What I Can't Recall

The next morning I wake up to something heavy resting on my chest; seemingly disrupting my breathing patterns. I pull myself up to look at it; it's a gift, in wrapping paper and all. There is a tiny strip of paper taped on top of the paper. On it, in Bryler's scrawl, is a message.

Reasons I'd kiss you
Reason 1: Thinking about being with you makes me smile.

I open the package and inside is a fancy silver picture frame, holding a picture of Bryler and I when we were eleven. In the picture, we both have huge open-mouth smiles, as if we were laughing. We're in my backyard, on the ground, and it's nearly dark out. You can see our bikes, fallen over, in the background. My brown hair is a messy ponytail, my blue eyes look so untroubled, and my arms are awkwardly long. I'm stick-skinny, and my face is makeup-free. Bryler's dark hair is hanging in his carefree brown eyes, and he's hasn't got a muscle on his body yet. I remember the day this picture was taken like it was yesterday. It was one of the more happier moments of my life.

“Race you back to the house!” Bryler had called out to me last minute. We had been riding our bikes around the neighborhood all afternoon, but it was time to go home; sunset. That was our designated curfew, you could say.

“You're so on!” I responded, rising to the challenge. I began to pedal as fast as I could, because he was already way in front of me as it was. I went flying down the street, and it felt good. The wind was whipping the hair that had fallen out of my ponytail everywhere, and the wind on my face gave me a feeling of bliss, though I'm not sure why. I was so carefree. All that mattered to me was beating Bryler to my house. Nothing else.

I sped up some more and went flying past Bryler- which was, apparently, his signal to speed up, too. We both made a sharp turn at the stop sign, but when we got to my house, we went around different sides to the backyard. I came up on the right, and he came up on the left, which resulted in us both ramming straight into each other's bike by pure chance. We both went flying off our bikes and landed on the ground in a heap, laughing as hard as our little bodies would let us. It was the kind of laugh that .

“Say cheese,” Mom said quickly, barley giving us half a second to register what she had said before the flash of the camera went off.

“Mom!” I complained, pulling myself up so I was sitting up. “I wasn't ready for that!”

“It'll be a great picture,” she assured me as if she were absolutely positive of this. I guess she was, at the time. “One day and you and Bryler will look back at it and smile,
remembering how great this afternoon was.”

“It wasn't that great,” I argued, mostly just for the sake of arguing. “It was just like any other day.”

“You're smiling in the picture, so when you see it you'll remember it as great, then,” Mom argued back; just as stubborn as me about it. “You'll think about being with each other, and you'll smile.”

“Mom,” I said, grumbling. I wasn’t in the mood to argue anymore; because it was becoming apparent she might end up winning. And when that happened, fighting was no where near as fun. But I persisted on anyways, the hope I might win still in mind. “I'm just gonna remember you told me that, and that'll make me remember how I said it wasn't a great day, which will lead me to believe I hated this day. So there is no use.”
I grinned with triumph; I knew I had a good point.

Mom just laughed and said, mostly to herself, “Stubborn little girl. So much like me.”

I am very tempted to say 'awww', but I want to be quiet, just in case everybody's still asleep. I look at the clock, which shows it's six thirty. Since Jenny is leaving today- Thank God- everyone will wake up a little earlier, but still not for at least an hour or two. I can't believe Bryler got up early just to give me a gift; he hardly gets up early for anything. In fact, I really can't believe Bryler remembers that day without having to be reminded. Guys never remember things like that, and even I would have hard time remembering that, unless I'd seen the picture. I then can't help but wonder where he even got the picture.

I turn over and try to go back to sleep, but try as I might, I can't. I sigh and quietly get up. I put on some socks and tiptoe across the room to my closet. I pull out a pair of gray sweatpants and a black tank top. I grab and hair bow and quickly pull up my hair. I slowly open the door and quietly slip out of my room.

I amble off to the kitchen, where I walk over to cabinet and get out a bowl, and some Rice Krispies. Sarah accidentally grabbed them yesterday when she went to the grocery store, instead of the normal Cheerios. It’s different than the norm, but it’ll do.

I walk over the fridge and get out some milk, while humming to myself. I pour the milk in and listen to the 'snap, crackle, pop' of the cereal as I put the milk back up. I grab a spoon and sit down at the table, feeling oddly happy.

I'm just taking my first bite as I hear a knock on the window above the sink. I look up to see Jake, and nearly choke on my breakfast. I push my chair out and get up, walking confusedly over to the window. I crack open the window, barely sticking my head out.
“Jake?” I ask, keeping my voice down to a whisper so that no one hears. This would be hard to explain.

“Yeah?” He whispers back, smirking a little bit. He looks kind of weird standing outside my kitchen window; in the bright sunlight. His dark hair and dark shirt and dark pants and dark shoes kind of clash against the blinding sun. He still looks extremely attractive to me, though.

