Through Half-Shut Eyes

a short story for english last year.... reuploading

I caught a flash of dark hair out of the half shut corner of my eye. I knew as well as anybody else that it was her. Tabitha Morgan probably was my obsession since around fifth grade, although the year following wasn’t one of the best. Middle and High School brought chocolate, letters and flowers, although more correctly, dropped flowers, on her doorstep, actually. After a particularly love-sick night of dreams the night before, I somehow had it in my head to waltz up my street two blocks and make a b-line for her house. Some intoxicating sense of spring made me take flowers from our front garden and arrange somewhat of a bouquet with the irises. Mother always said irises were the way to a woman’s heart, although I think she was rather biased as she herself had them at her wedding.

            So there I was with my basketball jersey almost down to the ripped knees of my used-to-be-new jeans. Dad said they looked “nice”, but I knew the dark denim would not even begin to suit me until at least another year had passed. Somehow, I was right., ten months after they had been given to me and they suddenly weren’t too long and the denim didn’t look so out-of-the-washing-machine. I liked to think my clothes suited the irises, or at least what I was trying to do with the irises. Although in actuality, I had no idea what I was doing knocking on a girl’s door on a Saturday evening when I could be doing practically anything else, well, I could have been doing anything else, and that probably would have gone better than the experience I had to endear next.

            I was walking down the street now, mainly staring at the beaten up and almost dying black and white tennis shoes on my feet because the scenery I saw everyday was a little hard to focus on at the moment. I was still in a daze around this time, I think, so my confidence still had that extra boost I can only assume was from the heat. My heart wasn’t even pumping its usual uncontrollable beats because I was just beside myself with my poise; no, better yet, my arrogance, my arrogance for society and the world around me, to look back on it now. Who was I to think anyone would take me as I am, especially when being me means a computer-techie that could spend all day on the internet and not bat an eyelash about it. Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be too analytically negative here, I still am that techie.

            Her house was now in my range of vision and any feeling of panic had yet to set in. I was actually still feeling pretty good about myself, although I threw my hair back and I assumed it was absent-mindedly then, but I remember it fairly well. The burnt orange walls of the Morgan house befitted the oncoming sunrise, and as per usual, the ground floor windows were all open; making the breeze and the smell of gardenias travel back and forth through the inside of the house. The farm house blended in pretty well on Hale’s Avenue, but that was just because of the Bermuda-esque colors that dotted the oak-tree shaded lawns. Sometime before, when we were all in first grade, for some reason I made a mental not to make sure I knew where Tabitha lived, another example of a moment’s decision once again making a fool out of me.

            I can’t really remember walking the last few steps to knock on the door, but somehow I was already on the white washed front porch, with a bouquet of flowers in my hand, to say the least. It was the first step onto the porch that really launched a feeling of vertigo in my stomach. My heartbeats started skipping and somehow I had a feeling the tips of my ears were about to turn scarlet. Scratch that, they were already turning scarlet. It was as if I suddenly realized the state of confusion I had been in had somehow lost its effects on me. I was at a lost of what to do. I practically stood on Tabitha’s doorstep, with my hand about to knock when something, I feel the necessity to blame the heat once more, came over me and I half-heartedly knocked on the door before dropping the flowers, jumping off the first step and running all the way to my back porch as if the Devil’s hound was nipping at my heels. No, that was my conscience.

            So now I have reasonable summed up the flowers bit, there’s only chocolate and letters to fit to fill in the remaining blanks.

            It was ninth grade, I believe, when I began to write, although then it was just meaningless first stanzas of lyrics I was never going to finish, lyrics that would never find a melody, much less a song to back them up. It was then I once again was overcome by what exhilarating batch of spring fever that I had, not without reason, tended to avoid Tabitha whenever possible. I made somewhat of an effort, at least.

            Morning sunlight hit me, despite the various barriers such as curtains and a pillow dragged across my face in the sudden burst of hot air. It was really late winter, as spring had only started last week, and the weather was just now warming up. It took some getting used to, and even if you were already used to it, you tended not to enjoy someone taking away your layers of blankets and replacing them with a cold set of sheets to supposedly cool you off. Of course not, no one enjoys that particular rude awakening. The crowd of teenagers who truly enjoy their sleeping hours should be considered at-risk patients, especially regarding the fact that it was eight-thirty in the morning at the moment. Not eleven-thirty, that was just wishful thinking. It was eight-thirty and going back to bed once someone saw you were awake was just not an option.

            Now, if I was up, then I had to be up, none of that staying in bed with a coffee and a book; that was just for the weak at heart. Once you were awake, you had to do something productive. Of course coming up with something engaging enough not to do any real work was an art form. Lucky enough for me, I had a major in it. All I had to do was lazy downstairs and pick up some form of breakfast, walk back up and say I was writing for class. It was then the thought of letter writing first entered my thoughts.

