Nameless

14. She's your Sarah

Mrs. Simmons burst into tears after Chris read his paper. Chris looked horrified.

"I-I'm sorry; I didn't mean-" he stuttered.

"No," she cut him off, "I was grading Lori's as you read yours, and jeez you two! This was supposed to be a lighthearted assignment; I didn't expect some emotional heartfelt paper." She wiped her eyes," Now I have to give all the kids who wrote about their cat or whatever a failing grade. How am I even supposed to score these?" she laughed in frustration. The class just sat in awkward silence, unsure what to do about our teacher. It took her several minutes to compose herself. "Okay," she drew out the word, "Who would like to read next?" no one wanted to follow Chris's essay. Our classmates all wore the same guilty expression on their faces. Chris returned to his seat; no one could look at him as he passed. They had their faces turned down. They should be ashamed of all those horrible things they said and thought about Chris.

"Chris," I began shyly, "do you not have football practice anymore?" we were walking toward his car hand-in-hand. I had no idea what made me think of that; I just remember him coming into Vents one afternoon after practice.

"No, bird. I told Coach that I couldn't continue to play this season. Besides, I'd rather look after you, anyway," he answered, opening my car door for me. I still couldn't buckle myself in; with the cast, everything was more difficult. Chris kissed my forehead as he clicked me into place, then rounded the car and sat in his side. He pulled out of the parking lot, and drove me to work. Riding in a car was still exhilarating for me; it amazed me how fast the trees and buildings whipped past.

When we got to Vents, Chris came in with me, toting his backpack. I opened the café door, and the bell above it jingled, causing Norman to peek his head out from the kitchen. He saw who it was, and I swear if he tried to smile even a fraction more, his face would've split.

"Lori, where have you been? I've been covering for you for weeks! I've missed you!" he exclaimed, giving me a hug, which he'd never done before. I couldn't help it; I flinched. He gave Chris a guilty look, and a moment of sadness passed between the two males.

"Hey, Norm," Chris held his hand out, and Norman shook it. Chris surprised him by bringing the older boy in for a hug, as well. "You're still allowed to visit us, you know." Norman grinned uncomfortably.

"Yeah, what are you doing here, man?" Norm's tone wasn't accusatory; it sounded like he'd just ran into an old friend, which I guess is exactly what happened.

"I'm going to just chill here, and wait for Lori's shift to end, if that's alright?" Chris asked.

"Of course, dude; come in whenever. Excuse me," A group of customers walked in, and Norman disappeared into the kitchen. I gave Chris a quick kiss, and rushed to find my apron. I hastily-and sloppily-tied my on my apron, and approached the patrons with menus.

I was dog-tired by the end of my shift. We were so busy that Thursday afternoon into the evening that I didn't get to sit down even for a second. My feet hurt, and I was exhausted as the last customer filed out at 8:30pm, and Norm flipped the sign on the door to "closed." I fell into Chris's embrace, and the fatigue seemed to melt away. Norman watched us with soft eyes, though there was a hint of jealousy.

"She's your Sarah," he muttered. Chris's head snapped up from the crook of my neck.

"What?" he wasn't upset, he was unsure that he'd heard correctly-I was, too.

"She's your other half. You two are perfect together," Norman smiled sadly, and very quietly repeated: "She's your Sarah." He sniffed, and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. I knew what he was doing all too well; he was trying not to cry. "You two go on; I'll stay and lock up." Norman pushed us out the door, and as Chris and I looked at each other, I heard his body slump against the glass door.

"Should I say something to him?" I asked, worried for my friend.

"No. The last thing he wants right now is someone else there, believe me." Chris took my hand, and drove me home.

"How was your day at school, kids?" Harold asked when we walked in through the kitchen door. He'd gotten back from his business trip late yesterday evening.

"Surprisingly, Dad, it was pretty uneventful," Chris answered his father, "How was work?"

Harold groaned. "The boss has decided to start my team on a new project, even though we'd just started one last week. I don't think that man knows what he's doing anymore." He complained. Susan sashayed into the kitchen, and flung her arms around her husband's neck. She kissed him below his ear, and then whispered to him. Chris and I stood awkwardly, watching. Susan led Harold away by his hand, excitedly. She seemed almost proud to lead him wherever.

After his parents left the kitchen, Chris rooted around in the refrigerator for something to eat. Not finding anything to his taste, he opened the freezer.

"How do you feel about chicken tenders and fries for supper?" he asked. I shrugged.

"I'm not sure what they are," I answered honestly. He turned to me with his mouth agape.

"It's settled, then. Chicken tenders and fries." He decided, pulling two bags from the freezer, and spinning a dial on the oven. I sat at the table and watched his movements as he pulled out a metal tray and poured onto it things from the two bags. He returned the bags to the freezer, and popped the tray into the oven. Grabbing a timer, he took my hand, and led me into the living room. "Did you want to watch TV?" he asked. I nodded, even though I had no desire to watch the television; I just wanted to curl up next to him and sleep.

I woke up when the timer went off. Chris kissed my forehead, and I sat up.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, just as my stomach growled. He laughed. "I'll take that as a 'yes.'" I followed him into the kitchen, and sat back down at the table. I loved watching him do simple things-I loved watching him, period. When he turned around, he had two plates, and set one across from me. I studied my food. Some things were long and wrinkly, and yellow, and others were brown and crumbly. Bravely, I picked up one of the brown things and bit it. My eyes widened. The inside was hot, and didn't look a thing like the outside. It was white, and moist. I liked it.

"Mm." I vocalized.

"So you like the chicken?" Chris asked, squirting ketchup on his plate. I knew what ketchup was. It was one of only four things in any of the kitchen cabinets at home.

"Yes. Chicken is good." I answered him once I finished chewing.

After supper, I helped Chris clear the table. I couldn't wash dishes, because of my cast, but I kept him company while he did.

"Bird?" he seemed nervous suddenly.

"Yes?" I urged him to continue.

"Will you go to dinner with me tomorrow night? I know that we haven't actually done anything as a couple, yet." He set the plate that he'd been washing on the drying rack, and turned to me. Chris wanted to go somewhere with me, to be seen in public with me. I couldn't contain the grin that spread across my face.

"Yes," I nodded enthusiastically, "I'd like that."