*recorder beeps*
So, uh...
This recorder was a gift from someone I loved. It wasn't a birthday present or anything of the sort, just a gift that she gave me out of the blue. And then she up and left, so I suppose it could be considered a going-away present.
We went out to hang and the entire date had gone great; we'd watched a movie, and we'd played games at the arcade and made fun of each other's aim as we three beanbags at clown dolls and then we'd taken one of those cheap, bad quality pictures in a photobooth. All in all, I'd really thought that it had gone well, and by the expression on her face, I had thought that she had enjoyed it as well.
And then, when we were waiting for our parents to come pick us up, when we'd been standing outside the mall doors, standing in a comfortable silence, she'd turned to me.
I had watched her take a breath and had watched as she rummaged through the little bear bag she'd brought and pulled out an orange box.
I was going to make a comment, but then I noticed her blushing cheeks and for once, decided to keep my mouth shut.
But as soon as she had opened her mouth to say something, her sister's car had come around the curb and we both had looked up and the moment had broken.
I'd waved hi to her sister and when I'd turned back, she'd wrapped her arms around me and turned us so that her back was to her sister.
There was an extra squeeze in her hug and she'd placed a peck on my cheek and the orange box had been thrust in my arms and then she was gone before I could react.
I had waved goodbye as the car went by, and had felt as my own cheeks had reddened.
Thankfully the flush of my cheeks had left by the time my own father arrived.
When I arrived home, I opened the box, only to find this recorder, decorated in orange and yellow flowers in that simplistic design that I could recognize anywhere.
And a note.
In the note, she'd written how she hoped I would use the recorder as a form of a journal so that I would not be so burdened with the weight of the world. She'd mentioned how she knew that I did not like writing in a journal and I remember how I'd loved that she remembered that detail. She'd said that she hoped the recorder helped. And she'd signed it Love, Hana.
We'd never said love ever before.
It was strange, and it made me feel unexpectedly giddy.
Hana was not the only Hannah I knew, but she was the only one I knew who spelled their name with only one H and one N. It was one of my favourite things about her.
I love you too, Hana.
*recorder beeps*