            I pulled at the haphazardly stacked unused notebooks underneath my desk as soon as I found that this was going to be my course of action. The notebook with the green front was the least hindered by everything else in my room, so it seemed that was my best option. I took one of the pens out of the spilling glass of pencils and things to start. Once again, all I could think about was Tabitha. The heat was upon me once more.

            The letter didn’t make much sense at the time, and all I can remember actually confessing in it was something about how much time I spent thinking about her. Oh, the irony of it all. The fact was, she hadn’t been the sole source for my thoughts anymore, and I like to think I had developed a life in the time since the last, for lack of a better word, incident. Lacrosse and play practice now took some time away form my precious computer hours, even if I still enjoyed them all equally.

            My so called letter was nearing three pages when I suddenly decided my thoughts were closing. I determined I was finished, and I was going to look for an envelope when someone let themselves in, despite the almost constant confrontations of people not knocking.

            “Elliot, you up?” a middle aged woman with cropped dark hair tilted her head at the empty bed as she was speaking.

            “Yeah, I’m writing for school,” I said, feeling the need to tie up this conversation as quickly as possible, and in that moment of need, I somehow threw my hair back, in what I have need told is a characteristic manner.

            My mother seemed to have other ideas, “Oh, what about?”

            Coming up with the first thought going through my head, all I could think of was an essay, “Just an essay for English class.”

            I expected her to inquire further on the origins of this mysterious essay, but all she said was that there was coffee downstairs if I wanted to take a break while it was still hot. I nodded dumbly as she closed the door and her back turned as the door shut behind her.   

            Back to this whole envelope endeavor; I was pretty sure I had some blank ones to go with that stationary aunt Catherine gives me every year. The trouble was trying to find that stash of gifts to be regifted. As to be expected, it proved a difficult task, much to the same end as the majority of things I have access to in my room, actually. There were some things in my closet that should not be touched until some high powered power washer comes in and quarantines it for a week or two, and jumping into it all was risky business in itself. Delving into the numerous possibilities laid out for me, I chose the right corner, and well, hopped in, meandering around the various piles of things I really didn’t want to run into ever, ever again. There were shirts, and jeans, and whatever else it was that you were meant to have residing in your closet, and the odd book, paper, pencil sharpener, and broken things you didn’t want people to find anytime soon. It was in some small space in that black hole that I finally found a surprisingly white envelope to put my newly finished letter in.

            Writing Tabitha on the envelope and then finding an excuse to walk up the street might prove slightly difficult, but I was overly confident that I would come up with something before that inevitable part of the procedure approached. I mean I had so far, right? Maybe I could just salsa up the front steps to the mail box and put that little red flag up. But the mere fact that the little red flag was up might complicate things more than I was trying to simplify them…I thought convincing mother might even things out if I could get her to let me walk up and get things from the grocery store. Yes, that did seem the most plausible, not to mention it would give me some much needed time out of the house.

The actual coffee waiting for me downstairs consumed some of my thoughts as I opened my door, and put the envelope carefully in my pocket, making somewhat sure that there weren’t all that many creases in the perfect white surface.

            “Taking me up on that coffee, now?” I heard mom’s voice coming from her office on my flight down the steps.

            “Something like that…”I trailed off and just walked towards the coffee maker on the counter as I turned off the last step.

            “Mom, do you mind if I walk to town this morning? Do you need anything at the grocery store or anything?” I got out with it eventually.

            “Why the sudden selflessness? Well there are some lettuce and maybe some yogurt for lunch and then…hang on, I’ll write you a list,” she seemed awfully considerate to be thinking of her as I was making the obvious sacrifice on her behalf, the selflessness was overwhelming.

            She busied herself with writing what we so desperately needed from the store as I poured myself an actual cup of coffee. It wasn’t bad, but I had had better from the cafe in France we went to the summer before last, well espresso, to be exact. Either way, I was drinking it, so it can’t have been all that bad.

            “Here, Elliot, that’s everything…I expect you need money as well, I’ll go get my purse,” I was fine with that; I still hadn’t finished my coffee yet.

            I felt inside my pocket just to make sure that Tabitha’s letter was still there, and again to make sure that it hadn’t fallen out and given mom license to mock me for the rest of my life. No, the mocking bit would come later on; the only twist being that it was me who was doing the actual mocking.        

            When mom once again came out of her office, she held a hundred in her hand as she transferred the cash to my own. I mumbled something about being back in an hour, and she nodded and went back to her ever-pressing work as an online accountant. I heard the door slam, that door always had, and thought for a moment about how coincidental it was that she complained that I shut my door when dad, Lisa and I get screamed at for so much as cracking it open. Imagine if we had the nerve to look at the amassing numbers hanging off every available surface in the room. Oh, the very thought of it all.

