1.My Girl Is Back
With the rising heat in my blood, I was close to ripping my diary into two. I’d been sitting here on this gravestone for hours, wrecking my brain off to frame few acceptable sentences. I could’ve left already but I’d decided that I wasn’t going back without something . . . and it wasn’t just happening.
Fucking screw this.
I pocked on the page with the tip of my pen and seethed through clenched teeth. “Do not mess with Xavier Arquette.”
Running a hand through my hair, I sighed and closed my eyes, taking few deep breathes. Then, leaning on the headstone with my back, I opened my eyes and stared ahead at the other graves beyond the green pathway.
I have a graveyard fetish. I used to come here often to write song lyrics. The peacefulness and the fact that there were less distractions here helped a lot.
And sometimes, it was also easier for me to imagine Kevin in a much better place, though I wasn’t even sure if I believe in castle in the clouds with people wearing white cloaks and halos above their heads and never ending musical concerts. I’d like to believe because it’s hell down here.
I just wanted a good infinity for Kevin, at least. You don’t have to worry ’bout me. I’m a street-brat and I’m going to hell.
After easing my nerves for a while, I resumed my work.
I began to write - ’Your eyes . . .
I struck it off. This was probably the twentieth attempt and still . . . Same old, same brain. Not long after, I felt somebody’s presence in front of me.
If you’re a ghost, hello. If you’re a human being, I’m busy.
My focus remained fix on the diary because I had finally started to write something. I heard a throat clear.
So, I guess it’s not a ghost.
I kept writing.
“Excuse me?” a female voice called, a hint of disbelief edged in her tone.
Alright. Alright. Wait. Just let me finish this.
I had to jot down the ideas quickly before they leave me blank again. So I scribbled one more line before looking up at the female who was expecting my attention. When I did finally lifted my face and saw her, the feeling that followed was a kick in the gut and a punch right on the chest. I felt my eyes grow wide. Not that she looked like Marilyn Monroe but her.
No. It can’t be her. She left town six years back. Why would she come back?
Being the asshole I always was to every girl so far, I tried to be the same to her and lifted my chin to question in the same domineering way I carry myself in the streets.
“What are you doing here?” She asked.
My eyes only scanned her all the way down to her toes and all the way up to the top of her head . . . Looking for signs of Alana. And I found it.
Those hazel eyes.
“I think I know you,” I said just in case.
“What?” she garbled at first and then she cleared her throat and stated, “I asked ‘What are you doing here?’”
I stated back, “And I said ‘I think I know you’.”
“I’m serious. What are you doing here?” She asked again.
I wanted to annoy her to see if she was still that haughty little girl who used to get mad at me so bad for stealing her Starbursts every morning.
“What? You think I’m not serious? I’m very serious. I’m even wondering if answering you would be worthwhile,” I replied, pretending to look serious, nodding lightly.
At this point, she puffed her breath to a scoff and said, “Look here, stranger. I haven’t got all day to mess around with your nonsense. Just cut that crap and,” she was starting to get pissed, “Tell me what the heck . . .”
There she is.
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” I stood up, smirking, “Would you look at that! Hold up. We have a mongrel!!!” I proclaimed.
She glared at me.
Same old, same Alana.
I almost smiled but I still wanted to mess around with her chagrin for a little while. She’s even more cuter when she sulks.
“What brings you here, miss . . . ” I waited for her to say her name to confirm my guess but then I realized, if she’s really Alana, then who am I kidding. She wouldn’t give her name away that easily to a stranger. “Mongrel.” I decided to stick with that.
“That’s my mom’s stone you’re standing on. You should get down.”
I looked back to read the writings on the stone. I couldn’t fight back the smile that tugged at my lips as I read the name Caroline Lancaster written on the stone. I never knew Alana’s mother’s name but the last name, Lancaster, and the snarkiness of this girl here in front of me - cutely ordering me to get down from the stone - was proof enough that it was Alana herself.
Wow. My girl is back.
