The Language of Us

Chapter Five

"Okay, girl, spill. Tell me everything."

Chelsea ungracefully flopped down onto her sofa with her box of take-out food, putting her feet up on the coffee table. Deanna sat cross-legged on the other end of the sofa, pulling apart her pair of chopsticks.

Chelsea side-eyed Dea, saying, "Don't tell Will I put my feet up on this. He'll flip."

Deanna smiled and put her hair behind her ears. She was thankful for Chelsea's friendship. And for the fact that Chelsea paid for their dinner, but that was beside the point.

"It started in high school," began Dea. "I hadn't really paid attention to him much during freshman year, but when we did start talking, we had so much in common. He was really smart and, like...not mysterious, but unique?

"Anyway, I remember when we started talking to each other towards the end of our first semester of freshman year and he recommended a song to me and over Christmas break I looked it up and it was some metal band called Otep. It really wasn't the kind of music I was into at the time, but I found that I eventually came to like it.

"I remember after break that I told him I liked that song and he was so surprised I'd actually listened to it, let alone liked it. After that, we traded music recommendations and that ultimately that morphed into book recommendations. From there we learned that we both enjoyed writing and we let each other read the other's work.

"I think it was through his original writing that I really began to have a crush on him. I don't think there's anything more intriguing than learning that someone is as eloquent on paper as they are in person. Well, I mean there are lots of other things that fit the criteria for what makes someone attractive, but that's not the point."

Dea took a moment to eat some of her dinner before continuing.

"It was like my affection grew for him the more we had in common. Plus, the way he was, I just—he was so attractive in every aspect. Granted he wasn't tall—he was taller than me, though—and he wasn't that built—he had a bit of a soft stomach—but he..." Dea paused, not knowing how else to go on. "I don't, know I just liked him."

"Hey, I know the feel, Dea. When you like a guy so much you can't even put it into words? Yeah, I know what you mean," said Chelsea, discreetly admiring her wedding ring.

Dea nodded, chewing a bite of her chicken.

"I thought he liked me too, but it turned out that he didn't, since he asked out this one girl named Gianna."

"Aw, no," said Chelsea.

"Yeah. He asked her out via text, too!" Dea pointed out.

"Oh my god."

"And they stayed together for four and a half years. All throughout high school."

"Are you shitting me? He asked her out through a text message and they stayed together for that long?" Chelsea nearly spit her food out.

"Yep. God, high school was torture, Chelsea. Utter torture."

"I can imagine. Jesus."

"So," continued Dea, "I went through high school pining for him, trying to milk every moment I spent with him for all it was worth before we graduated. I knew it was hopeless, but I still had hope, you know?

"I remember this one time during junior year," Dea started to laugh a little. "Jon and I were walking out of Spanish class and he was rambling on about this idea for a new story idea he had and he was really excited about it. I mean when a writer gets a new idea, it's like it's fucking Christmas. Anyway, he was so wrapped up in telling me this idea that we'd walked right past his girlfriend."