Love Her

Part 29

"Right," I finally said.

My heart stopped and then broke into a sprint. A cold sweat dewed on the back of my neck and my hands turned to ice. My head whirled. I inhaled through my mouth and removed my teeth from my lower lip.

"I'll see you in school."

My grandmother walked slowly into the kitchen after I got home, raindrops still glistening like diamonds set into the bronze of her hair from walking outside in the rain. Her eyes were wary. "Where's Melissa?" she wondered, looking around before settling on my face. " I figured she'd be over here by now. Did you two get into a fight?" she asked.

I took a deep breath and counted slowly to ten. "Yeah. We broke up."

"Oh, honey," she said, crossing the kitchen to the table where I sat unmovingly.

He waited, his face full of worry and skepticism.

I tried to explain. "I'm not sure what to do. . .what to say. . .how to. . ." My voice trailed off.

She pressed her hands more tightly to my face and spoke with slow deliberation.

"Sweetie, it's going to be okay. This is why it's called a crush."

I didn't answer. I didn't have it in me to argue; I couldn't seem to find my commitment at the moment.

We stayed like that for a while, with her rubbing my shoulders. I'd sobered up by then, so I nodded and struggled to keep the frown off my face.

Time continued to move too fast.

"There." She kissed my forehead. "Nothing to worry about."

I laughed a shaky laugh. "Nothing but impending doom."

"Trust me."

"I do."

She was still watching my face, waiting for me to relax.

But I dreamt I was outside in a storm, the wind whipping my hair in my face and blinding my eyes. I broke into a run but found myself moving in the frustrating slow motion of dreamers. The next morning dawned pearl gray and still. I dressed quickly, low on options. I seriously needed to do laundry, but I couldn't muster the strength to do it. I didn't have the strength to do much these days.

This simple knowledge, today's date - which was so obvious that I must have been subconsciously repressing it - made the deadline I'd been impatiently counting down toward feel like a date with the firing squad.

Our anniversary.