With Love...

extra pinky promise

what I really and truly want to write about is my song. the song about the only boy I've told you that i'm in love with. i guess it's naïve of me to think he loved me back then or to think of my fascination for him as love. it's also naïve of me to think he'd be able to recognize that the song was about him. i did change my life overnight and never see anyone again.

in all honestly, i never had any intention of singing that song in public or to anyone, especially not at the Grammy's on national television. But something about performing it felt right. part of me hoped he was watching it somewhere. part of me also hoped he'd know it was about him

My phone begins ringing on my bed next to me making it vibrate. My face is drawn up in confusion on who could possible be calling me at this hour. As I check the caller ID, my face lights up from the screen. My mother. I would assume she's be asleep already. I click accept and out the phone to my ear.

"Mom?"

"Ellie Belly!" she cheers with lots of joy and excitement. My mom is the only person who calls me Ellie Belly. Well, maybe not the only one. There's one other person.

"I thought you'd be asleep. That's why I didn't call," I explain to her, hoping she doesn't feel a twinge of sadness for me not calling her.

"Oh sweetheart don't worry about it. Congratulations on the award! I wish I could be there to celebrate with you darlin'," she sympathizes and that's where the real sadness lies.

I sigh and lean back in my bed. "Mom why don't you and dad move here?"

She chuckles in the other end. "Honey, your father and I were not built for city life. We'd be happy that we're near you but not happy that we're not living our lives."

"I know I know. A girl can dream," I mutter.

"Mrs. Ringenston says congratulations and hello," she tells me and it makes my heart skip a beat. Or maybe a couple.

I swallow the lump in my throat and force a smile. Not that I need to, but I feel like my mom knows when I'm not smiling. "That's nice of her."

"Annabelle..." she trails off but stops. She doesn't say anything further. She knows not to push it. So she doesn't. "Well, anyway. It's late here. You know how your father likes his sleep."

"I'll talk to you soon, mama."

"Bye, my Ellie Belly."

And for some reason, I cant go back to writing after she hangs up.

THEO

I think I've been staring at my ceiling for 45 minutes. I would sit here and tell you I don't know why and I just can't sleep if that was the actual reason. Only it's not, and I know that.

I know who Belle wrote that song about. And I know it was me.

NINE YEARS AGO

"Hi, Theodore," I heard her voice before I could see her. I knew it was her. Her voice sounded smooth, like butter and honey and soft feathers found in the pillows my mom kept on her bed.

I peeked open my eyes and I saw her face, upside down, her head hanging over mine. She was grinning ear to ear with her hair in a messy long ponytail. Her face had a smudge of paint on it. I didn't tell her though. I thought it suited her.

I sat up on the swinging bench. She loved the bench. She told me that's what she loved the most about my house. That and the fact that I lived here. "Hello, Annabella."

She plopped down next to me with a big sigh, causing the bench to move. She was tiny, so it didn't move a ton. "Why do you call me Annabella?"

"I told you. You have a pretty name."

This made her unhappy for some reason. She groaned and leaned her body back. "Everybody calls me Annabella, Theodore."

I thought for a second. I wasn't really sure what to call her. "Anna" seemed too old. "Belle" didn't fit her. "Bella" wouldn't work either because there were four of them in our grade.

"What about Ellie?" I asked, hopeful.

Her eyes perked up and she smiles at me. The same ear to ear grin she gave me moments before. "I like Ellie. My mom calls me Ellie Belly."

"Ellie Belly..." I ponder. "I like Ellie Belly."

She's quiet for a little bit. Her thumbs twiddle in her lap and she bites her lip while she listens to the humming of cicadas. "You can call me Ellie Belly."

"Really?"

"Yes, but you have to pinky promise something," she said in all seriousness.

I nodded. Anything for her.

She stuck out her pinky and that's when I first noticed how stubby her fingers were. Not in a weird way and certainly not in a bad way. Her fingers were just short. The tops were calloused over from how much she played the guitar. I liked when she brought it over. I told her it sounded like honey. She laughed.

I hooked my pinky with hers and looked her in the eyes.

"Do you, Theodore, extra pinky promise to never ever hurt me? So much that I cry? So much that it hurts to breathe?" She asked me. "Only people who pinky promise, extra pinky promise, get to call me Ellie Belly." I thought I would be surprised or concerned by her words. But I wasn't.

I don't know why it was so easy, but I squeezed my pinky around hers and smiled. "I extra pinky promise, Ellie Belly."

She beamed back at me, her bright blue eyes shinning as she did. "You can call me Annabella too."

She sat back in the bench and began to swing it. Her journal was in her lap and the purple pen she always carried. She was quiet for a few seconds and so was I.

"But only sometimes."

I wish I made her make a pinky promise to me that day. Maybe things would've been different.

- - -
Some part of me wants to be angry with her. So angry with her. The most angry I've ever been. I want to call her up and scream and yell and tell her how she never should have been allowed to do that to me.

But another part of me wonders why it's so bad to just move on. Only, I don't think it's bad. I just don't know how. I don't think I want to. At fifteen, she practically ruined me. I guess it effects long term.

I shake my head and try to fall asleep. Preferably not thinking about Annabella Graveston.

Or Ellie Belly, since I never really did break her pinky promise.

But she would've broken mine.