Read Online carefully everywhere descending by L.B. Bedford - Free Book Online
Authors: L.B. Bedford
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âThat was stupid, and I shouldnât have said it. I just meant to be funny.â
âFirst of all, how could you possibly think that was funny?â I say. âSecond, you had, like, ten minutes to come up with something, and that was the best you could think of?â
Iâm expecting another fight, both of us smarting from our last one, so itâs bewildering when she chuckles instead.
âI donât know,â she says, shaking her head. âI was just trying to get you to laugh.â
This is such a remarkable statement that it stumps me momentarily. To cover my confusion, I pull the end of my large shirt up to wipe away the rivulets of sweat dripping down my forehead. Scarlettâs gaze drops to my stomach as if pulled, and I release my shirt like itâs burned me. I feel a different kind of heat prickling all over. Thereâs something in her eyesâ¦. All of a sudden, Iâm aware of just how gross I look. Wisps of hair are clinging to my face and neck, and Iâm sweaty and smelly. Nothing that Iâm wearing is flattering.
âI should get back to work,â I say numbly.
Scarlett nods and steps back. She opens her mouth as if to say something, but nothing comes out. After a second she turns and goes back to her car. I watch her put it in drive and slowly coast down the street to my favorite house at the end. She parks and walks up to the door. She opens it with a key and goes inside, the freshly painted blue door swinging shut behind her and barring her from my sight.
C HAPTER S IX
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I FEEL as if Iâm looking at a different world as I finish mowing, dazed. I wheel the machine back to the garage and knock on the door to let Mrs. Pirinen know Iâve finished. She gives me twenty dollars, which seems generous.
I donât have pockets on my shorts, so I clutch the bill in a sweaty hand as I walk down the street. I stare at Scarlettâs house as I approach and as I pass. It almost feels like every window is an eye, scrutinizing me. I never knew Scarlett lived so close to me.
Scarlett. I pull up her face in my mind, and it, too, appears different to my memory: more beautiful, more⦠golden. I donât know what to do with this change in me.
The rest of the day passes in a haze. The only thing I pay attention to is an e-mail from Scarlett with her revised papers. Theyâre a big improvement. We wonât have to spend much time together tomorrow at all.
When I go to bed that night, I curl up into a ball and hug myself.
Iâm a wreck by the time I get to the library the next day, second-guessing everything I think or plan to say to her. For the classes we take together, I can barely stand to look at her, but Iâm hyperconscious of her presence and my own bumbling: dropping things and turning too quickly and bumping into people. Iâm so miserable, I just want it to be over, but at the same time, I want to see her so badly. There are more people in the study room this time, and I clear our session with all of them before I sit down and pull out the papers and my crappy old pen. I arrange them. Then I move them around a bit. I decide that looks stupid and put them back the way I had them.
Iâm about to shift them again when Scarlett arrives and slides into the chair next to me, saving me from going insane.
âHello,â I say rigidly. âReady to get started?â
For her part, sheâs the same as always. Iâm not able to fully lose myself in the work, which makes me feel impotent. Itâs the first time Iâve ever been failed by my ability to commit to an endeavor. At the end, she thanks me, looking a bit quizzical when I donât make eye contact. She offers me another ride home, even though I have time to catch the late bus this time.
Then weâre in her car and driving, and before I know it, weâre almost to my house. Scarlett chats about the cars we pass, pointing out makes and the
âFirst of all, how could you possibly think that was funny?â I say. âSecond, you had, like, ten minutes to come up with something, and that was the best you could think of?â
Iâm expecting another fight, both of us smarting from our last one, so itâs bewildering when she chuckles instead.
âI donât know,â she says, shaking her head. âI was just trying to get you to laugh.â
This is such a remarkable statement that it stumps me momentarily. To cover my confusion, I pull the end of my large shirt up to wipe away the rivulets of sweat dripping down my forehead. Scarlettâs gaze drops to my stomach as if pulled, and I release my shirt like itâs burned me. I feel a different kind of heat prickling all over. Thereâs something in her eyesâ¦. All of a sudden, Iâm aware of just how gross I look. Wisps of hair are clinging to my face and neck, and Iâm sweaty and smelly. Nothing that Iâm wearing is flattering.
âI should get back to work,â I say numbly.
Scarlett nods and steps back. She opens her mouth as if to say something, but nothing comes out. After a second she turns and goes back to her car. I watch her put it in drive and slowly coast down the street to my favorite house at the end. She parks and walks up to the door. She opens it with a key and goes inside, the freshly painted blue door swinging shut behind her and barring her from my sight.
C HAPTER S IX
Â
Â
I FEEL as if Iâm looking at a different world as I finish mowing, dazed. I wheel the machine back to the garage and knock on the door to let Mrs. Pirinen know Iâve finished. She gives me twenty dollars, which seems generous.
I donât have pockets on my shorts, so I clutch the bill in a sweaty hand as I walk down the street. I stare at Scarlettâs house as I approach and as I pass. It almost feels like every window is an eye, scrutinizing me. I never knew Scarlett lived so close to me.
Scarlett. I pull up her face in my mind, and it, too, appears different to my memory: more beautiful, more⦠golden. I donât know what to do with this change in me.
The rest of the day passes in a haze. The only thing I pay attention to is an e-mail from Scarlett with her revised papers. Theyâre a big improvement. We wonât have to spend much time together tomorrow at all.
When I go to bed that night, I curl up into a ball and hug myself.
Iâm a wreck by the time I get to the library the next day, second-guessing everything I think or plan to say to her. For the classes we take together, I can barely stand to look at her, but Iâm hyperconscious of her presence and my own bumbling: dropping things and turning too quickly and bumping into people. Iâm so miserable, I just want it to be over, but at the same time, I want to see her so badly. There are more people in the study room this time, and I clear our session with all of them before I sit down and pull out the papers and my crappy old pen. I arrange them. Then I move them around a bit. I decide that looks stupid and put them back the way I had them.
Iâm about to shift them again when Scarlett arrives and slides into the chair next to me, saving me from going insane.
âHello,â I say rigidly. âReady to get started?â
For her part, sheâs the same as always. Iâm not able to fully lose myself in the work, which makes me feel impotent. Itâs the first time Iâve ever been failed by my ability to commit to an endeavor. At the end, she thanks me, looking a bit quizzical when I donât make eye contact. She offers me another ride home, even though I have time to catch the late bus this time.
Then weâre in her car and driving, and before I know it, weâre almost to my house. Scarlett chats about the cars we pass, pointing out makes and the
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