Her Name Was December

Day 4

December 22nd was the first day that Greyson Kaye wrote December a letter.

December,

I'm not exactly sure why I'm writing you a letter. Maybe because I'm bored as hell. Perhaps it's because you're sitting ten feet away from me and I'm worried that you might somehow sense me constantly looking at you. It might be because I need some sort of excuse to take my eyes off of you. The thing is, you're just in my head, and I can't seem to shake you out. I can't be sure of what my reasoning is- Honestly, I'm not sure of a lot of things since you started coming here. It might be easier to tell you some things I am sure of.

First of all, I am positive that I absolutely should not be writing you a letter. I hardly know you, for one. And you hardly know me. So I have no clue why I think this is okay, because it just isn't. Also, I'm terrible at writing letters, so this may not be the best idea.

Second, I know that something around this counter smells really bad. I don't know what it is, but I think Emily might be falling back into the habit of buying Indian food for breakfast. Something is wrong with that girl, I swear it.

I've noticed that you like to part your hair in the center of your head. That's interesting, I guess. Another thing I've noticed is that you lean over when you write. It's sorta funny, because you always have such straight posture, and then when you write you bring your head down really close to the paper. You tend to bite your lip a lot, too, when you're writing.

Greyson looked up from his paper to glance at December. Today, she started writing in the books again. Greyson didn't say anything about it.

After hours of working on whatever she was working on, she was leaning back in her chair, arms stretched over her head. She yawned silently and rubbed her face- when she opened her eyes, she caught Greyson staring at her. She offered him a quick smile- one filled with too many emotions at once. Her eyes almost read as frightened, as if she was shocked to see Greyson looking at her. But, her eyebrows were raised at the center, and it made her seem like she was annoyed- disgusted, even. Her mouth curved upwards at one side, an almost-smile that seemed held back and closed off. December only held eye contact for a split second before averting her gaze back down at the table. Greyson went back to writing at the same time she did.

I just thought of one more thing that I'm sure of. he wrote, I know that you are extremely hard to read.- impossible, even. It's kinda like you've practiced this or something. I know that sounds stupid, but I can imagine you standing in front of a mirror and studying your facial expressions until you knew that no one you'd encounter could ever see past your wall. But still, there's part of me that really wants to break that wall down, just to talk to you.

Honestly, though, I'm terrified to approach you. I don't know what I'd say. I'm not sure what makes talking to you any different than talking to anyone else I know, but somehow it is. It's like, I really want to know who you are; but on the other hand, I don't think you'd want to tell me.

But, anyway. I've got to stop this awkward rambling before I say something stupid. I probably already have; I wouldn't know. But, yeah. If you ever do want to talk, that would be great. It would be a privilege to talk to anyone as beautiful as you. -Greyson

He looked down at the letter and scribbled out the last sentence over and over with his pen. Too much, he thought, covering it with so much blue ink that he almost ripped through the paper. He sighed, and folded the paper a few times over into a small square. December packed up her things and walked over to the counter. Her footsteps made the old wooden floors creak beneath her.

"It's that time of the day already?" Greyson asked. He peeked past December to see the clock.

7:25; five minutes to closing time.

December said nothing and handed him the book, just as she had in the days previous. He rung it up, with the small folded note clenched between his fingers and his palm. He followed their usual routine; printing off her receipt and handing it to her along with the book- she never wanted to hold it in a bag. Greyson stood behind the counter as she walked silently to the door and twisted the handle with her thin, but strong hands. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides again, the corner of the letter digging into his palm.

"Wait!" he said, almost too loudly. "Wait, uh, December?" She twisted her head toward him.

"Yeah?" December asked, her fingers still wrapped around the doorknob. Her tone made her sound annoyed, but like she still wanted to hear his answer.

She looked at him with her never-ending eyes, and a gust of cold wind blew through the door and whipped her golden hair around behind her. Greyson gulped, and squeezed the paper so tight that his hand started to sweat, and he could feel his pulse throbbing through his entire palm. Silence passed between them, awkward and thick.

Greyson looked down at his feet, loosening his grip on the letter. "Nevermind." he said, slipping it into his jeans pocket. December raised an eyebrow and nodded once, wrapping her arms around her as she walked out into the cold. The door creaked shut behind her just as the clock hit 7:30.