t hear her behind me, and I’m afraid she’s turned back toward her house. But then she’s next to me.
“You look like you’re about to pass out,” she notes.
Despite the fire now raging in my chest, I manage to give her the thumbs-up. Clearly Annabel knows it’s a lie, so mercifully she stops running. “Yeah, you look like a regular Usain Bolt,” she comments, crossing her arms over her chest.
My legs feel like Jell-O, and I’m pretty sure the shoes I bought at Walmart are actually death traps made by the Chinese as part of an evil plan to make all cheap Americans immobile before they attack. I try to speak, but I’m certain it would still be all about the puke. I place my hands on my knees and close my eyes.
“Hey, are you going to be okay?” she asks. “Here, why don’t you drink some of this water?”
I open my eyes, mostly because I’m curious as to where she’s been hiding a water bottle. Much to my disappointment, she pulls a small bottle from a utility belt around her waist. I grab the water and gulp it down.
“Easy there, buddy. Don’t drink it too fast, or you’ll get sick all over those sweet kicks of yours.”
So, the girl has jokes. There’s that old Annabel who never let my ability to charm just about anyone go to my head.
“You know…I just drank after you. That means we practically made out,” I counter when I can actually form words.
Annabel’s face reddens as she snatches the bottle back from my hand. “I’ve got to go. See you around.”
“Whoa. Wait,” I plead, grabbing her elbow before she can run like the wind. With a sigh, she turns around and faces me. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop with the innuendos. Clearly, they make you uncomfortable.”
“Th-they…don’t make me uncomfortable,” she stammers.
“They do. So let’s just forget that I’m a dude and you’re a chick and start pretending we are two asexual beings who enjoy each other’s company. Can we at least try that, Le Chat? It’ll be just like we’re back in elementary school.”
I’m damn near begging the girl.
Annabel bites down on her lip and starts kicking at the cement below her. If I have even a remote hope of seeing Annabel as nothing more than an asexual artist, then I might have to tell her to stop with the lip. Because between that and the tank top, I’m in real trouble.
“Yeah. Sure. Okay,” she says quietly.
“Aww, don’t sound so excited, or you’ll give yourself a heart attack,” I say, throwing an arm around her shoulder. Mostly because I’m afraid without her support, I’ll fall to the ground.
“Says the boy who couldn’t run half a mile without looking like he was going to get sick,” she counters.
“You noticed that, huh?” I ask, scratching at the back of my head.
“I notice a great many things. Isn’t that why you like me?”
“It is indeed, Le Chat. It is indeed. Now, could we maybe go sit on that curb over there for a minute before I drag you down to the ground with me?”
“Sure, weakling,” she says with a laugh, leading me to take a seat.
“Good Kanye, Annabel, you actually do that whole running thing for fun?” I ask. I lie back on the grass, shielding my eyes from the sun by throwing an arm over my face.
“Good Kanye? As in Kanye West?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
I shrug. “Hey, I’m a music guy. And if he keeps going around Twitter saying he’s lord of all things with a beat, I find it best to just believe it before he smites me with carpal tunnel syndrome,” I say with a wink. “But let’s not talk about my faith issues. You really like this running thing?”
“I love it.”<
br />
“You love torture. Kinky…in a totally asexual way, of course.”
“You’re so funny,” she replies drily. “And I don’t think of it as torture. It’s my own bit of personal freedom. When I’m out there running, I’m not competing against anyone else. Just myself. If I have a good run, it’s thanks to me. If I have a bad run, it’s my fault. I’m in control.”
“Well, it sure feels like torture to me,” I groan.
“Why were you out here, anyway? And where the Hades did you get those ridiculous shoes?” she asks, poking me in the side, so I’ll look at her.
With a grunt, I pull myself back up to a sitting position. “I was out here to see you, of course. As for the shoes, they’re courtesy of Walmart.”
Annabel’s eyes go wide. “Please tell me you’re lying. The next thing you’ll say is today’s the first time you’ve run in them.”
“And that would be bad…?”
