Remains To Be Seen

It Wasn't Real

Anne
I returned from Dianna's and I saw Gilbert just getting home. He must've been helping build the Gillis residence today. I smiled as that feeling rose through my toes filling my whole body with excitement. I got the okay from my two bestest friends and I couldn't wait to speak to Gilbert. I could tell the truth now. I didn't have to fib this underlying hate for him I never have felt Oh my. I hadn't even admitted that to myself. That I never hated him once. I always felt something different.
      "Gilbert?" I inquired stepping through the door.
He didn't answer. I assumed he had gone to his room so I stepped in that direction. I had Huckleberry Finn in my arms as I peered into his room. I stumbled back slamming my spine into the hard surface of the wall.
      "Anne?" He said rushing out the door in the same state I had seen him.
I shot my hand to my eyes to keep myself from staring. I fumbled with my words. I hadn't noticed that I'd dropped the book.
       "I'm sorry I didn't mean to intrude," I said quickly
        "It's okay," Gilbert spoke softly. "Do you not have skin and a stomach? Is it that appalling to see Anne?"
      "It's not that it's-" I dropped my hand then staring.
He was shirtless still. I was probably very obvious and I averted my gaze anywhere else which chose to be the ground.
       "It's?"
       "Nothing. I was just caught by surprise."
He left and returned as he pulled a shirt over his head.
       "How was your visit to Diana?" he asked picking up the book from the floor.

      "It was Umm...Gilbert I," was I supposed to tell him.
His eyebrows raised in question. Our proximity so close to each other. I wanted to say something. I wanted to tell him what I felt. But I went with a hidden way to do this.
      "We talked about how we feel," I said.
      "And how do you feel?"
      "I uhhh...." I swallowed and tried to look away.
His oak tree eyes captured mine too easily. His eyes were the forest and mine was the ocean. I needed to meet him at the shore. I wanted to. But I doubt the feeling was reciprocated as I told diana.
       "You can tell me Anne," he said as I realized I hadn't responded.
        "Do you ever get this fluttering feeling in your chest or stomach or both? Like orange monarch butterflies are dancing around inside you? An exciting and freightful feeling?"
       "I know exactly what you mean."
       "You do?"
       "I kinda feel it right now," he mumbled slightly under his breath.
       "Why?" I whispered.
He grabbed my hand and dragged me to the living room. We sat on the couch and he seemed to prep himself for something.
      "Anne I need to confess something," he said fearfully.
      "Okay."
He adjusted and a scared look fell on his face. His palms got warm and shaky and they were still in my hand. I squeezed his hand and it seemed to steady. I followed his arm to his shoulder to his eyes which were looking deeply into my own. Searching for something inside like he was diving into the ocean. And the fluttering feeling settled. I was calm. I was comfortable with Gilbert in this moment. I was open and vulnerable. And I wasn't ready for his confession. Four words that I never expected to escape his lips.
       "I like you Anne," he said.
       "You what?"
       "I like you. And if you would let me I'd be honored to take you on a date," he said again.
       "A date?" I was at loss for words.
      "Maybe a trip to Charlottetown or to the beach. Go on a search for the fields of fire," he said trying to fill the space. "Or we could just sit and read for hours on end in a tree or-"
      "Gilbert-" I stopped his rambling.
He had a look on his face that scared me. That he looked scared. It was the same look he had when his father had gotten sicker. The look he gave me when I ignored him. I hated seeing him like that. I couldn't bear to see his eyes so sad for much longer.
       "I uhh," I looked at our hands and smiled. "I like you too."
      "Really?" He said with hope filling his face.
      "Yeah," I nodded.

I blinked a few times and everything turned white. I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them.
      "Anne? Your visit to Diana's?"
None of that actually happened. I wasn't brave enough. It was all in my head making up this situation. All because Diana got into my head. My infatuation with this boy was overtaking me. I couldn't control my daydreams anymore. He always infected them like consumption. I shouldn't say that. His father passed from consumption. And he was kind. He has always been nice to me no matter what anyone else says.
       "It was good. I got to hear all about her trip to Josephine Berry's. She got to see Cole for a bit. Explore Charlottetown. And Ruby visited."
It was all a lie. Why was I lying to him. I never lie. Friends don't lie. But I did and I am. Is this what love is supposed to do to you. Does it curse you to do the worst things to the person for the best of reasons. I didn't like the feeling. And I still had a few days with him. And school. God school is tomorrow.
       "I should start dinner," I said.
       "Let's cook it together," he offered.
       "Sure. Together."
I put Huckleberry Finn into the guest room and went to the kitchen to prep. He was already there sitting on the counter as he held onto an apple. I grabbed the apple before he bit into it.
       "We're making dinner. Don't splurge Blythe," I said sounding exactly like Marilla.
       "You take a bite. You still need to try my apples from the orchard since the last time I got a slate to the face."
I felt my face turn red. He had this smirk on his face that made the fluttering ignite like a fire. I turned to the sink and rinsed my hands before seeing what he had to cook. We made something simple. Bread, eggs, apple slices, and potatoes. We sat at the table with the fire crackling in the background. Water in our cups we ate in silence for the beginning.
      "How is Huckleberry Finn?" Gilbert asked.
I took a drink of water washing everything down before speaking.
      "Oh my! I love it. I understand what it's like for Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn with having such a huge imagination. And the way his father was mean and drunken reminds me of...."
I stopped in the middle of my sentence remembering the time. The last home I was in. I remember each whip of the belt on my back after he had dropped a dish. If he didn't like it, it was my fault. And I took it. I pawed at my shoulder touching the tip of a scar underneath my dress. I picked another book to relate it to instead.
       "The book Life With Father. Very obscure but similar description," I covered up.
      "Well since you are finished with dinner I'll clean up."
      "I can."
      "No. Go pick a book for us to read."
      "Us to read?"
      "Mmhmm. Aloud for the world to hear."
      "Together."