Read Online Unplugged (A Portrait of a Rock Star) by J. P. Grider - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J. P. Grider
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well that would definitely help to lead us there. It was just so intimidating getting close to Mara. I was afraid I would mess up big time …again.
After changing into my faded blue t-shirt and my favorite pair of jeans, which were now way too big on me, I googled Ackerman Farms to get the directions. Mara’s house was cute. It was a small white Craftsman, with dark green shutters. The driveway was long and narrow, because her house sat far behind a larger one of the same style, on the same property. I started to get a little nervous, because as I pulled up the drive, I saw her little white Beetle parked in the back. She was home. I saw the white lace curtains in the front window move, so I’m sure she caught a glimpse of me. There was no turning back now. I could not, very well, back out of her confining driveway now that she had seen me; there was no need for me to look sillier than I had already felt. I turned the ignition off and sat idly for a second or two to gather my courage. I couldn’t take too long, of course or I’d begin to look suspicious. However, when I looked toward the house, Mara was standing at the edge of her front porch, with her palms turned upward – as if to say, ‘well… are you going to get out of the car or what?’ Of course, I got out, shut the door and stood there …like an ass.
“Tagg, come on in.” Mara was obviously riddled by my apprehension. I sauntered towards her, but felt as if I were moving in slow motion, almost in reverse. If the puzzled look on her face was any indication, I’d venture to guess that she was trying to assess what the hell was wrong with me. Well, basically everything was wrong with me as far as I was concerned. “Tagg, are you alright?”
I finally made it up the stairs to her porch. She gently placed her hand on the upper part of my arm. “What’s going on Tagg?” Again, she asked, “Are you alright?”
All I could do was look down and into her beautiful eyes. “Tagg, why don’t you come in? I’ll make you a cup of coffee.”
I nodded my head and followed her in. “Go ‘head and sit down, I’ll go get us coffee.” She must have been wondering why all of a sudden I’d turned mute.
I sat down on her red, green and gold plaid couch. Obviously something that came with the house, since she seemed too young to like plaid. I was still too nervous to speak. Here I was, in Mara’s house and I couldn’t even bring myself to talk to her. I leaned back against the couch, before noticing the book that was on her coffee table. I shifted forward to get a closer look at it. It wasn’t a book. It was a hard-cover journal. Pink. In the upper-right-hand corner, in small black letters, were the words My Letters to Brad. With my pinky finger, I lifted the cover to peek inside. In rounded, girly handwriting was a letter that began, ‘Dear Bradley, you don’t know how very much I miss you. Everyday is a struggle.’ I promptly let the cover drop back down; it was terribly inappropriate to invade her privacy like that.
A few seconds later Mara entered the living room holding two cups of coffee. I stood up to take one from her. “This one’s yours,” she said as she gave me the cup in her left hand, “light with two sugars.” A pretty rose color suddenly appeared on her face and she softly said, “I noticed that you usually put two sugars in your latte, I assumed you took your regular coffee that way, too.”
“I do.” The words came out raspy due to my previous silence. So, I repeated myself, hopefully sounding clearer. “I do.” I sat back down on the couch and sipped my coffee. Mara sat down on a green and white checked wooden chair that was positioned across from me. Well, the cushions were green and white check. The chair itself was made from wood. It looked like one of those old-fashioned chairs you’d see in someone’s grandmother’s
After changing into my faded blue t-shirt and my favorite pair of jeans, which were now way too big on me, I googled Ackerman Farms to get the directions. Mara’s house was cute. It was a small white Craftsman, with dark green shutters. The driveway was long and narrow, because her house sat far behind a larger one of the same style, on the same property. I started to get a little nervous, because as I pulled up the drive, I saw her little white Beetle parked in the back. She was home. I saw the white lace curtains in the front window move, so I’m sure she caught a glimpse of me. There was no turning back now. I could not, very well, back out of her confining driveway now that she had seen me; there was no need for me to look sillier than I had already felt. I turned the ignition off and sat idly for a second or two to gather my courage. I couldn’t take too long, of course or I’d begin to look suspicious. However, when I looked toward the house, Mara was standing at the edge of her front porch, with her palms turned upward – as if to say, ‘well… are you going to get out of the car or what?’ Of course, I got out, shut the door and stood there …like an ass.
“Tagg, come on in.” Mara was obviously riddled by my apprehension. I sauntered towards her, but felt as if I were moving in slow motion, almost in reverse. If the puzzled look on her face was any indication, I’d venture to guess that she was trying to assess what the hell was wrong with me. Well, basically everything was wrong with me as far as I was concerned. “Tagg, are you alright?”
I finally made it up the stairs to her porch. She gently placed her hand on the upper part of my arm. “What’s going on Tagg?” Again, she asked, “Are you alright?”
All I could do was look down and into her beautiful eyes. “Tagg, why don’t you come in? I’ll make you a cup of coffee.”
I nodded my head and followed her in. “Go ‘head and sit down, I’ll go get us coffee.” She must have been wondering why all of a sudden I’d turned mute.
I sat down on her red, green and gold plaid couch. Obviously something that came with the house, since she seemed too young to like plaid. I was still too nervous to speak. Here I was, in Mara’s house and I couldn’t even bring myself to talk to her. I leaned back against the couch, before noticing the book that was on her coffee table. I shifted forward to get a closer look at it. It wasn’t a book. It was a hard-cover journal. Pink. In the upper-right-hand corner, in small black letters, were the words My Letters to Brad. With my pinky finger, I lifted the cover to peek inside. In rounded, girly handwriting was a letter that began, ‘Dear Bradley, you don’t know how very much I miss you. Everyday is a struggle.’ I promptly let the cover drop back down; it was terribly inappropriate to invade her privacy like that.
A few seconds later Mara entered the living room holding two cups of coffee. I stood up to take one from her. “This one’s yours,” she said as she gave me the cup in her left hand, “light with two sugars.” A pretty rose color suddenly appeared on her face and she softly said, “I noticed that you usually put two sugars in your latte, I assumed you took your regular coffee that way, too.”
“I do.” The words came out raspy due to my previous silence. So, I repeated myself, hopefully sounding clearer. “I do.” I sat back down on the couch and sipped my coffee. Mara sat down on a green and white checked wooden chair that was positioned across from me. Well, the cushions were green and white check. The chair itself was made from wood. It looked like one of those old-fashioned chairs you’d see in someone’s grandmother’s
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