Skipping Stones - COMPLETE

Chapter 13

THREE WEEKS LATER

ALEX

THE SOUND OF the morning train, the sun rising, the light seeping through the curtains, and the smell of coffee bring me out of a medicine-induced state of sleep. In fact, it's the only way I've been able to sleep. It's rare that I get a full night's sleep, a night where I don't wake from a nightmare that's a reminder of what I've lost. Then there are the good nights. The nights where I dream about what I've gained. A person who is as beautiful on the inside as he is on the outside. My first real boyfriend. My first kiss. My first love.

I wish he could go with us today. Today is going to be the third hardest day of my life. We're moving me out of my house. Except it's not my house anymore. This is my house. I miss my room, my things, my friends. It's more than just moving. It's saying goodbye yet again to people I love, accepting that I'll probably never see them again. It's almost like them dying. Sure we might be able to send letters and stay in touch, but eventually that stops. Contact is lost, and then we're left to wonder about them for the rest of our lives. What would they be like, are they happy, are they healthy?

Maybe in a way, it's worse than someone dying. The only closure is the last goodbye. The fact we can hug them, tell them how we feel, and wish them well. I didn't get that opportunity with my parents. Not really. I didn't know when I told them bye that it would be my last one. The moral of that story is to make every second count as if it's the last. I always thought that seemed so cliché. Not anymore.

Sitting up, I let the blood distribute throughout my body before attempting to stand. I throw on an outfit that I've learned is acceptable, take my meds, and head towards the front door. I don't need food or coffee to fill my veins before I go. I need Drew.

Before I even enter the living room, I can hear Memaw and Papa talking. "I think I hear that Alex," Papa says.

I love how he says that before my name, like I'm more than a person to him. For as long as I can remember he has told me that I am his heart.

"It's me." I answer as I enter the room.

"You're already dressed?" Memaw asks confused from the kitchen.

"Yeah, I wanted to go to the creek before we left."

"You don't want to go to the creek." Papa chuckles and peeks above the newspaper. "You want to go see Drew."

I shrug, then nod. "I won't be long. I promise."

Memaw has her apron on, and the stove is filled with pots and pans. She ridicules me, "Alex, you need to eat before you go. You've gotten so thin in the last three weeks."

She's right. My clothes hang to my hips. I'm not doing it on purpose. I have no appetite. When I do try to eat, I get full so quickly. Maybe it's because every time I eat I feel like I'm going to be sick. Maybe it's because every food I put in my mouth has a memory. It's too painful to eat. "Not hungry."

There's silence. Awkward silence. I expect for her to continue to fuss at me, but she doesn't. Papa clears his throat and tells me, "Be back in an hour. Take one of those Little Debbie cakes with you." He folds the newspaper, puts it on the freezer beside his recliner, stands up, and then takes his mug of coffee that is beside the paper.

"Yes, sir." I know I can't argue with him. I'm just glad I'm not being nagged extensively about eating. I hang my head low, pushing the swinging door in the kitchen that leads to the small formal dining room. There isn't a lot of storage space in this house. They have a wooden cabinet in that room, out of sight from most guests, that house the snacks and other non-perishable items. I open it and take one of the Little Debbie Swiss Rolls and close the cabinet.