Mark My Words (3 page)

Lennie’s words plagued me day and night.

“Sometimes the path has already been chosen for you.”

I wanted to know what that meant. Immediately after the haunting statement had been spoken, I pressed her about it. But she’d clammed up the exact same way she had in our first conversation, and before I knew it, she’d vanished again. Slipped out of my life a third time. A part of me felt that she’d be back. Our conversation had been easy, comfortable. And she appeared to enjoy it.

I know for a fact that it was the most riveting conversation I’d had with a woman in years. Most of the women I interacted with didn’t enjoy talking about reading and books, and when they did, it wasn’t deep or insightful. Not like it had been with Lennie.

It’s funny, but I never pegged Lennie Samson as a girl who had much substance when we were younger. She hung with the jocks and cheerleaders, and I assumed her biggest quandary was what to wear or how to apply her makeup. And maybe that was true of the younger Lennie. But this Lennie had much larger problems. Even if she didn’t voice them, it was evident. They hung in the air around her, invisible and unspoken, but there nonetheless.

I wanted to help her, but I didn’t know how.

She still hadn’t offered up her phone number or any information that would help me track her down. My only hope was that she’d show up at the coffee shop again. Just in case, I went there every morning and stayed until late afternoon. Some days I wrote. Other days I sat there, waiting. Hoping. Praying.

I knew it made me seem like a stalker, but I didn’t care. I had to see her again.

When days turned into a week and she still hadn’t shown up, I realized there were other ways to find her. It was the age of technology, after all. Surely, she’d left a footprint on the web. I’d never been big on social media. Probably because I didn’t think people cared what I did. I couldn’t see myself posting hourly or even daily updates. The few times I’d tried to join Facebook or Instagram, I was annoyed with people’s posts and pictures.

Having my morning coffee.

Out to lunch with my bestie.

I mean, who the hell cared? When did our daily activities become breaking news? But honestly, the worst was all the bragging. It seemed that everyone on social media lived perfect lives. Of course there were the few exceptions. Those who used social media as a platform to air all their dirty laundry or pitch their political agendas. All in all, I didn’t have the patience or stomach for it.

But today I found myself logging onto Facebook for the first time in years. It took several tries to remember my username and password, but finally I got it. Once I was in, I went to the search bar and typed in Lennie Samson. When she didn’t come up, I tried her full name. Lennox Samson. And there she was, staring back at me, wearing a broad smile.

My heart skipped a beat. With slick fingertips, I clicked on her name. Her page came up, revealing colorful pictures, an array of memes and posts. However, the last time she posted was a little over a year ago, and there’d been no activity since. Scanning down the page, I perused her pictures. In all of them she was smiling and happy, the Lennie I remembered from high school. The one who hadn’t a care in the world. Many of the pictures featured a guy. The one I assumed was her fiancée. Jealousy snaked around my heart and squeezed hard as I took in all of the intimate photos. Pictures of them hugging, kissing, his arm slung over her shoulder in an easy way, as if it belonged there. Which I suppose it did.

The sad look on her face when Lennie mentioned the break-up of her engagement filled my mind, and my jealousy seemed petty. She wasn’t even with him anymore. Besides, it’s not like I had any claim to her. I never had. A few conversations didn’t make her mine.

I’d had these same feelings back in high school. Lennie always had a boyfriend. I can’t think of a time when she didn’t. Her relationships never lasted long. A few months here, a few months there. But the times in between boyfriends were short. Too short for me to make a move. Other guys moved quicker, but I was so shy that a simple word or two took me weeks to formulate. By the time I got around to talking to Lennie, she’d already have been snatched up.

As I made my way further down the page, I found pictures of Lennie with her high school girlfriends. Some were throwback photos from when we were teenagers, but others were more current. My insides soured at the sight of the girls who had snubbed me in high school.

