Eight

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My mom was going on a trip for a few days with a friend. She was leaving me home. A few years ago she would never have done this, but now I was sixteen and she trusted me. I had never given her any cause for concern. I was quiet, did my schoolwork, and spent most of my free time at home. I was the perfect child. Which had its benfits.

I went grocery shopping with her yesterday so I would have food for the weekend. I made dinners about half the time anyway, so it wouldn't be that big of a deal in that department.

She left on Friday morning before I went to school. Christian wasn't there when we were cleaning. His room seemed neater than it had been before. He had a few more records and there was another guitar in the corner.

I had begun learning the guitar a few months ago. I could play a few easy songs from memory. But I had a beginner's guitar. It wasn't great quality.

This one was nice, really nice. I walked over to it. This is a bad idea. I picked it up carefully, sat on the edge of the bed, and rested it on my right leg. I strummed a G chord. The sound was lovely. This guitar felt so good to play. Mine vibrated too much.

One of the songs I knew was Like Real People Do by Hozier. I glanced around the room and decided to just play it once and then I would get back to cleaning. It was a fairly easy one to remember. When I was done I put the guitar back in its corner and sighed. Man, I wish I had one like that.

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Hannah dropped me off at my house after dinner. It was weird to not have someone greet me at the door. I decided to get my homework over with because I'm a loser.

After that I couldn't decide what to do. When I don't know what to do I practice my piano. I have a pretty nice keyboard and it's in my tiny room because we don't have anywhere else to put it. Usually I think of something before I'm done. I need to practice more often anyway. I really enjoy all types of music.

I was in between songs and my phone vibrated on my bed. I don't text very often. Must be my mom.

I got off my bench and walked over to it. It was still lit up but it was not my mother.

Christian: Heyyy

Oh, lord. Why is he texting me now? I don't know what to talk about. This is going to be awful. I hope he has a purpose otherwise it's going to be one of those cliché boring conversations that make me want to shoot myself.

Me: hi

Christian: what r u doin

Yep. It is going to be one of those conversations. Maybe he'll get distracted. He seems easily distractable.

Me: practicing

Christian: whut

Me: piano. I'm playing piano. Well I was

Christian: U HAVE A PIANO

Me: yes

Christian: CAN I COME OVER

I don't want him to come over do I? I mean, he'll see my room and my stuff and me and...my mother would flip if she found out. But I mean I sort of like talking to Christian, in person.  It would be nice to get to know him better. 

Me: sure

The Difference - Christian LeaveWhere stories live. Discover now