Mark My Words

by Amber Garza

  “I’m sorry,” I said quietly.

  “No. I’m the one who’s sorry.” Her voice wavered, and my heart tumbled to the ground. I wanted this night to be special. I wanted her to be happy; carefree. But she wasn’t any of those things. I’d failed. “I’m sorry about all of this, Colin. I never should’ve given you my number or agreed to go out with you.”

  It was getting worse. So much worse. “Please don’t say that.”

  Her face was ravaged. She bit her lip, her gaze dropping to the ground as she wrung her hands until they were crimson like blood. “You’re a nice guy, Colin. And what you did tonight was so sweet. But I can’t keep leading you on like this. It’s not fair to you.”

  I stood in front of her pressing my palms on the bricks framing both sides of her face, caging her in. “You’ve been upfront from the beginning, Lennie. I know you’re sick, but I still want to date you.”

  “I’m not just sick, Colin,” she spat angrily. “I have stage 4 melanoma.”

  “Like skin cancer?” Now I really was confused.

  “Technically, yes. But it’s the most deadly form of skin cancer,” she explained in a way that told me she had already said it a million times. “Mine has spread to my brain. And where the tumor is, they can’t operate. We’ve been doing treatments in hopes of shrinking it, but so far they’re not working.”

  “There must be some medicine or something.” I knew I was grasping at straws, but surely we couldn’t give up.

  “We’ve tried everything, Colin. Trust me.” Her shoulders slumped.

  Dread descended on me like a heavy weight. I could scarcely breathe under the enormity of it, but I couldn’t let her see my struggle. She’d been through so much. I had to be strong for her. “I still want to be with you, Lennie,” I spoke softly, hoping she’d see how genuine I was.

  “That’s because you don’t fully get it. If you did, you wouldn’t be saying this. Trust me. My own fiancée couldn’t stay with me once he found out. He said he didn’t want to watch me die.” Her bottom lip trembled, and she bit down on it. “Hell, my own parents can barely stand to be in the same room with me. It’s too hard for them.” Her gaze met mine. “We barely know each other. I can’t ask you to stick around and watch me die.”

  “Then don’t.” I swiped my fingertip over her cheek, wiping away the warm tears. “Ask me to watch you live.”

  She inhaled sharply. “What?”

  “I do get it, Lennie. I know you’re dying. You’ve told me so many times I have the words etched into my brain. There’s no way I could forget.” As tears filled her eyes once again, I breathed deeply to quell the emotion rising in my throat. “But right now you can walk, you can drink coffee, you can go out to eat, you can dance. Physically you’re still alive, but inside you’ve let yourself die. I want to see you live.”

  She sniffed, her eyes searching mine. Then she shoved off the wall, practically lunging herself at me. Her arms wrapped around my neck, and her lips fastened to mine. There was no warning, no build up.

  She kissed me greedily, her fingertips playing with the edges of my hair, her fingernails raking over the skin on the back of my neck. Her tongue slid out of her mouth, teasing the seam of my lips until they parted. I allowed her to take the lead, knowing it was what she needed. And trust me, I wasn’t complaining. The kiss was achingly beautiful, filled with more emotion than I’d ever been able to convey with the written word. I felt every bit of sadness in her heart. It was like she was feeding it to me, releasing it with every push and pull of her mouth, every touch of her fingers, every taste of her tongue. But I also felt passion, need, desire.

  For the first time, she wasn’t teenage Lennie, or imaginary Lennie.

  She was flesh and blood Lennie.

  And the kiss wasn’t a fulfillment of teenage fantasy. It was real, authentic, moving.

  In that moment, all of my preconceived notions flew out the window. Colin and Lennie ceased to exist.

  We were simply a boy and a girl who needed each other.

  10

  “Mom tells me you’ve been seeing someone.” The minute I saw Amelia’s name come up on my cell, I knew something was up. She never called out of the blue.