“Oh no,” she squeals, covering her face with her hands. “The blisters you’re going to have later will be terrible! What were you thinking?!”
“That I needed to talk to you.” There it was, plain and simple. No reason to lie about it. “Look, I know things got weird the other night. But that’s not an entirely bad thing. I think we could both use a little weird in our lives. And like I said, no more inappropriate comments. I promise. You have a boyfriend, and I totally respect that. After we chilled that night, I banged out my entries. And let’s not forget the amazing pictures you took. So, let’s muse it up while we can before you jet off to school.”
Three weeks was all we had left before she was gone, and knowing Annabel with all of her goals and dreams, I doubted she would be coming back. If I had any chance of fixing my friendship with her, making amends, it needed to happen now. I couldn’t let all those other feelings and urges get in the way.
Annabel takes a deep breath before nodding. “Yeah, sorry. Things have just been really hectic at home.”
“Grams?”
“Yes.”
“How bad?”
“Bad.”
I hesitate briefly before reaching over and grabbing her hand. I only paused because I didn’t want her to think I was making a move, but I would do it for any friend, so I took her hand in mine anyway. “I’m very sorry to hear that, Annabel. She seems like a real hell of a lady.”
“She’s amazing,” she agrees.
“Maybe she’ll bounce back. Seems like she’s got a lot of fight in her.”
“I used to think that she could beat anything. Every time she took a turn for the worse, she came back. But I’m not sure this time. She’s sleeping more and more.”
“Which means you’re sleeping less and less,” I say, noticing the hint of dark circles under her eyes.
Annabel nods. “I offered to defer another year, but she went crazy. Cursed me out in German, even. Which she only does when she’s really mad. But how can I go? She won’t even talk to me right now.”
I’m not going to lie. The thought that Annabel might stay makes me feel good. Like, awesome. But what kind of dick would I be if I didn’t push her to do what’s best for her, and that means her getting the heck out of here? “You can’t stay, Le Chat. It’s time for you to go.” I give her hand a squeeze.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Annabel says, pulling her hand from mine.
“Then let’s not talk about this anymore,” I reply. I know talking about things like this is hard for her, so I’ll take what I can get. Hell, I’m happy we’re exchanging complete sentences at this point. When she’s ready to talk, I’ll be here. This time and for as long as she’ll have me.
“So, what do you want to do? Go for another run?” she jokes.
“Now who’s the funny one? I have a way better idea. Let’s go get your camera and take some fucking pictures,” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. It’s time to cheer this chick up.
Annabel’s face pales. “You want to go to my house?”
“I’ll wait outside if you want me to. I know the shoes are atrocious, but I never thought they would bar me from entering any establishment,” I reply, feigning hurt.
“Well, they are really bad. I mean, really, really bad. But no, that’s not what I meant. It’s just my house has gotten a little bonkers since the last time you were inside.”
The last time I was inside, her brother was still alive, and we were best friends. Only one of those things I could get back, and I would do anything I had to do to make something right for her. This I could fix.
I clear my throat. “If there is one thing you should know about me, Annabel Lee, it’s that I love me some bonkers. So let’s go. Besides, we’ll pop in only long enough to get your camera, and then we can jet.”
“Maybe ‘bonkers’ isn’t a strong enough adjective. I have toddler twin brothers who I’m convinced hold daily meetings planning my demise, and then there’s Grandma who, well, you’ve seen her colorful personality for yourself. The place is always a mess and—”
“Then I’ll wait outside. Seriously. Stop worrying. Now, quit being so lazy, get off your ass, and let’s go get your camera,” I say. Managing to stand up, I hold my hand out to her.
How can a girl who makes me feel like she’ll punch me any second be so frightened about what I’ll think of her house? It’s like if she isn’t writing the lyrics to the song, she refuses to sing it.
She bites on her lip and stares up at me.
Seriously. She should not be allowed to do that.
“Fine. Yeah. Let’s do it. But if you end up in a booby trap made out of Twizzlers, yo-yo string, and Legos, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she replies, taking my hand.
