A Growing Sea of Short Stories

Crickets and Peanuts

A/N this actually started out as a creative nonfiction piece that I made some changes to and rewrote! it's one I am most proud of<3 No warnings here, hope you like it!!

"I can't take you home like this. You're sobbing Beth. Stop telling me nothing, what's the matter with you?" It's hard not to ache at the pain in his voice. He knows exactly what is eating my heart out, but I have to be the one to say it. As the minutes of silence wore on, the only noise being my choked out sobs, he pulls into the Griffen's Store parking lot. The moon is bright tonight; its light almost encourages me. I wish it would act like a real friend and swallow the words I know I have to say, never letting them be heard. I turned my swollen eyes to meet his soft blue ones, "This is really happening, isn't it?"

James and I met in the agriculture hallway of our high school. He had a bowl hair cut that stopped just under his tiny ears, and a major crush on my best friend. She introduced us and it began. He left his friends early every day to come see me, until finally he met me at our spot to get lunch together. He sat on my right, just inches from my elbow while we talked. Soon he was making himself late to class just to walk me to mine and texting me every day after school. I noticed his elbow began to brush mine while we talked, as if our gaining friendship was eating the space between us. We fell hard; we fell fast.

"I-I think s-so." He spoke the words as if they wouldn't let go of his tongue. Even at this very moment in time I know I will never forget this look on his face. It's a mixture of anguish and awe, as if even he couldn't believe his own words. He was confirming my fear; his last heartbreaking syllable had continued down his cheek in what turned into a river of tears. I watched them fall. I finally had the courage to say it, we had grown apart, and it sucked. I move over as close to him as the car would allow, trying to catch every tear that left him. How can I do this? How does one watch their rock crumble? I cup his cheek, trying to find words to comfort him, but only manage to come up with a stupid cliché, "James, it is going to b-," He cut me off, glaring," Don't."

His face has slimed up as we grew together. His 15-year-old cheeks were so chubby, and bright red, when he asked me to be his girlfriend. It was a normal day after lunch. We walked upstairs together to my class, laughing about some dumb joke I messed up by telling the punch line too early. I nearly ran into a giant senior, while James continued laughing at my expense. We reached the corner of the hallway; the first bell rang overhead. We stifled our last giggles, shared our normal side hug. I turned to go to my class, stopping when I heard his voice behind me, "Oh hey! Beth?" When I looked at him again his cheeks were already turning colors. It sounded as if the question had almost slipped his mind in our fits of laughter. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

"Don't you d-are tell me it's going to be oka-y. Ever." His voice cracked twice. The tears had already soaked the collar of his white shirt, but still they fell. I wrap my arms around him, hoping they give some sort of comfort. He rests his head over on the top of mine, pulling me practically into his lap. My heartbeat thumps so loudly in my ears our sniffles are muffled. I feel a lump forming in my throat. Scared it might be our dinner, rather than a sob, I reach for the door handle. He grabs my arm to keep me there. He cups my cheek, just the way that makes me melt every time. The knot was defiantly a sob. I close my eyes, letting the warmth of his hand sooth my nerves and jumpy heart. He leaves his hand on my cheek while I whisper, "It's so hard to see you hurting."

"You don't WANT to know. Not really." I was completely sure of that sentence. We were sitting against the wall at lunch. He had pushed up my sleeve to draw on my arm and found that it wasn't blank. Until then, I had kept all my secrets from him. He didn't need to know, and I knew he wouldn't want to once he did. No one ever did. The cuts on my wrist. He tried to grab my arm again. He begged me to explain why. What could I tell him? It made me feel better? Could I tell him I liked to bandage the cuts, because I could deal with them so much easier than the scars on my heart or the memories that haunt me? Absolutely not. I knew for sure he would think I was crazy. I just told him how it hurt to look at myself. He took my arm in his hand and I let him. He pulled my sleeve up and I let him do that too. He stared at them for what seemed like forever, tracing each old scar and each new cut. And then, he pressed his lips to the top cut. I looked up at him, taken back. "You are beautiful and I will help you understand that."