            I put the bill and the list in my other pocket, because I didn’t want to accidentally pull out Tabitha’s letter in front of people. Tabitha’s mail box was closer than the grocery store to begin with, so that really wasn’t much of an issue. It’s not that I didn’t think of going to the post office, but not knowing how to address the relatively large people that worked there was too much for me to handle, and my superego had the excellent idea of going to her house again. Naturally, that orange house was where I most wanted to be on any other day. I don’t think Tabitha would ever tell anyone, but I’m honestly quite sure she knew it was me that dropped those lovely irises on her doorstep in sixth grade. I always daydreamed when I was twelve, and by so doing I was often on the worse end of the majority of jokes that were going on that year.

            Turning onto Hale’s avenue for the second time in four years, I thought of running the extra steps up to her mail box, but some form of conscious stopped me. I would just wade this out, take some time to inhale and exhale. Calm my lack of nerves you could say.

            The mail box was almost reaching out for me as I thrust my hand out, my fingers hardly touching the cool surface of the metal. The same doubt that haunted me to this day from my sixth grade term just came back to me, as if in a flash of memory, or a thought on the wind. In that half second of scarcity of thought, or my real thought, really, I tore the perfectly white envelope into two pieces. There were eight more tears competing for more surface area on those sheets of white paper before I realized I had walked all the way here to tear up a letter. A letter I can’t remember a word to; not a single greeting, much less my good bye. The breeze I gained my conscious once again picked up, and I let the millions of little pieces I had absent mindedly created trail out into the rest of the world, and perhaps make them someone else’s problem (anything to get rid of the guilt).

            I remember walking up the road silently to pick up that list I had given so much time to get written and walked home with much less than a better disposition. At least I was being honest; I was no longer the stupid spring fever’s responsibility. My fate had inopportunely decided to return its possession to me. I certainly did not welcome its all too familiar weight on my shoulders once again.

            And then I moved onto tenth grade, making much more of an effort to get rid of any possible running into, much less talking to, Tabitha. Those memories from past years still could not leave me alone; apparently it was out of their nature. More correctly, out of my nature, but clearly not out of my mind, unfortunately.

            Easter was only two days away and everyone was naturally already planning what they were going to do for that break we had. I just wanted the Easter bunny to come, leave me some chocolate, and then let me sleep for another six days before I was forced into the monotony that was the alarm clock before school. 

            I was walking home from school that day when an idea such as I hadn’t had in an entire year struck me; Tabitha. Oh yes, who wouldn’t enjoy chocolate on Easter. Even if you weren’t at all religious, chocolate on the sale rack was certainly something to celebrate. That was going to be my master plan for the entire week, although I did set my sights a bit high for my aptitude of actually following them.

            At two thirty the next afternoon, I decided I was going to town for two hours for lunch. Mom no longer questioned my walks and just nodded as she saw me plod sleepily down the stairs on my way to the door across the hall. Little did she know what was actually teeming in my mind.

            Cadburry eggs or chocolate bunnies, the possibilities at any store with food in the windows were overwhelming. What did I care what flavor a chocolate bar was? It wasn’t like there was a really big difference between raspberry and orange flavored chocolate. It wasn’t as if there was anything the matter with regular milk chocolate, but then again, I wasn’t in the marketing department at a chocolate factory. If I was, I would have quit and joined the circus before they could get me to think up of flavors for chocolate Easter candies, well, everyone knew the Easter chocolate was melted Valentine’s Day chocolate melded into eggs and chicks, but I still preferred the general term.

            Deciding a medley of the chocolates available would be the best idea, I blindly picked out chocolate on the sale rack. What the hell, it wasn’t as if I was ever going to eat the stuff. I stifled a yawn as best I could as I put the things on the conveyer belt thing. Fifteen dollars was a small price to pay.

            Making the walk up Hale’s avenue for the third time in recent memory, I was feeling pretty happy. I sort of felt that I had a chance, you know? Like some secret agent was making this possible for me. The walk up to her doorbell was the shortest amount of steps that I had ever counted going up to the door. Well, it was only once that I ever really thought about going inside.

            The breeze running through the house was once again running through my hair as I felt the cool air relax me, as per usual. I felt that all too familiar result of too much summer air too early in the year, and lost my nerve to talk to the girl once again. Why, I have absolutely no idea. I was still sixteen, for crying out loud. I should be able to take care of myself. At least that’s what I was thinking when my little sister got fifteen dollars worth of chocolate on Easter. Just Another list of regrets that I can add something to, well, to be exact; Tabitha Morgan….

I was absently staring out the window during history class because I couldn’t listen to another word of the lecture. It was rather hot out for this early in spring. I yawned quietly in the back row. Even for a senior, such easy classes got boring quite quickly. I caught a flash of dark hair out of the half shut corner of my eye. I knew as well as anybody else it was her. Tabitha Morgan probably was my obsession since around fifth grade, although the year following wasn’t one of the best. I smiled slightly to myself as I wondered how on earth anyone could have fallen for a lonely fool like me…remember.