Second Chance
Apologies
I knock on her door, one, two, three, four, five times.
I hear her shuffling towards it.
I watch as the knob turns.
Suddenly, she is there.
I have so much to say, so many words. I have to explain. She has to know. She has to know that it is me. She has to know that I am sorry. She has to know that I love her.
And so I tell her all of this.
"I'm so sorry, Ellen, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," I repeat, over and over again.
She is confused, dumbfounded. She thinks that this is about the situation with her telling me I can't stay here anymore.
"It's me, Ellen," I whisper, tears beginning to stream down my face, "It's me."
"We met at your parents country club, May twenty-ninth, 2006," I begin, "You were wearing a blue dress. We spent every day of that summer together. You told me you always secretly wanted to be a singer. You have a strawberry-shaped birth mark on your inner thigh, on your left leg. You love driving with the air on full blast and the windows down in the summer time, which has always driven me crazy. You had a dog named Griffin when you were a kid. He died when you were seven. You've always wanted to know how you would look as a blonde, but you're too scared to ever try it. You gave a homeless man twenty dollars one night, when we were walking home from that diner."
I continue on and on, voicing every detail of her that I can conjure.
When I am finished, she stares at me. I cannot read her expression.
And then she shuts her bedroom door in my face.
I hear her shuffling towards it.
I watch as the knob turns.
Suddenly, she is there.
I have so much to say, so many words. I have to explain. She has to know. She has to know that it is me. She has to know that I am sorry. She has to know that I love her.
And so I tell her all of this.
"I'm so sorry, Ellen, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," I repeat, over and over again.
She is confused, dumbfounded. She thinks that this is about the situation with her telling me I can't stay here anymore.
"It's me, Ellen," I whisper, tears beginning to stream down my face, "It's me."
"We met at your parents country club, May twenty-ninth, 2006," I begin, "You were wearing a blue dress. We spent every day of that summer together. You told me you always secretly wanted to be a singer. You have a strawberry-shaped birth mark on your inner thigh, on your left leg. You love driving with the air on full blast and the windows down in the summer time, which has always driven me crazy. You had a dog named Griffin when you were a kid. He died when you were seven. You've always wanted to know how you would look as a blonde, but you're too scared to ever try it. You gave a homeless man twenty dollars one night, when we were walking home from that diner."
I continue on and on, voicing every detail of her that I can conjure.
When I am finished, she stares at me. I cannot read her expression.
And then she shuts her bedroom door in my face.