  “Mom doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” I said, flustered. No way was I telling my family about Lennie. At first I kept her from them because there was nothing going on. But even now I planned to keep our relationship under wraps. I didn’t need them messing anything up for me.

  “She says you’ve been acting weird, Colin.” Her voice took on a condescending quality. I hated that she was my younger sister and yet acted like she was older.

  And her words irked me. “How, exactly?”

  “I don’t know. She just said that you’re acting like a guy in love. Whatever that means.”

  “Out of the two of us, I’d assume you would know what that means. The fact that you don’t makes me a little concerned about your marriage,” I said dryly. I hated being mean to Amelia, but she was asking for it. Usually I kept my snide comments to myself. I didn’t like confrontation. In fact, it scared me. Probably because the one and only time I stuck up for myself as a kid I’d gotten beat up pretty badly. The recollection of that altercation kept me from speaking my mind again.

  “I know what it looks like when a guy is in love. I just don’t know what it looks like when you’re in love,” she said with a huff. “I mean, I know what it looks like when you’re--”

  I cut her off, knowing exactly where she was going and not wanting to hear it. “My love life is none of your business.”

  “Ah, so now you’re admitting that you have a love life.”

  “I’m not admitting anything. I’m just trying to end this damn interrogation.” Leaning back in the hard wooden chair, I blew out a breath. My screensaver came up on my laptop, bubbles bouncing all over the screen. Before Amelia called I’d been sitting at the kitchen table trying to get in one last scene before going to bed. Now I wished I’d let the call go to voice mail. The only reason I answered was because I figured if I didn’t she’d call Mom, and then I’d have both of them trying to track me down. “I was never this nosy about your love life.”

  “I know.” Her tone softened. “I’m sorry. I’m just looking out for you. I don’t want what happened to you before--”

  Again, I interrupted her. “I don’t want to talk about that, okay? That’s in the past. Why can’t you leave it there?” It was something I never thought about. Not unless my family brought it up, that is.

  “Sorry,” she apologized. “If you say you’re not dating, I believe you.”

  I touched the mousepad on the laptop and the bubbles disappeared, my document returning. Then I reached for my mug of tea. Lifting it to my lips, I took a sip. Cringing, I found that it was cold. Great. I’d have to nuke it in the microwave, and it would never taste as good as it had when it was freshly brewed.

  “Colin?” Amelia said.

  “Yeah?” I set the tea back down on the table with a thud. The floral scent of chamomile lingered.

  “You’re not dating anyone, right?”

  “I told you I’m not.”

  “Okay. Just checking. You were quiet for a minute.”

  I ran my hand over my disheveled hair. “That’s because you kinda caught me in the middle of writing.”

  “That’s right. Mom told me you were working on your book,” she said, her voice cheery. A little too cheery. Almost forced. “You’ve always been very imaginative.” She paused. I could hear her breathing through the line. “I remember when we were kids, you could always entertain yourself. You’d run around the backyard with a towel wrapped around your neck saying you were a superhero. Or you’d make forts out of large boxes and sit outside in them pretending you were in a cabin in the woods.” She laughed. “I never got how you could do that.”

  I bristled at the memories. Amelia always made fun of me for stuff like that. But she wasn’t creative. She had no imagination. Hell, she didn’t even re
ad books. Therefore, I didn’t put much stock into her opinion of me. “That’s because you spent all your time drooling over celebrities.”

  “True. I guess I haven’t fully outgrown it either. I still like getting my fill of celebrity gossip.” She chuckled. “Don’t tell me you still play superhero.”

  “No, I don’t.” I was tiring of this conversation.

  Amelia clearly read my mood, because she said, “All right. Well, I guess I’ll let you go. Seems like you’re busy.”

  She sounded so dejected I wanted to feel bad. But I didn’t. I was busy, and this trip down memory lane was pointless. Besides, it’s not like she ever felt bad about picking on me when we were kids. Between Amelia and Ray, I couldn’t get away with anything. They would tease me about every little thing I did that they didn’t understand. The only person that even tried to understand me was Mom.