But, no. Because I’m not a stupid teenage girl who falls for teenage guys only to get their hearts broken. Because things aren’t going to stay how they were before. Because things aren’t the same without Mom.

“What are you doing here?” I ask him to pull myself away from my thoughts, kind of in disbelief that he‘s real and actually here. It doesn‘t seem like a him thing to do; show up at my house.

“I'm here to give you this,” he says, handing me a sheet of paper. It’s folded in a neat square, like a note would be if we were passing one in class. Except it doesn’t say To: September or From: Jake. “I heard about you and Bryler's... deal thing. I didn't mean to, I swear. You guys live near me and I was walking back home behind you guys- there‘s no other way to get to my house- and I couldn't help but hear and... I'm so in.”
He wears a wicked smile, along with that look you get when you do something totally erratic, but you haven‘t even registered the consequences of it yet. It’s as if he‘s making some huge bet; but one that could lose him everything, even if there is the slightest chance he could win something.

“You too?” I ask him warily. Up until now, hardly any guys wanted me, and now two are practically fighting over me? This isn’t normal. I look down at the paper, turning it over carefully in my hands. “What is this?”

“It's a song,” Jake says easily, shrugging. He hesitates before adding, “The lyrics of it, anyways... I wrote it. For you.”

“For me?” I ask, a little bit surprised that someone would write me a song. A song takes a long time to put together; precious time people could be using to do something else. Not to mention it was written by a guy that barely knows me. I’ve talked to him a total of maybe four times over the past few weeks.

“Yeah,” he admits, shrugging once again; as if it’s no big deal. Nothing seems like a big deal to him. “Hey, can you come out here?”

“Um,” I stall, at first thinking of my outfit, then slowly realizing some other things that could go wrong if I were to go out there. “I don't really look my best right now.”

“That's okay,” he tries convinces me. “Just come on out. I‘m the only one out here.”

I sigh and walk to the door; I give in way too easily sometimes. I open it as quietly as I can, and walk out. I make my way over to the side of the house, where the window Jake was talking to me through is. I walk up to see Jake sitting on the ground, a guitar in his lap. Once again one of the last things I’d been expecting.

“You're gonna actually play it for me?” I ask him, not comprehending why he'd go to all this trouble for me. That means not only did he take the time to write the lyrics; he took the time to make a melody. Which is no easy task, believe me. I once attempted to write a song and play it on the keyboard in fifth grade. It didn’t work out in the least.

“Yeah,” he says simply, my questions not really requiring a complicated explanation anyways. He starts strumming the guitar, and the music coming out of it begins to sound like the most beautiful song I've ever heard. It may be because I know it was written for me, or maybe it really is beautiful. There’s no telling. After a moment he begins to sing.

“It’s a by-chance encounter that started it all,
I was fixing to end it; I was trying again,
But that’s when I looked over and noticed you fall.
And you were just another other girl back then,
So I don’t know exactly why I jumped in,
I just knew I had to save you,
And you ended up saving me, too.

I think it might be your smile that keeps me around,
I like the fact I can know you without you making a sound,
Without even saying a thing; unheard,
Because your actions speak louder than your words.

And even though you never seem to know what to say,
that's okay.

You're eyes
have got me in too deep.
I've got it bad,
I can't eat; can't sleep.

I’m trying so hard to keep my cool,
But baby you ain’t so easy to please,
I’m pretty sure you think I’m just a fool,
You’ve got me down on my knees,
Begging for a chance with you.

And even though you never seem to know what to say,
that's okay.

You're eyes
have got me in too deep.
I've got it bad,
I can't eat; can't sleep.
And you never know what to say,
But it always comes out right,
And I can’t explain how you do it,
But you make it all alright.

I’ve got it bad,
I can’t eat; can’t sleep.

You never know what to say,
(can’t eat; can’t sleep)
But that’s okay.”

He plays a few chords, and then the song is over. For a minute or so, I am absolutely speechless. I've got no clue what to say, more so than usual if that makes sense. Jake looks at me expectantly; I suppose he wants me to say something about it. But, first, I've got to think of words to describe it.

“Wow,” I say after a moment. “I mean... just…. wow. You're a great singer… And you‘re a good guitar player. And a good song writer.”

“Thanks,” he says, with what looks like somewhat of a smile. “Well, sorry, but I've got to go. I've got some... things to do. I'll be back tomorrow around noon, though. Bye September.”

He stands up, holding the guitar carefully. He carefully lifts it over the fence and sets it on the ground on the other side, then jumps over it himself. And then he turns right, going who-knows-where. I give him one last fleeting glance before walking back inside, to see Sarah standing in the kitchen, holding a cup of coffee, wearing a knowing look. She's got Bryler's present in one of hers hands- I must have left it on the counter- and she's close enough to the window that she could have heard the whole thing that went down with Jake.

“Oh, dear, " is all she says, setting down her coffee and using her free hand to rub her forehead; as if she were completely stressed out by all of this already.

“I know,” I say with a sigh, and sit down on the counter.