Speechless: REWRITTEN

11. Bluebell

Gianna

The days going forward become very...interesting.

Just like we said, on Mordecai's actual birthday, we came over to his apartment and decorated his tree. We made popcorn and tied them to strands of garland to wrap around the tree. Using paper clips, we hang cheap ornaments, and for the pièce de résistance, blue and red lights plugged into the outlet next to the tree to light it up. All the while, we're talking about all sorts of random things like murder documentaries, diet fads, and house temperatures. We played music and I convinced Roscoe to dance with me while Mordecai just sat and laughed at us.

After we decorated the tree, we made a quick trip to the grocery store and bought food to make for dinner and a cake to bake. Dinner wasn't that hard to make since Mordecai's favorite dish is Tuscan chicken. Dessert was an entirely different story.

So who knew you could overbake a cake? Not me. But we still stuck some candles on it and sang happy birthday, and then devoured the awful-tasting thing.

The days after his birthday went in the same fashion. Every other day, either Mordecai stopped by our apartment or we went over to his and we just spent the time talking and goofing around. In these days, I realize that my assumptions about him were off when I was in high school. I always thought he was boring, too serious, and way too into his work, but now I wish I had the dedication he has to his job and his career path. He's also...maybe a little funny. But not funny in a 'ha ha' way, but he has a dry sense of humor quite similar to Roscoe's. Maybe that's why they're best friends.

I can kind of see why Cheyenne liked him so much, too. He's very critical in the way he speaks, and he endlessly takes care of things, no matter what's going on. Most of the time when Roscoe and I are at his house, he's multitasking. Either working on something from his job, cleaning up around the house, or cooking lunch or dinner. He has to be seven steps ahead of himself, and he's content that way. And despite not being an animated person, you can always tell what he's thinking, and most of the time, he's mildly amused by Roscoe and I's banter with him and with each other.

He's also one of those people that only lets you glimpse into him, not laying all his baggage on the table. Very randomly, he'll laugh like something was the funniest thing in the world or he'll grin really widely for no reason. He has a goofy side that he only really trusts Roscoe and I with. It's hard to believe that he really went to prison for ten years. You'd expect someone like that to be so hardened and impassive. And maybe he was super outgoing before he went, but if how he is now is an indication of something, he's made progress.

Today, I'm trying my hand at writing music, taking a page from the music writing class I took at Juilliard this past semester. Christmas is next week and I decided that the best present to give Roscoe is something original. Especially since rent is just around the corner and we already spent a lot collectively for Mordecai's birthday/Christmas celebration. But me trying to piece these notes together is like trying to create a thousand piece puzzle. I feel my mind getting jumbled, trying to make something cohesive and personal. I end up just absentmindedly strumming my guitar, waiting for the inspiration to hit me.

A soft knock lands on the door, interrupting my mindless playing. I set the guitar on the floor with the rest of my paperwork, glancing at the clock. Roscoe should still be at school, finishing up the week before he goes on Christmas break. I stand up, my knees stiff, and go to the door. Looking through the peephole, I see an unfamiliar man. My stomach knots up slightly as I open the door slowly. Looking him over, he's wearing a cheap looking jacket that's not enough for the downpour of snow outside right now. In fact, his whole outfit is dingy and basic. He sports a sizeable beard and unkept dark chestnut hair.