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OCTOBER 5, 1959
MY stomach dropped with disappointment as I hung up the phone. I ran to the couch and jumped face down onto a pillow, screaming into it.
"I'm thinking that that wasn't good news," Diana spoke up from the chair, flipping through her book. I sat up and hugged the pillow against my chest.
"They said my article was 'too progressive' and 'too controversial'. The bastards said I would've won, but they didn't want backlash from the posh," I explained with annoyance lacing every word. Diana gave me a sympathetic look.
"I'm sorry. If they didn't want a controversial article why would they ask you to write about a controversial topic?" She asked, her voice matching my annoyance.
"That's what I said! But the bloody wanker on the pho-" my rant was cut off by a knock on the door. I furrowed my eyebrows at Diana and she just shrugged and stood up to get it.
"Oh. Uh, hi George," I heard Diana's voice from the other room.
"'Ello Geo!" I yelled from my spot on the sofa, reluctant to get up and greet him. I had a feeling this was a matter between them.
"'Ello Stell!" He yelled back.
I tried to focus on listening to their conversation, but I could only make out mumbles and the words 'tea', 'night', 'lovely', 'out', and finally 'I'm sorry'.
The door shut and Diana walked back in with tinted cheeks and a distraught face. I raise an eyebrow and watched her slump into the chair.
"Ya didn't invite him in?" I asked carefully. She looked at me and sighed, eyes locked onto mine.
"He likes me. The kid worked up the balls to come to our house and ask me out. And I shot him down. I'm a horrible person." Her lip started to quiver and I sighed. My legs walked over to the chair she was in and I perched myself on the arm of it. I wrapped my bony arm around her shoulder and brought her into a side hug.
"You're not horrible. You aren't bloody entitled to say yes just because you feel bad for 'im," I sympathized with an annoyed tone. She nodded and furrowed her eyebrows in thought. Silence filled the room for a couple minutes before she spoke up again.
"I feel horrible because I think I do like him." She kept a blank expression on her face that told me she was still miles deep in her own thoughts.
"I don't get it. Why the bloody hell would you not tell the poor bloke when he confessed his love for ya'?" I furrowed my eyebrows. My expressive tone deeply contrasting her emotionless one.
"I keep thinking to how my dad left my mom. I guess I just don't want a guy to get bored of me and just up and leave," she explained, finally looking up at me with her navy eyes.
"You know what happens to people who keep it all inside? They get old and they get sad and they get weird."
"I'm already sad and weird and I'm getting older every second." Her pessimistic face gave me a look. I groaned and rolled my eyes.
