The John Hughes Club

Chapter Twenty

"I'm glad we've talked today, Mindy." Smiling, Chas is gently squeezing my hand; the one that he's been holding the entire time that we've been walking to my house.

We're both tired, still a little damp from the rain that's now completely stopped, yet we're strangely content in each other's company. That's what opening up can do for you, it can lighten the weight of your emotional burdens. "I am, too." Is happily given to him. Talking to Chas, and him talking to me, has been beneficial for the two of us today. It can be seen in our teenage smiles, seen in our lively strides, felt in our young hearts.

"After school tomorrow, I'd like to show you the workshop that my grandpa left me...will you come?" Chas asks with cute anticipation, while pushing back the damp and dark lengths of his now floppy quiff away from his questioning eyes.

"I'd love to see it." Just as happily tumbles off my tongue.

"Great!" He says, still smiling that boyish smile that I know I'll miss until I see it again tomorrow.

"Well, this is me." Not letting go of his hand, I stop just outside of my house. "Thanks for walking me home." Looking up at him, I now feel like I'm looking into the eyes of a universe that knows all of my secrets, along with all of my hopes and dreams. "I also need to thank you for listening to me."

Lowering his brown gaze, his smile becomes as soft as his stare is. "I'd like to thank you for the very same thing." Although he's fallen quiet, his stare on me is loudly intense. Stroking my hand with his thumb, a light of longing is now illuminating his mellow brown eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

Smiling, I'm observing Chas with keen, lowered lashes. "You will." My keenness continues, wanting his lips to kiss mine. I don't even care that we're standing just outside of my house, I just want him to kiss me.

The intensity of his stare shifts from my eyes, down to my mouth; like he himself is thinking the exact same thing. Eventually, he blinks away that thought, along with exhaling a small breath of frustration. "Okay." Instead, he just cuddles me, exhaling a little more of that frustration of his.

It's not the kiss I wanted, but a cuddle from Chas does come in at a very close second to something I would like from him. So, I cuddle him back; holding him in the same affectionate way as he's holding me. Our first kiss will just have to wait. My lips, they'll just have to wait as well. It's not like they've never had any lip action with anyone before. Of course, they have. Many times with Sam, who wasn't a bad kisser at all. I quite liked kissing him, but his kisses never made my heart skip a blissful beat. They never gave me goosebumps of the wonderful kind. Then there was Peter Bradley in Year 7. The one and only kiss with him is sadly only remembered, simply because of its excessive moisture. Yup, Peter was a sloppy kisser—all saliva and a too-wide mouth. As kisses go, it was Yuck with a capital Y.

"I wish you had a phone, I could send you messages, then." I moan, cuddling Chas some more.

"I'll write my email down for you tomorrow, as I still don't want a phone." He's smiling, sticking to his strong principles, which is just another thing I admire about him.

"Okay." Pulling from his warm hold, it's time to say goodbye, time for me to go into my bedroom and maybe imagine all the ways we're going to one day share our first kiss. "See you tomorrow."

"Bye, Mindy."

As Chas begins walking on past my house, I'm waving at him before buoyantly hurrying up the steps to my house, my key ready in my other hand. Feeling completely drained, I'm strangely happy. A Chas Summers kind of happy. Dropping my school stuff down in the hallway, I dare to take a look at myself in the mirror. Wow! I'm certainly in need of a nice bath before mum gets in from work today. The rain and my sadness about Anais, has caused a smudgey mess around my eyes. While my hair is just a mixture of coiled curls and dark frizz. Grimacing at my shocker of a reflection, I'm left wondering what exactly does Chas even see in me. I know that he sees something that I'm clearly not looking at right now. He sees beyond my makeup. Beyond my subtle rebellion. Beyond my walls of grief. He sees beyond all of those things. Earlier on, I didn't know how I was going to get through the afternoon. Every moment after The John Hughes Club, was spent with the memories of Anais painfully nipping at my heels. Every step, my sister was there. After my last lesson, I just wanted to get home and fall apart. Then Chas found me, the rain found us, and everything doesn't feel so painful now. I've had many counselling sessions, but none of those sessions ever left me feeling in control about the death of my sister. After my conversation with Chas, I'm feeling more in control than I ever have before. He's lost his mum and all of his grandparents; mere months ago was his beloved grandpa, and yet he's still the strong and compassionate soul that he is. I want to be like that. I want to be that strong. That compassionate—despite everything I've been through.
I know I failed Anais when she was dying, but when she was alive, I was a good sister. I'd play with her. I loved brushing her hair. I loved showing her how to do new things. She enjoyed me reading to her. I was the one who taught her the alphabet, counting up to ten and how to sing Hickory Dickory Dock! In amongst all the horror and the hurt, slivers of the good times, still do remain. Anais was a smaller and far more adorable version of me—hickory coloured eyes and raven ringlets. She was inquisitive, adventurous, fearless and giggled at just about anything. That's the Anais I want to see in my dreams. She's the one I want haunting my thoughts. I had three wonderful years with my little sister, but those years have been overshadowed by the harrowing last moments of her tragic death. Overshadowed, because I blamed myself. The sister I was for those three years, have all been lost to the seconds that I wasn't there for her. I want that to change. The blame will never leave me, but I'd like to be more accepting of that blame. Anais is gone. I'm still here. My nine year old self didn't do anything to save her, but the fifteen year old that I've become, is wanting to save my sisterly memories of her. They're all I have left of Anais; those and the stillness of her photographs. It's the blame that's always tormented me. That is what hovers around my bed at night, invading my dreams. In all of my waking moments, it's still unforgivingly there. I've allowed it to do that, I've allowed it to drown all my good memories with the bad. I've got to make a stand against it. I've got to start fighting back. I'm beginning to realise that I have so much support around me. In mum and dad, my friends, and in Chas. With them, I can do this. For Anais. For myself. I can do this.