  After saying our goodbyes, I clicked off, grateful that was over. Scooting forward, I placed my hands over the keyboard. As I started typing, I was more than happy to escape into my imaginary world.

  When my phone rang later that night, I thought for sure it was Mom. Amelia probably told her that I was rude. I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth and preparing for bed when I heard it. Freezing, I contemplated ignoring it. I could tell Mom I had already gone to bed. But then I decided I better answer it. Mom was known for being a worrier. On more than one occasion she’d shown up at my apartment when I didn’t answer my phone.

  Not wishing for a repeat of that event, I scurried to the dining table where I’d left my phone next to the laptop. When my gaze landed on Lennie’s name, my heart skipped a beat. With a shaky hand, I snatched up the phone and swiftly answered it. By this point it had been ringing so long it was bound to stop any second.

  “Hello,” I answered breathlessly.

  “I was starting to think maybe you were avoiding me,” she joked, but I detected a seriousness beneath the words.

  “Never,” I responded firmly, needing her to believe me. It angered me that others had abandoned her, leaving her insecure and uncertain.

  A second passed, then two. I heard an intake of breath on her end. “Thanks again for taking me dancing last night.”

  “It was my pleasure.” Stepping away from the table, I made my way into the family room. Sinking down on the couch, I stared outside. Stars filled the sky, illuminating it in bright yellow light. As my gaze traveled upward, it rested on the moon. “Wow,” I breathed out, taking it in.

  “What?”

  “The moon. It’s perfect tonight.” It was one of those bright crescent ones I loved. I know most people were in awe of full moons, but I liked when the moon looked the way it did in pictures. In every book I read as a child the moon was depicted in crescent form. So when I saw one like that, it gave me a warm and fuzzy feeling inside. “Do you see it?”

  “I’m heading toward the window right now. I had been sitting on my bed.”

  “Is it the same one you had as a kid?” The question was bold, maybe too bold, but I was curious.

  “No.” she laughed lightly. “Thank god. The one I had growing up was a trundle bed, complete with a ruffled, pink bedspread.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” I bantered.

  “Nothing if you’re a kid,” she responded before I heard a small gasp at the back of her throat. “Oh, you’re right. The moon is breathtaking right now.” I settled into the couch, content that she had the same reaction I had. It made me feel even closer to her than I had before. Closing my eyes, I listened to her deep breathing, and I imagined she was beside me. I conjured up the feeling of her lips against mine. For so many years, I had fantasized about kissing Lennie. It seemed unfathomable that I actually had. I wondered if she would let me do it again. “Lennie?”

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “Can I take you out again?”

  “As long as it’s not dancing,” she said.

  I chuckled. “Yeah, I think we’ve established that dancing isn’t our thing.”

  “Not even a little bit,” she agreed. “But at least I can check it off my bucket list.”

  This perked my interest. I sat up straighter, my legs chafing on the couch. “You have a bucket list?”

  “Oh, no. It was just a saying.”

  “Maybe you should make one,” I suggested.

  “That’s a little bit too cliché, don’t you think?”

  She was right, of course. And nothing about Lennie was a cliché. I thought she was when we were younger. At least it appeared that she was exactly like every other pretty, popular girl in the world. As if she could’ve been cast in some teen movie. But now that I’d gotten to know her, it was clear that she marched to the beat of her own drummer. Much like I did. And it was one of the things I liked about her.

  “I like the idea of being spontaneous,” she continued. “Of doing what feels right in the moment.”

  “And what feels right in this moment?”

  “Sitting here staring up at the perfect crescent moon, and talking to you.”

  11

  The bookstore was my favorite place. There was something so soothing about being surrounded by books. As a kid I would run down the aisles, excitement pulsing through me. My fingers would fly over the colorful spines, trembling with anticipation. I’d pick up book after book, carefully reading the synopsis. And when I’d finally chosen which ones to bring home, I’d be giddy, knowing that my next adventure was right around the corner.

