Girl (completed)

17

"Blaire, please talk to me," George urged, and I rolled my eyes. I was tired, and didn't feel much like talking. I was both physically and emotionally warn out.
"I'm fine," I said sternly, and he looked into my eyes for a sign of something. A sign of anything, but nothing no sign of emotion was present within the depths of my eyes.
"Blaire, if you won't talk to me, will you just talk to somebody?" He pleaded, and I walked up the stairs defiantly.
"George, I'm fine, okay? I am completely okay," I promised, but when I turned around he still had a look of doubt and worry in his eyes.
I did feel bad, because I was avoiding everyone. I hadn't talked to him or my father for ages, and when I did, I kept it short and sweet. I just hadn't really been in the mood for talking. I retreated to my room, and listened to music for a while.
"Blaire, we can finally see mom!" George yelled about an hour later, and I felt my attitude change immensely as I hopped up from my bed, not even bothering to make it. I smiled widely and went bounding down the stairs. It had been three days, and we hadn't gotten to see mom once.
   We hopped into the car, and the smile vanished from my face without a trace. It was always this way now, anytime I was with George, everything was quiet and awkward.
"Blaire, can we talk?" He said awkwardly, and I sighed, turning up the music, wishing for him to leave me alone.
"Blaire?" He said, and he turned the volume down all of the way. I turned it back up, and I could tell that he was getting frustrated with me.
"Blaire, stop!" He shouted, and then turned down the music once more. I looked out of the window, and he sighed loudly.
"Blaire, please talk to me. You're scaring me," he said, and I could truly hear the vulnerability in his voice. I couldn't see very well, and the window was all distorted with rain drops hitting the glass. It was also very dark outside, and a nice cover of dark clouds blocked the sun, letting darkness surround us.
"What?" I said quietly, and I could feel my lips cracking even more. My whole body ached, and my bones felt brittle, like walking could even make me crumple.
"I just think that you went through a traumatic experience, and you need to talk to someone," George said, and I shook my head, getting a bit frustrated with him.
"George, mom is going to be okay, and I'm going to be okay," I said, and he hit the top of the steering wheel with his clenched fists, making me jump.
"Goddamn it, Blaire!" He shouted, and then exhaled loudly, "I'm sorry. I just hate that you won't talk to me, it makes me feel like I did something wrong, and every time you do talk, you insist that you're fine when you aren't. You don't always need to be put together, Blaire. You can show your emotions from time to time," he said quietly, and I turned to him for the first time. He was looking straight out into the road ahead, and I felt a pang of guilt for ignoring him. After all, his mom almost died too.
  "I'm sorry," I whispered quietly, and his grip on the steering wheel lightened a bit, his knuckles quickly losing the white, and color draining back into them.
  "It's okay. I just want you to tell me what is going on," he said, and I sighed. I knew that I had to tell him, and this time I couldn't make an excuse. But part of me was also glad that I had to spew my feelings. It had been a while since I had been in a conversation with more than 7 sentences.
  "It's just really hard. Me and dad aren't getting along, and me and John...." I trailed off, and that seemed to peak George's interest, however, that was the one thing that I dreaded speaking of the most.
"You and John? Please tell me about that. He's been in the dumps since we left, and he won't tell me why," George said, and I looked back out of the window, my cheeks reddening at the thought. We had never gotten to finish our last conversation, and the boys ended the trip early for George, obviously, and I hadn't see John in the three days since they had gotten home.
"Well, we kinda had a thing going, but then Dad and I got into a fight and I went over there, and dad found me there and starting calling John just terrible names. He looked pretty upset, and then when you left for Hamburg, he didn't even get out and tell me goodbye. I felt so hurt, so heartbroken. Well, then I met Taylor, and it was just so much easier. John wasn't happy when I told him, but I wasn't is anymore and there wasn't anything either of us could do about it, you know?" I asked, and George ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed, his face falling into one of seriousness, and it was quite unsettling. The ghost of the usual toothy grin on his face.
   "Oh," he said simply, and I bit my cheek, "he must really love you," George commented, and I looked at him in genuine surprise.
  "What?" I asked, and he just turned at the bend of the street, the pitter patter of the rain still touching down on the windows.
  "Blaire, that's the worst I've ever seen him. He was distraught, and I mean, he didn't even take any solos," he said, and I once again felt a pang of guilt course through my chest.
  "Yeah, Paul told me," I said, and George nodded. I couldn't find anything to say, and neither could he, so we went back to our comfortable silence. The soothing rhythm of the windshield wipers filling my ears.
  I began to think about the night not so long ago when John took me to see Gone With the Wind, and tears began to slide down my face. I didn't wipe them away, and I didn't try to stop them. It felt better to just let out my emotions than to keep them bottled up.
   Once when I was younger, my best friend told me that she didn't want to be friends with me, and it broke my heart.
"Sweetie, what's wrong?" My alarmed mother asked, and I ran to her, tugging on her shirt and weeping.
  "Katie said that she didn't want to be friends with me anymore!" I whined, and my mom rubbed my back like she used to when I was smaller.
"I'm so sorry," she said softly, and I backed away, crossing my arms as a form of protest.
"It's not fair! We were supposed to be best friends forever!" I whined, and she kneeled down so that she could look at me. She took face in her delicate hands and stroked my cheeks.
"I know, dear. Look, I'm going to give you a piece of advice. Sometimes, people lie, and cheat, and steal, and fight, and die, and you just have to sit there and take it. If there's anything I can teach you, I want to teach you that it's okay to be sad. It helps to cry, however, you mustn't be sad forever, okay Blaire?" She said, and I looked up into her wide brown eyes and nodded, focusing on her words.
"Okay, mommy. I promise that I won't be sad forever, and I will cry when I need to," I said, and she smiled and pinched my cheeks a bit.
"I love you," she said warmly, and I said it back, and everything was simple. We were mother and daughter, just the way it was supposed to be.
And so, I cried until I felt like stopping, and it did make me feel better. As much as I hate the feeling of cold, salty tears running down my pale cheeks, it felt very familiar. It brought me back to that day with my mom, and the most important lesson that I will ever learn. At the time, I wasn't truly cherishing that moment, and now I regret it. I longed to go back to that very day, even though my heart felt broken. Because one thing I had learned myself was that no matter how heartbroken you may feel, you could always feel more, and I hadn't yet reached bottom. I would only learn many, many years in the future that eventually, you do reach bottom, and you couldn't possibly feel more broken up.
•••
Okay, let me explain. I know that in every book I've basically ever written, I use "it's okay to be sad" as a theme. This is actually the best lesson that I have ever been taught, and it's the most important so forgive me. Also, sorry that it took so long to write! I'm back in school and I think I might join the school newspaper???