Forelsket (George Harrison)

CHAPTER TWO

| TWO |

REESE

"Miss, are you alright?"

I let out a groan.

My eyes were slowly opening to see a blurry sight of a woman in front of me. A headache suddenly welcomed me as my senses were slowly sensing my surroundings. Squinting from the headache, all I could ever perceived were strange buildings; women with big hairs like a beehive, squealing; several odd-looking cars passing; and a woman with a bouffant hairstyle, looking at me with an utter concern.

"Miss, are you alright?"

I sat up from my laying position. I ignored the woman and even groaned more from the pain somewhere in my head. Rubbing my temple, I looked at where I was laying when my eyes widened in shocked. I was in a cold pavement probably outside the restaurant and I tried to comprehend a reason behind this irrational act of mine. I examine the surroundings but was mainly looking for the familiar beige-colored walls of Millie's but found nothing but another group of girls talking and squeaking this time, outside a theater.

Teenagers nowadays.

What - huh? There's no nearby theater near Millie's!

I looked at the woman again, narrowing my eyes in suspicion.

She was probably in the same age as I was. She wore a beige sweater and a blue shirt tucked in her mini skirt. She looked outmoded from the new trends nowadays. Perhaps she was just fashionably nostalgic? Or, she preferred old-fashioned styles.

"Who are you? And why am I here? Why am I in the pavement, lying? Where are my brothers? Do you know where I am?" I asked rather fast. I didn't care if I may had talked gibberish at that moment but I was just downright confused.

The woman stood and offered me a hand. I reluctantly grabbed it as she helped me get up.

"I'm Deborah, by the way. I saw you laying here so I came to you," she answered a few of my questions with a bemusing calmness and . . . with a British accent?

I had never heard anyone with a thick British accent since my grandma, Deborah Jones. She lived most of her whole life in London; where she also met my grandpa, Eric, who was an American. They got married in the year, 1959 and lived in London for seven years. In the midst of the aforementioned years, they had a hard time keeping their relationship up. But despite of those years, they were really in love. Soon, they decided to move on grandpa's hometown, Boston. There, they raised their son, Robert, and their daughter (which is my mother), Mary Riley.

I had a strong bond with my grandma, whom my cousins, siblings, and I often called Ma. She'd been more like a confidante to me. My mother and Ma had a slight comparison when it came to my relationship with them; but I loved them both. Mom was the kind of mother who was more like a sister to us. Ma, on the other hand, was the kind of grandparent who was like a mother to us. They were different but a good kind of different. Whenever mom was working for a few days or even for a week, Ma would be there to take care of us most of the time. Every night, she would tell me stories about the Four Mates and the Lovely Bird. I kind of missed that story. It made me wish to go back in time when I was younger and see her eyes twinkled in delight as she told me that story.

On the night of August 21, 2014, was the most dreadful night of my life. Grandma finished the fight with the villain, which was the Leukemia, at the age of 75. It really saddened me so much that I wanted to time-travel to see her once again. But it was impossible because life obviously didn't work that way. Grandma was the one who inspired me to do the things I wanted to pursue. She was my number one motivator; the one who also wiped my melancholy away. She'd always have a place in my heart.