That was what I liked about Lennie. She may have been popular, but it didn’t stop her from being a decent human being. She was friendly to everyone, and I never heard her gossiping or teasing anyone. In fact, a couple of times I overheard her chastising her friends for doing that. I could always count on Lennie for a smile or wave, a kind word spoken in passing. Initially I crushed on Lennie because she was gorgeous. I mean, every guy had a thing for Lennie at some point in our four years of high school. But the reason I kept liking her was because of her genuineness.

Her Facebook page listed Southern California as her place of residence, and her relationship status was engaged. Clearly, she hadn’t updated it recently. Realizing I would learn nothing from snooping on here, I logged off. Next I tried Instagram, but I came up with the same results.

What had happened a year ago that caused her to hide from social media? Did it have to do with her ex?

I swear if he’d hurt her, I’d make him pay. Well, at least I’d think about making him pay.  Based on the pictures, I was pretty sure he could take me. Perhaps, I could write him into my book. Have something horrible happen to him.

At the thought, my lips curled upward at the corners.

Man, I really was lame.

No wonder Lennie kept turning me down.

Glancing up at the clock, my heart sank.
Crap.
I was late for dinner with my parents. My stepdad, Ray, was always in a sour mood, but he got even worse when dinner was delayed. Groaning, I stood and hurried toward the front door, already dreading having to see my stepdad. Mom would be nice as always. Nothing rattled her. She stayed calm no matter what. Ray was always grumbling about something, but Mom consistently had a sweet disposition. That’s why it was so scary when Mom would get angry. My sister and I used to say that we knew we were in big trouble if Mom lost her cool. That was not a pretty picture. But thankfully, it was rare.

Shoving back my chair, it scraped on the ground. After standing up, I hurried out the front door. As I made my way down the cement walkway, chilly air blew over my skin causing goosebumps to rise on my flesh.

In no time I had arrived at my parents’ front door. They still lived in the same house I’d grown up in. Every time I stepped inside, I felt like I was a kid again. It didn’t help that they hadn’t changed anything. The decorations and furniture had been the same for years. Mom only switched out things out of necessity, like the furniture in mine and my sister’s rooms, or the blinds that broke in the front windows.

The heater was on full blast when I entered the house. At first it felt nice, and I was grateful for the warmth. But I knew that it was only a matter of time before it got to be too much. I could already predict the places that sweat would be forming momentarily.

“About time,” Ray said when Mom ushered me into the dining room.

“Nice to see you too.” I clamped a hand down on his shoulder before sliding around him and plunking down in my chair.

That was the other thing that hadn’t changed. Our seating at the dining table. If Amelia was here she’d be sitting across from me right now. But my sister lived in North Carolina with her husband and baby. Mom and Ray had visited her a few times. I’d never been, but I saw her when she was here last Christmas. We’d never been especially close. I mean, we got along okay, but we’d never truly understood each other.

Mostly what I remember about Amelia was how she spent all her time texting friends or watching YouTube videos. She was a few years younger than me, but she never looked up to me the way some of my friends’ younger siblings did. Amelia wasn’t impressed with normal people like me. She only cared about celebrities. And I used the word “celebrity” loosely. To Amelia, celebrities might be well-known recording artists, or they could be her current favorite YouTuber. Either way, an older brother who spent all his time alone in his room reading wasn’t her idea of exciting.

It was a shock to all of us when Amelia told us she was marrying Chris and moving to North Carolina. They hadn’t been dating that long, and she was only a year into college. At first everyone tried to talk her out of it, but then she confessed that she was pregnant. That’s when it made sense. Chris was in the army, so at least we knew Amelia was taken care of financially.

Mom set the food out on the table, and Ray didn’t waste any time. He started scooping food on his plate as if it was his first meal in days. As I spooned a piece of chicken on my own plate, I realized that I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. I’d worked through lunch, and then I’d been so preoccupied with thoughts of Lennie that I’d forgotten to eat.

