Diary of a Resurrection (A Novella) by Amanda Day Page B

extended your arm
I wanted to crawl inside and curl up there. For whatever reason that I don’t
understand, and may never, I felt like I belonged there. Next to you.
    “You’re much prettier than I expected,” you said.
    I wasn’t sure if it was actually meant to be a compliment
and squinted up at you, my face somewhere between shock and outrage.
    You looked down at me and roared with laughter at my
expression, pulling me even tighter as you did.
    “I didn’t mean it like that,” you spluttered, struggling to
speak.
    I pushed you away lightly. “You’re a dick.” But I couldn’t
help smiling.
    This time you grabbed my waist and picked me up, sitting me
on the gate.
    “I meant,” you said, your face serious, “that I knew you
were going to be pretty, but I wasn’t prepared for you to be this pretty.”
    I had nothing to say to that. I just looked at you, taking
in the stranger you were, but feeling like I had known you a thousand years at
the same time.
    You stroked a piece of stray hair away from my face as if it
was the most normal thing to do in the world and said, “I’ve never had this
before. Wanting to meet someone just because I spoke to them on the phone. But
I’m not mad, am I? We have something, right?”
    Yours eyes were somewhere between sincere and worried, with
maybe the tiniest hint of being lost. I felt like I needed to say something to
help you feel found. I wanted to reassure you.
    I nodded. “I think so.”
    You smiled and pulled me in close, holding me against your
chest. I questioned myself whether it was normal to accept such intimate
gestures despite not really knowing you. For all I knew, you could have been a
stalker or a murderer. But I couldn’t deny you were right, there was something
there. It was there the second I heard your voice for the first time. So I let
you hold me tight and said nothing else.

Pandora…
     
    This is one of the hard parts to
tell. This is the part when I cringe as I explain it because I know that this
was the day I should have gotten up and walked away, and not looked back. If I
had been smart enough to do that, it would have saved me so much time and
heartache.
    But I didn’t.
    Mea culpa.
    We were sitting on the grass in the park on a Tuesday
afternoon. You had taken the day off work and I had skipped college for you. It
was three weeks after the day you first showed up at my work, and the twelfth
time that we had met. Each time I saw you, you held my hand and kept me close.
We laughed and talked. We argued over your poor taste in music and my awesome
taste in movies. We drank coffees and walked for miles. We met before you went
to work and after I finished my shifts at Pizza Planet. Sometimes between. It
was addictive, time spent with you. We never did more than cuddle or hold
hands. I wanted you to kiss me so badly, but never had the courage to make the
first move. I wasn’t entirely sure how you felt about me because you never
said. You were sweet and interested and affectionate, but you never made it
clear what we were. I tried to read your body, your words, over and over for a
hint of a clue, but it got me nowhere.
    I, however, was in serious trouble. I was falling for you,
and I was falling horribly fast. Like someone had thrown me out of a plane
without a parachute and I was tumbling towards the earth at five hundred miles
an hour. I didn’t know how to stop myself; and even if I did, I can’t say I
would have tried.
    We were sitting on the grass, sharing a bag of popcorn and
some orange juice, you were asking me about college.
    “Sometimes I wonder if I missed out,” you said. “I’m not
really into education, but I don’t want a shit job.”
    I threw popcorn at your pretty face. A piece stuck to your
hair and I reached over to take it out. “It’s never too late to go back, Drew.”
    You shook your head. “Nah. I’ve chosen my path now. When I
make up my mind about something, I can be pretty stubborn about changing