I'm Normally Perfect (re-upload)

Chapter Eighteen

I lie there, sleeplessly staring up at the canopy of my bed, listening to the rain and thinking about all the things I didn't know about her—about how much time I'd missed. It felt like a rip off that I'd missed so much when there were all these other people who had been there for all of it, like her brother, who probably didn't even appreciate how lucky they were to have been there. They probably didn't think knowing her for her entire life was any kind of privilege, they probably didn't think on it at all.

People usually didn't contemplate those sorts of things—the little things like how amazing it is that you wound up alive in the first place or the circumstances surrounding meeting the people you meet and become friends with. What are the odds of just running into someone who ends up changing your life? What about the people that make you feel as though you're not alone in the world? How much time do most people spend thinking, "Hey whats-her-face has changed the way I view the world and myself. She makes me happy on a fundamental level, in a way I didn't even know existed"? Those are the best people; the ones who make you feel good in ways you weren't even aware of. It's like they walked in and turned on a light that had been there the entire time that only they could see and if that particular person hadn't been there that switch would've never been clicked on and how sad that would've been.

I thought about that sort of thing constantly. It reminded me of Emily at the end of Our Town when she's dead and she asks the character of the stage manager, "Does anyone ever realise life while they live it? Every, every minute?" and the stage manager says, "Saints and poets, they do, some". I think that's one of the most accurate exchanges ever written. I realised life whilst I was living it so much it nearly drove me crazy sometimes. Maybe that meant I was a real poet. Maybe it only meant I thought too much. Next morning was supposed to be one of our London day trips. Our habit had been that I would go to her room when I was ready, but when I knocked on her door there was no answer.

'Alex?' I figured she must not be up yet as I was ready almost an hour earlier than usual. I knocked again. 'Alex?'

Normally I would've assumed that she had perhaps gone downstairs, but I had a feeling. I knew she was in the room. I opened the door a smitch and saw a lump in the bed. She was facing away from me. 'Alex? Are you all right?'

The bedclothes rustled as she rolled onto her back and turned her head toward me. She'd been awake for a while; she'd lost that 'just awakened' look everyone has first thing. She regarded me quietly for a few moments before saying, 'I'm fine, sweetheart,' in a croaky voice. She turned her head and gazed up at the canopy of her bed.

I bit my bottom lip, unsure of what to do. I remained in the doorway for several minutes and finally asked, 'Are you sure? You seem...sad.'

Without looking at me she said quietly, 'I am a little sad.' She turned her face to me, 'Would you mind terribly if we skipped our outing today?'

I shrugged, 'Not at all.'

'I promise we'll go again before returning to Oxford.'

'It's okay.' I noticed her breakfast tray lay untouched on the table beside the bed. 'Aren't you hungry?'

'Not particularly.' She stopped looking at me again, this time turning her head to look out of the window at the dwindling storm.

I fiddled with my fingers, not wanting to be pushy, but wanting to do something to help. 'You should eat something, even if you don't feel like it. It'll help.'

She heaved a sigh, 'I really don't want anything right now, Catherine.'

'All right.' I stood there for a while longer. 'Can I sit with you?'