Last July

Chapter twenty four

Confession:// the act of telling people something that makes you embarrassed, ashamed; a written or oral acknowledgment of guilt by a party accused of an offense

"Hey there! Good morning"

I paused from taking a seat at the end of the board walk like I had done every day since this week. A short old man stood near the shed smiling brightly. I walked back hugging my script towards my person as the wind picked up a little.

"Good morning" I replied giving him a smile almost as bright as his.

"Henderson" he said introducing himself. "I saw you yesterday when I was leaving"

"Okay" I replied . "I'm sorry I wasn't aware anyone else was out here"

"Ah don't worry about it" Mr. Henderson replied. "I'm working on the shed there"

"Oh" I said glancing at the boat house. That explains where the constant clanking sounds were coming from and to think I almost got Andrew to take a look yesterday. I was scared to take a look myself since I'd never seen anyone around ever. "I wasn't aware that the lake was off limits"

"No, no. It's fine" he responded reassuringly. "Its just the shed, it won't be a bother to you out here"

"Alright then" I have him a final smile heading back to the lake. Shit. I hadn't told him my name. "Oh I'm Kendall by the way. But you can call me kenzy"

He nodded and I took a deep breath heading back. My mother would kill me if she knew I forgot my manners like that with a elder. Lucky me I won't ever tell her.

"Kenzy?"

" Yeah" I said looking back to the old man

"There's a chair for you to sit when being near the lake gets too wet" he said laughing at his pun.

"Oh really? Thank you. That's very generous of you"

He shook his head. "I didn't do it"

I stopped. So who did?

"Who left it then?" I asked concerned.

"Think hard and you'll figure it out" he replied giving me a final wave before walking up the gravel path.

I read back through my script again and started to add the pieces that I had written only a few days ago, what didn't count as trash I felt maybe could stay until I found another way to write. I always felt there had to be beauty in my writing as much as my reading and I never settled for mediocrity in either. If I didn't enjoy my script then I knew no-one else ever will. I laughed at my jokes and felt the anger as well as the happiness that each character felt. From the mixture of pain inexpressable at the birth of a baby to the longing and loneliness felt by a man who yearns for his companion. Writing was about touching a part of a readers soul, to have them experience escape.

The summer breeze flapped its wings around me as the sun shifted its position getting ready to descend for the day. I looked on while I ate lunch excited about a little group of ducklings with their mother wadling down the lake heading to the other side of the shore. They were covered in brown and white feathers and they moved in a straight line. My mind shifted to thinking of Andrew as the leaves rustled beneath their trees and the water swished at my feet. I've replayed his defensive behavior over and over in my head unable to understand why he was ever liked that.

I watched as he made nervous gestures, scratching the back of his hair and sticking his hand in his pocket or even when he held tightly to my own hand. Andrew was clouded with uncertainty. I couldn't read him from the inside out and that scared me. His words are sharp and his permanent frowning should be a turn off but it wasn't. A part of me felt like understanding him would more than helpful with building my male characters and another part wanted to tear down the awful barriers he set up to keep people out. He seems caring though knowing him, he'll probably never admit to it. There was something that I couldn't put my finger on that was definitely brewing. Normally I would find it very hard to have conversations with strangers, let alone ask them questions, tease them or even ask them to dance with me. I felt my face burn remembering what I did against him. Taking in a deep breath I tried to calm my mind, I silently wondered if he liked me. I liked him. The Dragon on his hand was enthralling and I admit to feeling goosebumps on my skin feeling his thumb against my hip.