Proving Webster Wrong

Chapter Five -- Chloe

Chapter Five

Chloe

I made Andrew wait for the answer to his question so that I could get things together. Three journals. Two packs of star stickers -- one gold and the other silver. A pack of ink pens. With the yellow plastic bag empty on the seat I adjusted my seat belt so that I could turn and face him a little better.

"It's simple. We're going to challenge each other. All challenges will get us out of our comfort zone, break out of the definitions."

He didn't respond at all. I felt the truck slow and heard the clicking of the blinker. We had made it all of a few feet to the empty lot across from the Dollar General. Once he had released his seat belt he situated him self so that he too was facing me. "Alright, explain."

My hand twitched with the urge to reach over and pat him on the shoulder. Already he was improving. "I think first we need to decide what the definitions are."

"Okay." He nodded slowly with his mouth parted as if there were something he wanted to add.

I picked up one of the black journals and handed it to him. "Make a list of how you think people see you." I opened the pack of pens and removed one, picked up the second black journal, and set out to do the same.

OCD.

Drama Kid.

Serious.

The first came easy. It was after that when I started to have trouble thinking of things. I might go so far as to say it was my own fear of admitting negative things about myself.

"Done!" Andrew said closing the journal on his lap and looking up at me.

The end of my pen was in my mouth as I thought. "How can you already be done?" I asked around the pen. I pressed my back against the passenger side door and stared down at my list. "How many things do you have?"

He shrugged and twirled the pen around the knuckles of his left hand. I had forgotten about him being left handed. It was something the group made a big deal about a long time ago. It's amazing how little things like that seemed so important at one time and now it's just another tiny detail that had slipped away with the years.

I closed my own book. "Fine. Trade journals." I shoved the book to him, my arm shaking with how fast and hard I did so. It came to a stop right in front of his nose.

"Why?"

"We're going to make list for each other." I shook the journal at his nose, his eyes crossed as he looked down at it.

With a sigh and a drop of his shoulders he did as I said. I skipped over the first page where he had made his list without peeking, even though it was tempting to do so.

Carefully I labeled page two "The Definitions Of Andrew Parker According To Chloe". It sounded like some dumb teen made for TV movie that might play all the time even though no one actually watched it. I picked up my soda from the cup holder and dumped one of the few half-melted remaining ice cubes into my mouth. I ground it up slowly as I thought. How did I define him?

Quiet.

Passive.

Not confident.

Too nice.

They all seemed the same to me. I didn't know how many of them were right anymore. It all hurt my head. My fingers started doing the twisting thing. Another ice cube.

The pastor's son.

Victim.

I felt bad writing those two down. Being the Pastor's son didn't have to be a bad thing but it seemed like there wasn't more to him than that, like when he walked into a room people didn't look at him and say, "oh, there's Andrew," but rather they looked at him and said, "there's Pastor Parker's boy." Victim seemed like such a horrible word.