You Said You Read Me Like A Book

I shut the front door behind me and set my bag down on the table by the door. I walked through the house and found my mother lying on the couch, whiskey in hand. I began picking up the empty liquor containers and put them in the trashcan before going back to my mother.

“Hey Mom, “I greeted. She looked at me for a minute. “I have this paper that I need you to sign.” She jerked the form out of my hands.

“What is this?” She slurred.

“My English teacher wants me to go to a poetry reading thing tonight. It’s in Middleton, but I have a ride, “I said quickly. She looked it over for a minute before jotting down her sloppy signature. I put the paper in my pocket. She coughed roughly and then eyed me.

“What’s it cost?” She asked.

“It doesn’t cost anything, “I replied. She looked at me for a minute before shrugging it off. I went upstairs to get dressed. I had just straightened my hair when there was a knock at the front door. I went back downstairs to answer the door. Mr. Way stood outside in a pair of black jeans and a button up black shirt. He seemed to be looking me over and I felt a bit self-conscious.

“Who is it?” My mom screamed.

“It’s my ride, “I replied nervously. She stumbled into the hallway and eyed him for a minute.

“Who are you?” She interrogated.

“I’m Gerard Way, “he introduced formally. “I’m here to pick up Ashlyn. “

“Whatever, “she scoffed as she stumbled back down the hallway.

“Let’s just go please, “I said, closing the door behind me. He led me to his car and opened the door for me. I slid in nervously, and when I was in, he shut the door. He walked around to the other side of the car and got in. He started the car and Iron Maiden blared through the speakers, causing me to jump.

“I’m sorry about that, “he laughed nervously.

“That’s fine. Iron Maiden’s always good, “I laughed quietly. He smiled at me and we continued to make small talk the entire way there. When we got there, he asked about the poem I was going to read. I told him that it was a new one that I had written the night before. We went up to the lady at the registration table. She smiled warmly at him.

“Hello, Gerard, “she greeted. “Is this the young lady you were referring to over the phone?” He nodded and smiled at me.

“Yeah, this is Ashlyn. She’s the next Emily Dickinson, I swear, “he laughed. I laughed nervously and the woman handed me a form. I looked at it, filling out the information, before handing it back to her. She looked over it and smiled.

“Well, sweetie, you’re going to be ninth. You got here pretty early, so you get to go on earlier. Is that okay?” She asked, looking at Mr. Way. He nodded. They said farewell and I followed him to a corner table. I sat down and he looked at me for minute.

“Do you drink coffee?” He asked, setting his jacket over the back of his chair. I nodded and he smiled.

“I’ll be right back, “he said as he turned to leave. He came back a couple of minutes later with two cups of coffee. He set one in front of me and he sat next to me. “So, are you nervous?” I just nodded slightly.

“Well, I am a little, but I don’t know very many people here, “I reasoned quietly.

“That’s a good point, “he agreed. “I think you are an amazing writer, though.”

“Thanks, “I muttered silently. The lights dimmed down and an announcer stated that the first performer was about to start. I honestly wasn’t nervous until the announcer called my name. Mr. Way rubbed my arm reassuringly and I went up to the microphone.

“Hello, “I said nervously. “My name is Ashlyn Burton, and this is my poem entitled ‘For Who I Used To Be’.”



Everyone started clapping and I smiled nervously. I left the stage and returned to Mr. Way who was smiling proudly.

“You were great, “he beamed.

“Thanks, “I muttered quietly.

“Excuse me, “a man said as he walked over to us. I looked up nervously at him.

“May I help you?” Mr. Way asked him.

“Yes, “he replied. “My name is Peter Lipkin. I am with Monroeville Poets Society. I just heard Ms. Burton here read her poem, and I would like for her to present her poem for the Monroeville Poets Society. We are having our annual showcase this coming weekend and I’d be honored if she would attend.” Mr. Way looked over at me.

“It’s not up to me, “he said simply.

“Well, what do you think, Ms. Burton?” Peter asked me. I looked at Mr. Way.

“Well, it sounds like fun, but I don’t have a ride, “I said quietly.

“Well, I could take you…” He said slowly.

“That worked out really well, “Peter laughed.

“So, what are the details?” Mr. Way asked.

“Here’s my cell number, “Peter said, giving a card to him. “Call me tomorrow. I’ll give you directions and everything, but it is Saturday around six in the evening.” Mr. Way took the card from him and nodded.

“Alright, “he agreed. “Well, I’ll definitely call you then.” Peter said something about having to go, and Mr. Way and I soon left. We talked about what was going to happen on Saturday. Monroeville was almost four hours away from Middleton, and Middleton was about an hour from Belleview. So, Mr. Way decided that we would leave around eight in the morning on Saturday. He said we’d get breakfast and then go on to Monroeville. When we got to my house, he looked sympathetically at me.

“Well, thanks for driving me, Mr. Way, “I smiled nervously. He smiled at me and shook his head.

“Any time, “he nodded. “However, I do have one request. When it’s just us, please call me Gerard. I feel so old when I’m called Mr. Way. I’m only thirty.” I laughed quietly.

“Okay, well, thanks, Gerard, “I smiled, emphasizing his name. He smiled back and nodded again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Ashlyn, “he smiled.

“Okay, “I said, shutting the door. I walked inside of my house and listened for the car to drive away. As soon as it did, I sank to the floor, and all of the emotions I was holding back came out.