Cleaning Out My Closet

Chapter Eleven

“You can bend it and twist it... You can misuse and abuse it... But even God cannot change the Truth.”

-Michael Levy

As per my usual, I sat at my family computer desk that night, staring at a blank Microsoft word document. Seeing Blithe today had fired me up there for a while and really made me want to say something to her, but now that I was sitting, thinking, I realized something-I can’t write worth crap. Words never flow easily for me, and I had no idea how to write them down. Nate’s idea would never come to fruition.

A knock came at the front door at the same time as my phone went off in my pocket. I stood up, pulling my phone out as I headed to the door. I opened the door before I read the message, and smiled as Braxton stood before me.

“Hey, did you get my message?” He asked, stepping in the doorway. I looked down at my phone.

Hey, in the neighborhood. Care if I come over?

I laughed. “Now I did. Sorry, if my phone’s in my pocket I don’t get messages in good time.”

As I walked to the kitchen and grabbed bottles of flavored water for us both, he walked over and sat down at the computer. I cringed and walked over to him.

“What are you writing? Homework?” he asked, looking at the four words on the document-“Blithe, I’ve always wanted-”.

I sighed. “No, not exactly. Have you heard Nate mention this ‘cleaning out my closet’ thing I’m doing?” I asked.

Braxton looked at me, confused. “No, what is it? Besides an Eminem song.”

I smiled happily as he recognized the line. “It’s what I’m doing.” I took a deep breath as I realized I hadn’t yet told him my news. “I’m going to be moving within the next few months because of my dad’s work.”

“What? You’re moving?” he asked, seeming more upset than I would have thought. His lips pursed. “Why didn’t you tell me before now?”

I was slightly stunned. “I don’t know, it just never came up.”

He laughed humorlessly. “Ray, I’ve sat at your lunch table for the past week and a half and talk to you regularly. How could it just ‘not come up’?”

I shrugged, realizing now it probably should have. “I guess I’m trying not to think about it.”

Braxton sighed and turned back to the page. “So, who’s Blithe?”

Distracted, I explained.

“So, you’re wanting to tell her how you feel? What’s the problem then?” Braxton asked, his fingers typing idly on the keyboard. I realized he probably wouldn’t understand-he was a writer, so words must come easily to him.

“Well, I sit down to write out what to say to her and I just blank. I don’t know why, I just can’t write. Like, at all,” I said, feeling embarrassed.

He pursed his lips for a few minutes, thinking, and I chewed my lip as I stood there feeling self-conscious.

“Do you think it’d help if you told me what you felt and I wrote it out?” he hedged, and I felt myself flush. It was a great idea, sure, but to let all my feelings out to him like that? It was very personal and I was sure to sound stupid.

“It might,” I allowed, chewing on my lip some more.  

“Well, let’s try,” he said, turning towards the computer. “What do you want to say?”

“Braxton…” I started, not sure how to explain my hesitation.

“What you say is between me and you-and, of course, Blithe. I won’t say anything, okay?” Braxton said, having turned toward me and rolled the computer chair towards me. I stood in front of him, looking down at his hazel eyes, and realized he wasn’t near as intimidating when he wasn’t standing over me. It gave me the sudden urge to reach forward and run my fingers through his thick, dark hair.