15 Reasons To Live

Chapter Two

15 Reasons to Live © Copyright Brianna Howell 2013

I found out his name is Thaddeus Muller.

He saved me from the river, and bailed me out of the hospital. He's twenty five, unemployed as far as I know. And he's treating me to pancakes at IHOP.

Basically a hobo just handed me back my life with no questions asked. How can I even try to repay this?

I'm just as broke as he is.

"So are you from around here?" I asked trying to strike up a conversation.

He looked up at me slowly, and I fidgeted breaking eye contact for a second. "No" he said with a sort of lopsided smile. There was a sort of teasing air about him, it made me feel weird because I wasn't sure what he thought was so funny.

He looked down at his food and then at the tables around us. "No, I'm from Brooklyn"

New York wasn't too far from here, but that didn't explain his accent. It was thick, definitely not the usual American sound. "But your accent-" he cut me off before I could finish my sentence "Australian" he said quickly. "My dad was an army man. He grew up in Australia, so I must have picked it up from him."

He turned back down to his food.

I shifted in my seat not wanting to let the conversation die this easily.

"I'm not from around here either actually." I said slowly, my voice dry and a little scratchy.

He handed me my glass of water "So where are you from?" he asked.

I took the glass warily and drank before answering "Florida" I said.

"What part?" He asked as he looked up with his icy gray, but somehow kind looking eyes.

"You know that big lake in the middle of Florida?" I asked, and he nodded and answered. "Yeah, lake Okeechobee." I shrugged pulling at the sleeves of my sweater a little. "Well that's where I'm from." I finished.

I decided against going into further detail on this part since where I'm from isn't exactly anything really notable. It has a Wallgreens and a Walmart, and everyone goes to bed at about nine. Which is why I moved here to Boston, because I felt trapped there.

I ate for a moment in silence and then looked up to unexpectedly catch him staring at me.

He quirked an eyebrow at me drowning for a second.

"What? I asked, feeling uncomfortable again. I wasn't a fan of being scrutinized, much less from a man. And somehow I got the idea that he wasn't just any man, but he still made me feel awkward.

He chuckled to himself for a moment and then smiled.

"You'd think you would be more tan being from Florida."

I chucked a piece of bacon at him and giggled. He winked at me conspicuously and ate the bacon that fell on his plate before returning to his meal.

What an odd person.

I thought about things for another couple of minutes a we ate, and the single question that was left unanswered so far was him.

Why did he help me?

"Why didn't you leave me there?"

The words came out before I realized what I was saying, so I'm sure that I looked silly being shocked at myself. But still, the question had to be asked.

His face turned serious then, and he looked like he was choosing what he would say next very carefully.

"Because" he said slowly "you're too white to die."