73 Memories

The Sixth Memory

Two weeks after you drove me home and I you had figured out I moved in across from you, we were sitting in History while our teacher named off students who would have to do a Civil War poster together.

And, as luck, or maybe fate, would have it, you and I were partners. I remember thinking that you were surely growing tired of me.

But when he said my name after yours and I turned to look at you, your eyes were already on me and you had this big grin on your face.

You made me feel wanted.

In the four weeks that I had been at that school, you were the only person my age who talked to me. I wish I was exaggerating.

When Mrs. McHenry told us we could get started, you wasted no time getting out of your chair and coming to sit next to me. "So, I guess we're partners?"

I smiled at you, even though I was kind of, well, really happy you were my partner. "I guess we are."

You grabbed the textbook out from under your chair and flipped to a page. "Huh, there's kind of a lot we need to do for this poster project. Can you get paper and a pencil and make a list of things we'll need?"

Instead of answering, I got the things you asked me to get.

"Okay, write these things down. Poster, glue, permanent markers, photos."

"You want us to buy photos?" I asked.

You laughed at this and responded after shaking your head, "No, of course not. But we need pictures, so I figure, unless you have a printer, we could go to the library someday this week and print of some pictures of Civil War generals."

I nodded in understanding. "Oh, right. Well, yeah, I do have a printer. If you want we can go to Target after school and get this stuff. I have money, my dad gives me an allowance."

You nodded, but I could see some reluctance in your eyes. "You don't have to pay for this stuff."

I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly. "It's fine. Who else would pay?"

One of your eyebrows raised, and I wondered if you did it on purpose or if it was something that just happened when you were about to answer with a "duh" kind of tone. "Umm, my Mom, obviously."

You didn't mean it, but if I'm telling the story, I'm telling it right. The word 'Mom' had stabbed at my heart. I pretended I was fine, though, because I couldn't have you asking questions. I was scared that you would tilt your head and I would tell an almost-stranger my life story.

"Just let me do this, please. I really don't mind."

I watched your shoulders deflate in defeat. "Fine."

After school, we went to Target and got everything we needed before heading to my house. When I pulled the door open, you stopped before walking in. "Are you sure your dad won't mind?"

I smiled sadly. "My dad doesn't notice anything anymore, so you'll be fine. Besides, we parked across the street at your house."

And so you nodded and stepped into my plain, average house.

I hope you remember how horrible our poster turned out.

Because I sure do.