Annabel Lee was not lying. I drove by her house after the accident, but I never really took the time to notice the complete chaos of her front yard. Toys. Are. Everywhere. I imagine this is what the inside of my brain looks like. Hard to believe this is the same home where I used to have to take my shoes off before getting three feet in the front door, or where coasters were used even when drinking from a paper cup. Apparently, the accident changed a lot of things in this family. I reach down and pick up a can of Silly String.
“Don’t even think about it,” Annabel warns.
“I wouldn’t dare,” I reply. I sneak it into my back pocket when she turns around. This will, no doubt, come in handy later.
“I’ll be two minutes…five if I get attacked by the devil twins,” Annabel yells over her shoulder as she starts moving toward the danger zone. I wonder if the arrival of the twins was hard for her after the loss of her brother. I wish I had been there to ask.
“I’ll be right here waiting.”
“If I’m not back in five minutes…”
“I’ll come in and rescue you,” I offer.
“No, you run. Run as fast as you can,” she replies rather melodramatically. It takes a beat before I realize she’s making a joke. Old Annabel/New Annabel. She flips back and forth between the two so fast it’s giving me whiplash.
The rest happens in slow motion. Seriously. Like imagine every war movie ever made…the music swelling, the lens flare, the drawn-out screams of agony. All I see is a flash of red whiz past the corner of my eye. Next thing I know, Annabel is tumbling to the ground, a pint-size munchkin attached to her legs.
“Attaaaaaaaacccccck!” he screams.
And then an overturned Little Tikes car flips over and a second gremlin appears. He starts to beeline it toward Annabel with hands caked in mud. Remembering that I promised to save her, I’m left with only one option. I yank the can of Silly String from my back pocket, give it a quick shake, and spray the motha-fucking hell out of it. If there is one thing I’ve learned from war movies, it’s that the element of surprise beats numbers any day. Redheaded demon number two falls to the ground, scrambling to get the string off his face while demon number one turns his attention to me. The little monster’s gonna charge me straight on.
Before he can get close, Annabel latches
onto his belt loop and pulls him down to the ground. And she pulls out the oldest big sister trick in the book—she starts to tickle him. Demon number two runs toward Annabel giggling, and she reaches up to catch him before he plows directly into her. They may have won the battle, thrown her off with their surprise attack, but there is no way she isn’t going to win this war. I mean, this is Annabel Lee we’re talking about.
Soon, it’s a giant, loud, tickling mess of fun, and I can’t help but chuckle. As crazy as she said it was, and it certainly does seem to be exactly that, it’s clear Annabel loves it. Loves them.
“What the hell is all that noise?’ a voice booms from the front door.
“Grandma!” the twins scream in unison.
And with that, Annabel is free from her attackers.
“Slow down, boys. Remember, you can’t be so rough with Grandma,” Annabel warns, climbing to her feet. There’s a sense of urgency to her voice, and I can tell she’s legit worried the two kids are going to hurt her grams.
“Don’t make me spray you again,” I call out, quite ready to do so if the need arises. Besides, it was kind of fun.
“If it isn’t the midnight caller,” Grams yells out to me, wrapping each of her arms around one of the boys, both of whom stare up at her like she’s the one who checks Santa Claus’s list…twice.
“Good morning, Grams,” I say with a small wave and a smile, hoping to dazzle the woman who taught Annabel all her spit and all her fire. The woman who had every right to kill me for breaking her granddaughter’s heart.
“I was just getting my camera, Grandma, and then we’re going to be heading out,” Annabel chimes in. But it becomes super apparent that Grams is working real hard at ignoring her. It kind of bums me out to see how sad this makes Annabel, but I also get where Grams is coming from. Annabel shouldn’t just stop living ’cause she’s dying. That isn’t what the whole thing is about.
“How about you come in for some Mtn Dew Code Red? Isn’t that what all the boys drink? It’s what that Jason of hers does,” Grams suggests, gently shoving the twins into the house and motioning me in behind them.
Seven Ways to Lose Your Heart Page 8