  At least that’s how it went when Mom took me. When Ray took me, I’d have to be fast. Many times I’d grab books off the shelf without even reading the back. He had no patience, and he’d loom over me, tapping his foot repeatedly on the floor while staring pointedly at the watch wrapped around his wrist.

  As an adult I didn’t spend nearly enough time in the bookstore. Mostly because I couldn’t afford to. Certainly not now that I wasn’t working. Then again, I didn’t make much money working part time at the record store either.

  I had recently sold two freelance pieces to online magazines, along with a book review, and I’d received the money from those sales this week. I needed to use the money for food, but on my way to the grocery store I found myself turning toward my favorite bookstore. Now that I was inside, I knew I’d made the right choice.

  The grocery store never made me this happy. In fact, it was safe to say that grocery shopping stressed me out. I never knew what to buy, and the prices were so high I almost had a heart attack every time I had to pay.

  I knew I couldn’t live off of books. I’d have to hit the grocery store after this. And I couldn’t spend all my money here. But I could browse. Maybe even buy a book or two, but that was it. I’d maintain self-control. Something I’d never been good at when it came to books.

  After entering the bookstore, I went straight for the mystery section and began perusing some of my favorite authors. Several of them had come out with new books since I’d last read theirs. My pulse quickened when I held the books in my palms. As I calculated the prices in my mind, my gaze traveled over to a row of books to my left. Above it was a sign reading “Romance.” Folding my fingers around the books I’d been looking at, I ambled over to the romance section. Scanning the shelves, I took in all the glossy covers featuring couples in the throes of intimacy. I tried to imagine my book sandwiched between all the others.

  What would the cover look like?

  My heart skipped a beat at the thought. I envisioned myself standing next to the shelf holding up the book bearing my name. People would flock to me wanting an autograph. For once I’d be the center of attention for something other than being ridiculed. For once people would look up to me instead of down on me.

  An older lady made her way down the aisle plucking books off the shelf. She glanced at me curiously as if wondering what a guy was doing in this aisle, and suddenly my daydream went up in smoke. Would people look up to me? Or would they think it was weird that a guy wrote a romance novel? As my gaze swept the spines of
the books in front of me, I realized that almost all of the authors were women.

  But then I remembered Lennie saying that Nicholas Sparks was her favorite author, and my panic subsided a little. Besides, when I told Lennie I was writing a romance novel, she didn’t scoff at that. She didn’t judge me or laugh at me. In fact, she praised me.

  Breathing deeply, I released the doubts that threatened to overtake me. Reaching out, I grabbed a couple of novels off the shelf. Reading the back covers, I thought they all sounded very similar.

  I glanced over at the elderly lady. She had a stack of romance novels in the crook of her arm.

  “Ma’am,” I said.

  She jerked, her eyes widening.

  Did she think I would hurt her? I backed up, taking a non-threatening stance. It didn’t seem to make her any less agitated, but I pressed on. “I’m um…looking for a book for my girlfriend. She loves books with happy endings. Can you recommend any of these?”

  Her shoulders visibly relaxed. I wondered what had softened her. Was it the reference to a girlfriend? Did that make me seem more approachable? I’d never used that word before. Well, not since college. Maybe that was why I hadn’t. It was because that had ended in disaster.

  Man, I hated Amelia for bringing that up. I had successfully repressed those memories, and the last thing I wanted was to dredge them back up.

  The truth was that I wasn’t sure it was appropriate to use the word “girlfriend” even now. Lennie and I were dating. We’d even kissed. But was she my girlfriend? I wasn’t sure.

  “Sir?” The woman stared at me, a wary expression on her face. Her winkled jowls quivered as she pursed her coral lips. Her face kind of reminded me of a coloring page that had been colored in by a toddler. All of her makeup was outside of the lines setting into her wrinkles and creases. She held up a book. “This author is really good. And all of her books have an HEA.”

  “HEA?” Was that some kind of text speak? I wasn’t too adept at that. Then again, I doubted Grandma was either.