when I get there.'
He
doesn’t answer. I know he's pissed. I don’t wait for him to call. I put the
phone in my pocket.
"So
what have you been up to?" I ask, desperate to just be normal.
He
grins, "Not much."
Trying
not to sound too much like a stalker I ask, "Have you been working out? I
haven’t seen you?"
He
chuckles looking down.
I
frown, "What?"
His
grin is bashful. He pulls me along the greens toward the OCD restaurant.
"I've seen you tons."
I
don’t like that. I jerk my hand away, "You were watching me?"
He
shakes his head, "No. I was genuinely at the gym the same time as you, but
I stayed out of your way. I didn’t want to upset you."
"I
hate when people treat me delicately." I snarl.
He
scoffs, "And you don't like help and you don't want to talk about
yourself. You have to give me something."
"I'm
an orphan."
He
looks at me sideways, "You said big family."
"Lots
of orphans."
He
doesn’t speak and for that I am grateful. The words roll off my tongue much
easier, without having to worry about the amount of pity he will give me. I'll
hear it in his voice. I always do.
"I
was found at age six wandering the streets of a town called Clovis, New Mexico.
No parents, no ID, no trace of where I came from. I knew my name, Emalyn
Spicer. I was eating garbage and living on the streets. They don’t even really
know how long I was alone."
I
can hear his breath. I can see his pulse in his neck. But he still says
nothing.
"I
was adopted by the Catholic Church and raised in an orphanage in Clovis."
My voice doesn’t waver. I have never told the story before. The words have
never left my lips. I never had to explain it in Clovis. Everyone knew. Dr.
Bradley knew. My benefactor knew.
The
story comes so much easier than I imagined it would. When I was little, I
imagined I would one day be a famous writer invited on a talk show to tell the
story. I never imagined it would be on the greens of a university in Boston. I
never imagined it would be to a guy so beautiful and sweet, that I can't
imagine what I did to deserve him.
"That's
heavy, Em."
I
nod. I am strong. I am if I let myself be. "Yup. The nuns had rules about
how things were done. In the beginning I was such a savage. You see, if one kid
gets sick, all the kids get sick. There isn't a lot of money and stuff. So they
were clean. Really clean. Anyone who wasn’t clean was punished."
His
brow furrows but I shake my head and hurry the words from my lips, "I
don’t blame them. They ran a tight ship. They had strict rules. But we were fed
and clean and cared for. No one there hurt me, not in a way that couldn’t be
healed. But I have a germ thing. The germs were like Satan, trying to get in
and make us sick. Cleanliness is next to Godliness."
He
licks his lips. I stop walking, "If you're done, I get it. I know how
heavy that baggage is. I know what it means. I won't ever have children and I
won't ever be normal and have a family or any support or anything. I can hardly
be in a room with more than a few people before I start plotting my exit. If I
have to cross an area rug my feet have to touch the same number of lines. I
have to have everything even and balanced and controlled. I'm okay with it
because it's always been my reality. But I don’t expect you to be." It
kills me to say it, "I know what I am." The statement doesn’t feel
true. It feels forced.
He
spins me fast and lifts my chin. His lips press against mine. It's so much
better than I ever imagined it would be. His lips don’t hurt or crash or
overstep. They're soft and sweet. He is delicate but in control. I'm not. It's
weird, but I let his mouth explore mine. His tongue slowly slides into my parted
lips and lazily caresses mine. His hands are soft, not holding me but embracing
me. His movements are methodical. He pulls back. I open my eyes, which I didn’t
even realize I've closed, and grin. "My first kiss." I whisper.
He
smiles and the world is okay. It feels like it grew a tiny bit.
He
doesn’t answer. I know he's pissed. I don’t wait for him to call. I put the
phone in my pocket.
"So
what have you been up to?" I ask, desperate to just be normal.
He
grins, "Not much."
Trying
not to sound too much like a stalker I ask, "Have you been working out? I
haven’t seen you?"
He
chuckles looking down.
I
frown, "What?"
His
grin is bashful. He pulls me along the greens toward the OCD restaurant.
"I've seen you tons."
I
don’t like that. I jerk my hand away, "You were watching me?"
He
shakes his head, "No. I was genuinely at the gym the same time as you, but
I stayed out of your way. I didn’t want to upset you."
"I
hate when people treat me delicately." I snarl.
He
scoffs, "And you don't like help and you don't want to talk about
yourself. You have to give me something."
"I'm
an orphan."
He
looks at me sideways, "You said big family."
"Lots
of orphans."
He
doesn’t speak and for that I am grateful. The words roll off my tongue much
easier, without having to worry about the amount of pity he will give me. I'll
hear it in his voice. I always do.
"I
was found at age six wandering the streets of a town called Clovis, New Mexico.
No parents, no ID, no trace of where I came from. I knew my name, Emalyn
Spicer. I was eating garbage and living on the streets. They don’t even really
know how long I was alone."
I
can hear his breath. I can see his pulse in his neck. But he still says
nothing.
"I
was adopted by the Catholic Church and raised in an orphanage in Clovis."
My voice doesn’t waver. I have never told the story before. The words have
never left my lips. I never had to explain it in Clovis. Everyone knew. Dr.
Bradley knew. My benefactor knew.
The
story comes so much easier than I imagined it would. When I was little, I
imagined I would one day be a famous writer invited on a talk show to tell the
story. I never imagined it would be on the greens of a university in Boston. I
never imagined it would be to a guy so beautiful and sweet, that I can't
imagine what I did to deserve him.
"That's
heavy, Em."
I
nod. I am strong. I am if I let myself be. "Yup. The nuns had rules about
how things were done. In the beginning I was such a savage. You see, if one kid
gets sick, all the kids get sick. There isn't a lot of money and stuff. So they
were clean. Really clean. Anyone who wasn’t clean was punished."
His
brow furrows but I shake my head and hurry the words from my lips, "I
don’t blame them. They ran a tight ship. They had strict rules. But we were fed
and clean and cared for. No one there hurt me, not in a way that couldn’t be
healed. But I have a germ thing. The germs were like Satan, trying to get in
and make us sick. Cleanliness is next to Godliness."
He
licks his lips. I stop walking, "If you're done, I get it. I know how
heavy that baggage is. I know what it means. I won't ever have children and I
won't ever be normal and have a family or any support or anything. I can hardly
be in a room with more than a few people before I start plotting my exit. If I
have to cross an area rug my feet have to touch the same number of lines. I
have to have everything even and balanced and controlled. I'm okay with it
because it's always been my reality. But I don’t expect you to be." It
kills me to say it, "I know what I am." The statement doesn’t feel
true. It feels forced.
He
spins me fast and lifts my chin. His lips press against mine. It's so much
better than I ever imagined it would be. His lips don’t hurt or crash or
overstep. They're soft and sweet. He is delicate but in control. I'm not. It's
weird, but I let his mouth explore mine. His tongue slowly slides into my parted
lips and lazily caresses mine. His hands are soft, not holding me but embracing
me. His movements are methodical. He pulls back. I open my eyes, which I didn’t
even realize I've closed, and grin. "My first kiss." I whisper.
He
smiles and the world is okay. It feels like it grew a tiny bit.
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