This Isn't Like Me

Chapter 11: Something's Off

(1 month later)

(I don't remember much from the night of the party. I feel like I'm forgetting something important but I don't remember what it is.
Saul has been acting strange lately. He sleeps way more, goes out with Duff way more often now. He seems sort of out of it and distant. He's always acting like he's hiding something. I can't help but be a little worried.)

I roll over in bed, Saul's side is unoccupied. I sigh, a little disappointed but not surprised. He probably stayed late at Duff's or Popcorn's. I miss our mornings together, just talking and lounging around. He's rarely home in the mornings now, and when he does get home he falls asleep.

I throw my bare legs over the side of the bed and walk out of our room and into the kitchen. Grabbing the coffee and a mug from out of a cupboard, I think about how Saul always used to make the coffee while I sat on the counter. We'd sit and talk as we drank. Things have changed a lot in the past month. There's no denying we aren't as strong as we once were.

I try not to think about the possibilities of why he's acting like this. What if he's cheating? What if "Duff's" isn't Duff's at all, but some girls? I don't think he'd ever do that to me but the thought sure crosses my mind at times. Why else would he be so secretive?

I drink my coffee on the floor in front of the tv watching The Flintstones like a child. Every time I watch cartoons I sit on the floor, it's something I've done since I was a little kid.

When my coffee is gone I go back into our room, glancing at the alarm clock on Saul's bedside table. It reads 8:30am. I walk into the bathroom and put my long, dark blonde hair into a bun quickly as I look into the mirror. I wash my face and brush my teeth before going into our closet across the room.

The weather is starting to warm up so I decide to wear shorts. I pull them on and grab a black, fitted, long sleeve shirt, slipping it on quickly. I slip on shoes and grab my old leather jacket as always. I take my beat up backpack off its hook by the door on my way out.

I walk out to my new baby, a '75 forest green Ford Bronco. I got it a few weeks ago. I haven't had my own car since I left Portland and it's nice to finally have one again, and I got a pretty good deal on it. She's a little banged up but I don't care. We've started referring to it as My Michelle, a song the boys have been working on. I climb into the cab and start it up.

I drive the five minutes it takes to get to the shop. I park in front and hop out of the Bronco. I take his key out of my backpack. I use it everyday but it never feels any less monumental. I run my thumb over the wooden bow. I wish you were here, I think as I unlock the door and walk inside.

Everything in the shop is about the same. Except for the fact that he's gone, which turns out makes all the difference, but this is still my home. I put on some music, Led Zeppelin II, and open the blinds, letting the sunshine bathe the weathered books.

As the day goes on, I dust the book shelves and go through the inventory in the back. A few teens come in as I finish organizing the records. "Hey, how're you all today?" I greet them. They've been in here before. "We're good, what about you?" The red haired girl asks. "I'm hanging in there." I smile as I walk behind the register counter. I pick up the book I've been reading, The Great Gatsby, and sit down in my chair.

After some time passes they walk up, the guy with an arm full of books. As I'm ringing them up, the blonde girl asks, "Why hasn't that old guy been here lately?" Don't tear up, Sparrow. "He, uh, he passed away a couple months ago." I say, emotion in my voice. Her face drops. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I could tell you two were close every time I came in." "Thank you hun, we definitely were." I say.