Her Name is Memory

15| two types

Chapter 15

Let's have a fucked up summer. Let's travel off the map
You can be my fucked up lover before we go back
I need a little trouble. I need a fucked up summer.

~Nathaniel's Lyric Journal

SOMEONE KEPT CALLING ME.

I felt the vibrations of my phone deep in my sleep. My mind mentally blocked it to continue sleeping but the ringtone kept repeating. Blindly grabbing my phone, I cracked an eye open to see Esteban's name on the background of the FaceTime request. 

I pulled myself up, feeling the ache in my back and the heavy weight behind my eyelids. I accepted the call and saw a clean shaven Esteban appear on the screen. 

"Hola, compa," I yawned.

"Hola, Nathaniel..." Esteban trailed off, looking at me longer. "¿Estás llorando? "

I pulled myself up from the bed, heading the frame creak under my weight. My head was slightly throbbing and I wiped the tears streaming on my face.

I shook my head. "I am not crying, cabrón. I just woke up."

Esteban started to laugh. Alyssa popped up into the camera, wrapping her arms around his neck with a goofy smile.

"I know you miss me and everything, but are you really that sad?" Esteban continued to joke.

I rolled my eyes.

I thought of all my friends back home everyday. Most of the days were spent thinking about life back at home. I did it more times than I should've, but I couldn't help it. I would imagine myself in my old room, old school, and my favorite city. It was torture to think about, yet I thought about it constantly.

"No you fucker. I'm tired," I responded. 

"Is it because Javier kept you up half of the night," Esteban joked, fully aware that Javier got trashed at a party and started to drunk spam us with Spanglish messages. 

"That that didn't help. Anyways, I'm not crying. I am just sweating like crazy right now. I reckon it's ninety-five degrees right now. I'm burnin' up," I responded slowly, rubbing my legs at the thought of the heat.

Esteban laughed. "Dude youre accent is coming out." 

Alyssa giggled, "You sound like a hillbilly."

I wrinkled my nose at her, and she started to laugh harder.

She changed. She was fashionable, and stylistic if I recalled. She was the person that would look at all the fashion magazines and imitate the model's attire. She would come over with different hairstyles and make-up, even though I looked fine without it. Nowadays, she appeared to have worn jeans and t-shirts- a much more simplistic version of her. Instead of her long waves of deep black hair, she cropped it to a length just past her shoulders.

So much has changed about her, and I only left so recently.

And I definitely did not have a Southern accent.

"I do not," I rushed my response, trying to sound as much as a New Yorker as I possibly could. She shook her head.

"Just a little. Mostly New York. A little Southern. It's not a bad thing," she observed.

I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to imagine what she is talking about.

"Thank you for clarifying," I said hotly, crossing my arms on my chest. She giggled, and Esteban threw his head back, and started to join in on the laughter.