Shoving a hand in my jeans pocket, I leaned onto the headstone with my side and allowed myself the simple pleasure of staring at her . . . finally again after six years. I kinda wanted to grab her in a hug.
She was pretty in elementary. But now . . .
Damn if she isn’t beautiful.
With that long brunette hair flowing over her shoulders and to her chest in generous, smooth curls and those hazel eyes glaring at me . . . I almost burst out laughing.
The long sleeved, black shirt she was wearing, highlighted her fair skin; around her neck and collar bone and I suddenly felt the urge to bury my face in the crook of her neck and smell her . . . Or even taste her.
What the fuck?
She was my crush. I knew that but, I didn’t expect myself to suddenly have that urge at all. I mean, come on. Six fucking years already.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Alana Lancaster,” I said.
“How did you . . . Who are you?” She asked.
A bit of a disappointment. A bit of a heart ache. For some reason, I wanted her to remember me.
“You’ll know me soon enough, Mongrel,” I grinned at her.
I’m going to make her remember me.
She rolled her eyes, “Oh . . . Are you Brad Pitt, now?”
I wasn’t expecting that but I played along.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you find me that attractive,” I shook my head as if I was deliberately contemplating.
“You know what, I think I have a name for you. How ’bout this. Ugly Narcissist, Hmm? It goes well with that look.” She came back at me.
I pursed my lips to push back the laugh that was threatening to break out. Jamming my hand inside my pocket again, I took another good look at my long lost crush.
Points to be noted - she had acquired a new level of beauty and a new level of attitude too.
It would be fun if she come to Greenwood for school.
I chuckled. “Whatever, Mongrel, Brad Pitt or a jerk or an ugly narcissist, I’m pretty sure you’re into me.”
“You wish. Can you just move down from the stone, please?”
Oops! Forgot to.
“Right. Sorry.” I picked up the diary and stepped down.
She turned to face the stone and taking a deep breath, she seemed to be composing herself. While here I stood without ever looking away. I could look at her all day.
I might soon be having Alana Fetish too.
She looked back at me suddenly and asked, “Why are you still here?”
In the spur of a moment, I shrugged and replied, “Why shouldn’t I be?”
I have a habit of twisting things back at people.
She laid the flower on the stone, wished her mother happy birthday and without sparing one more minute, she turned on her heels and started walking away.
Wait. Is she leaving already?
“Hey, Mongrel!” I called.
She didn’t look back.
“Mongrel!” I called again.
I just wanted to apologize for sitting on her mother’s stone and messing up the whole thing for her. I didn’t think she would leave that soon.
She kept stomping away, the brown cascade of her hair flowing down the back of her petite body.
“Hey, sexy!” I tried another one.
She abruptly stopped in her track as if there was a magnet pulling her back with the word sexy.
I couldn’t help laughing a bit.
She slowly looked back.
I forced back my laughter and said, “I just wanted to say that I’m not sitting here again.”
“Great,” she nodded and started to walk away.
“Wait wait wait. Hold up!” I called again, realizing I wasn’t sure if she’d moved back or if she only came to give the bouquet.
She kept walking away.
Goddammit. She won’t even look back.
“LANCASTER!!!”I ran after her like a mad man.
“What?!” She finally turned and snapped.
“Whoa!” I held up my hands in surrender mode, “Nothing serious. I just wanted to ask if you’ve moved back.”
“I have. Bye.”
I could feel my smirk grow.
She stomped off and it was until she was almost out the cemetery gate that I noticed her slightly flat bottoms. Not that I mind. But with that haughty attitude and her Alana-ness, I couldn’t help but say something.
“You know what!” I shouted behind her, “Girls should look up to you as a role model. I’m impressed seeing how you don’t even care to do a bottom job or make use of some sponges.”
“You’re a complete jerk!!” She barked back.
I chuckled to myself.
God, I’ve missed that girl.
And yeah, I guess I’m still the biggest jerk in her life.