Imperfect | est. 2015

35. Surprises

To me, sitting on the edge of my bed and thinking about things to the extent of where I would sit there and space out— was a typical way of spending time on my own.

I had my eyes locked on that silly photo of Connor and I from the second grade. I was missing two teeth and, of coarse, he looked perfectly fine.

It was just us laughing. Every time someone decided to snap a photo of us, we would be laughing. And, half the time, he would be trying to tackle me and all I would do is swing my feet at his ankles and get him to fall over. He would never win a fight with me.

I had a way of always winning silly things like that.

But that's why he was the wise one.

He kept me from getting into trouble.

****

I could sit on the end of my bed for hours and not even realize how long it'd been since I'd been there.

And I'd have my eyes stuck in one spot until my vision went hazy.

It was like I was falling asleep sitting up.

And as soon as I was planning on completely settling under the blankets on the late afternoon of July 3rd, I heard a car honking outside my house.

I flinched— suddenly startled by the interrupted silence.

I didn't bother to look out the window, because I figured it was for somebody else. Or even someone trying to break into somebody else's car.

I didn't have a care in my mind.

I reached back for the feathered, white comforter and sat back towards the wall, just so I would be able to completely doze off into sleep from where ever I sat in the pile of case-less pillows.

But the car honked again.

Then again, three times.

And I couldn't help but at least peek out the window.

I squinted between the blinds and saw the freshly-cleaned red truck in my driveway. I knew exactly who the truck belonged to. And the idea of it made my skin heat up a little, "What?" I whispered to myself.

I saw the tinted driver's window roll down and a familiar hand stuck out of it to wave at me and gesture for me to come outside. But I wasn't sure if I wanted to see him. I had a twisting feeling in my gut that told me I was just going to be better off sitting where I was and letting him drive away. But I knew he wouldn't give up if he was already there.

So I just leaned off the side of my bed and saw my horrid reflection in the dresser mirror before I could've even processed what it would feel like to leave my room.

I didn't know if I wanted to know what he wanted. He'd avoided me for days. How was I supposed to step out there and expect him to have nothing to say about that? He either had a clueless, yet well-thought out apology or was there to yell at me for something he was oblivious to.

So, not minding my intensely messy hair and crappy grey t-shirt, I threw on a pair of my sneakers and left my room. I'd been trapped in my house for so long, it almost felt strange walking down the stairs. Sure, I'd done it once or twice in the past week... but it was as if I was forgetting how to function.

My pulse was racing as I got closer and closer to his truck. I couldn't see if he staring at me or not because of his tinted windows. And while I felt my feet drag heavily on the concrete, I had one hand on my arm. I must've looked as nervous as possible. And, knowing Connor, he'd be able to tell.

But who wouldn't be?

You kiss your best friend, he avoids you and pretends to hate you for days, then he just shows up to your house without warning.