To Be With You

Chills raced up and down my body. It was cold, probably 40 degrees outside. The wind made it even worse. I guess standing out in the lake barefoot with just capri sweats and a tank top on wasn't the best choice. What do I care? Maybe I'll get pneumonia and end up in a hospital bed thousands of miles away from here where proper treatments available. Most of the time people get hurt or sick in this town, the most folks can do is splint your arm or have you gargle with salt water. I wanna get sick so I can get out of this freezing hellhole and never come back. Not death. I wouldn't stoop to that. Before you know my reasons, maybe you need to know my story.

My name is Iris. You don't need to know my last name, nobody does. Anywho, I'm adopted. Funny story when I found my birth mother lived across the street. My real dad died three years ago from pancreatic cancer. I was the last one he saw before he died, and my real mom cannot let that go. So I don't see her much.

I go to this school about a mile from my house. It was originally meant for only girls but some douche from a few towns over decided to protest around ten years back.

So now we have guys running around telling inappropriate jokes about us and ruining the school reputation. I'm in 12th grade today.

When I was in elementary school I met a boy named Alan. He was shy and quiet and lemme tell you, did I change that. By the time third grade rolled around he was loud and happy and outgoing. When we were in fourth grade he started missing school a lot and went away with his mom a lot. When I asked him about it he'd say

"Momma says not to talk 'bout it."

He got all quiet again, but he was still my best friend.

When we got into middle school, Alan said he was gonna be homeschooled starting soon and when I asked him why he told me,

"Momma says it's best."

To which I replied,

"Who cares what your momma says! I need you!"

And I held his hand and cried for the remainder of the day. I thought that was the worst day of my life.

If only I knew.

So the following year I wouldn't speak to anyone. My teachers contacted my parents expressing concern but it didn't help. I didn't want to talk to anyone else. Why would I? They never bothered to speak to me before.

Every day after school I'd visit Alan, and he'd tell me about his day and id tell him about mine. We were almost inseparable. He was my other half.

During seventh grade I continued the tradition and visited him every day.

Seventh grade was the year everything changed.

I remember one day walking in his house and his mother and father greeting me with a very long hug. Now, I was tall for my age back then, so I towered over Alan's mother, but his father was big. He hand was about the size of me. Anyways, I didn't question it, I just hugged them back and let them cry a little. Alan slinked down the stairs and stood at the base, not saying a thing. I backed away from his parents and walked over to him. I noticed he looked pale today. Paler than usual. His skin was almost green.

"Are you sick?" I asked. Behind me, his mother let out a loud sob and fell into Alan's father. I gave Alan a look. He took my hand and led me upstairs. His hand was warm and big and it left tingles on my hand. It sent butterflies coursing through my stomach. It sent goosebumps up my arm.

We got up to his room and sat on his unmade, messy bed. He looked at the ground for a few minutes. I looked at him. He looked beautiful. The sun on his tan skin and his big brown eyes glistening. I scooted closer to him and put my hand on his knee. He looked up at me, our eyes meeting, our faces only inches apart. His lips slowly made their way to meet mine.