My stomach thanked me when I took a bite of food. For a few minutes the three of us ate without talking. But that wasn’t unusual. My family wasn’t uncomfortable with long silences. I never understood people who had to talk constantly. There was something comforting about being with people without feeling like you had to speak.

But there was one thing I was curious about. Something I wanted to know. After swallowing down my food, I looked up. “So, Mom, were you able to read what I sent you?” Ever since I’d shared with my parents that I was working on my book, Mom had been begging me to send it to her. Initially I’d scoffed at the offer. The idea of someone reading my rough draft made me want to hurl. Then I realized that was precisely why I needed to send it to her. If it was terrible, it would be better to hear from my mom than from an editor at a publishing house. Besides, if I planned to publish it, I would have to get used to the idea of people reading it, right? So last week, I’d bit the bullet and sent her what I had.

Setting down her fork she smiled at me. “Yes, I read it all, and I can’t wait for more.”

“Really?” My stomach flip-flopped. “You liked it?”

“Liked it?” Her eyes sparkled. “I loved it.”

Uh oh.
I’d seen that look before. When I was in second grade I painted a picture in class. An awful monstrosity of colors morphing together until they resembled something you’d find in a toilet. But Mom beamed when I handed it to her. Then she hung it on the fridge as if it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Perhaps my mom was the wrong person to critique my novel.

“I just have one question,” she said, leaning forward.

The expectant look on her face caused me to squirm in my seat. Unfortunately, the chairs were so old that even the slightest movement caused them to creak and moan. Ray threw me a dirty look until I stopped moving. Perhaps Amelia had the right idea when she moved far away. Growing up, I’d always been told I was the smart one, but I was questioning that now. Out of the two of us she was the only one successfully living on her own. Well, maybe not technically “on her own,” but at least she was out from under our parents’ thumb. “What’s that?” I asked her.

Mom smiled. “Who’s the girl?”

I almost choked. “Um…she’s fictional. It’s a story, Mom.”

“I know it’s a story, Colin. I’m not stupid.” Mom had never gone to college. She married
my dad right out of high school. He had a good job, so she never needed to work. After he died unexpectedly as the result of an accident when Amelia was an infant and I was a toddler, my mom immediately fell into the arms of Ray. Therefore, any time I corrected Mom or treated her like she didn’t know something she got defensive. I knew my mom was intelligent, and I had no doubt that she could’ve been very successful had she not put her dreams on hold for the rest of us. In fact, it made me sad at times. Ray had taken care of my mom financially, but he wasn’t a good husband to her. I’m certain that if she hadn’t been so afraid to raise us on our own, she wouldn’t have married him. She would’ve paved her own path, done something exciting with her life. It was part of the reason I was taking her advice; taking time to write my novel. I didn’t want to let her down. I didn’t want her to think that her sacrifice was in vain. “But I also know my boy. And there’s no way you could write about love like this unless you had personal experience.” Her eyes met mine. “There is someone, isn’t there?”

Picturing Lennie’s face, my gaze dropped to my lap. I suppose Mom was right. Technically there was someone. But she wasn’t someone I could tell my mom about. What would I say?
I ran into an old high school acquaintance, and we talked a couple of times. She refused to go out with me, so instead I’m writing about her; imagining what could have been. Oh, yeah, and she’s the same girl I used to talk about all the time in high school. She wasn’t into me then either.

Yeah, no thanks. I’d keep that to myself. In my experience, it was good to keep a lid on the crazy as much as possible.

“Nope. There’s no one. It’s just a made up story.” Lifting my head, my gaze briefly landed on Ray.

He stared at me, his eyes narrowed as if he suspected something. But then he bent his head over his plate, taking another bite of food, and the moment was gone. It was probably in my imagination anyway. Ray had never been the most observant guy. I couldn’t tell you how many times Mom got a new haircut or color and it took Ray days to notice it. Sometimes he never did. She would eventually point it out or bribe one of us kids to do it.