Saving the Reject | Michael Clifford | Editing

t w e n t y o n e ;

Michael

"Does your car have a name?"

Stopped at a light, I looked over at Charli questionably.  She gazed at me innocently, her question genuine.  I've concluded that Charli is either the maturity level of a middle-aged woman, or that of a little kid obsessed with Disney animation.  "Does my car have a name?" I repeated.

She nodded, a childish smile overtaking her freckled face.  She was so adorable, so beautiful.  I was honestly unsure if she was falling into my grasp, or slipping through my fingertips, and it kind of freaked me out.  Normally it's easy for me to tell with girls; but Charli seemed to make everything difficult.

I chuckled a little bit, turning my gaze back to the road.  "No I haven't named me car.  Is that even a common thing to do?" I questioned.  "Did you name your car?"

"Uh, Michael, I don't have a car.  Hence the reason you're giving me a ride," she said.

"I'm hurt, Charli," I joked, placing a hand on my chest in fake despair.  "It's not because you love me?" I exaggerated.

Charli laughed.  "Don't flatter yourself."

"Don't lie to yourself."

"I think you should name him Flower," Charli said proudly.

I once again looked at her questionably.  "That single sentence arouses so many questions."

A musical laugh escaped her soft pink lips, causing a feeling in my stomach that I chose to ignore.  "You know, like from Bambi?  Please tell me you've seen Bambi."

"I've seen Bambi," I confirmed.  "But that doesn't clear it up for me."

Charli laughed again.  "Your car is painted like a skunk, so it should be named after the skunk in Bambi!" she concluded.

With an eye roll, I laughed with her.  "Flower it is."

I pulled into the cancer center parking lot, ending our pointless, yet enjoyable conversation.  As Charli began to gather her bag at her feet, I asked, "So are you coming over later?"  We hadn't really discussed it, but I'd just assumed.  Yeah, it was a Friday, but that didn't usually matter with us.  It wasn't a labor-intensive job anymore, it was fun.

Charli looked back at me with an 'oh crap' expression on her paling face.  "I forgot to tell you, didn't I?"

"You forgot to tell me what?" I questioned, saddened by her reaction.  It can't be good.

"I have to take a rain check tonight - Dawson's leaving tonight, and - "

"Whoa, whoa," I said, stopping her before she went into a breathlessly long explanation and leaving in a rush.  But that's not exactly why I stopped her.  "First of all, slow down, you're talking way to fast; and second of all, who's Dawson?"

"I've seriously never told you his name?" she asked, completely shocked, simply staring at me.  Who the hell is Dawson? I wanted to scream.  She finally answered me.  "He's my brother.  I can't believe I've never told you his name before."

I let out a breath, relaxing the muscles I hadn't realized had tensed.  Her brother; thank God.

"You all right there?" Charli asked skeptically, noticing my body relaxing.  I tensed again, having hoped that she hadn't realized.  But, she had.

"Yeah," I said, shaking it off.  "I'm fine.  So, why is your brother leaving?"

"He and his fiancée are heading up to the UK to visit Emmy's family - that's his fiancée.  She, her mum, and her best friend up there are going to pick out her final dress," Charli informed me.  "I should probably go up to see Evie before I have to leave.  I'll text you?  Maybe I can tutor you this weekend."

"Anytime works for me," I told her with a smile as she stepped out of the car.  "Tell Ashton I said hello."

"Ashton's here?" she asked, looking around the parking lot, and noticing his easily recognizable station wagon.  She groaned.  "Pray that I won't walk in on them making out."

I laughed and nodded, and with one last wave, made sure she safely got in the building, before beginning to drive off.

Left alone, once again, only one thing wove it's way through my mind, as it has since that stupid day at band practice. It's been a year.  Over it, now.

And Tahlia hasn't come home.

I shouldn't care, I thought.  I shouldn't even be thinking of her.  But I've found that the only time my mind isn't occupied with Tahlia, is when it's filled with thoughts of my blue-eyed Disney fanatic.  Luckily, it was more often the latter.  But right now was not one of those times.

I had been so lost in my own consciousness, so focused on moving myself from these thoughts, that's I've driven my place straight to a place oozing with memories.  The old house had been abandoned for five or six years now.  I don't recall the faces of the pictures on the floors surrounded by broken glass; I don't remember the name on the A+ test, still attached to the fridge; nor do I remember much of the names carved into the hard wood under the bed of the second room of the second floor.  The people who owned the house last were gone, nothing but obvious traces that we failed to see.

But I do remember the color of the living room walls; the dustiness of the carpet in the back room; that feeling I'd get, standing silently in the kitchen with her - with Tahlia.  But I didn't dare to go any closer than the driver's seat of my car parked on the curb out front.

As I stared at the house, I could feel the anger slowly building up.  Life had been so simple when we had first broken into the house.  It wasn't long after claiming it as our own that the complications of growing up - of making all the wrong choices - had set in.  It wasn't long - maybe three years - that everything had slowly fallen apart.

And now, as I clenched my teeth, I wanted to scream until my throat burned.

And everything stopped.

It hadn't been much - a flash of black hair, the tug of a curtain - but it was enough.  It was more than enough.