Zach and Abby

Chapter Three - Edited

It wasn't until we came up to the stadium did she slowly trail off, looking up at the big sign reading: Branson Field – Home of the Lions. Before she could cure her curiosity and ask, I told her to close her eyes.

I'd found this a few nights ago and figured she'd want to see it. Grabbing her shoulders, I walked her forward, onto the field and positioning her at the fifty yard line. We both sat down and when I told her to look up and open her eyes, she paused for just a second before doing as I said.

The gasp she took made all the air around me disappear as I watched her expression change into one of pure awe. The stars blanketed the night and even though we were in a huge stadium, I'd never felt closer or nearer to her and if it wouldn't have scared her, I'd have kissed her right then. Before now, I didn't give a shit about stars or chick flicks or holding hands. But then Abby came and maybe she was changing me into someone I could be prouder of.

I knew she'd love it. I didn't tell anyone about this and hopefully no one would ever know. This would be our thing, this was us.

"I was walking around out on the field one night when I couldn't sleep," I explained into the dark. "I thought of you."

She laid her back onto the turf and turned on her side to look at me. She looked like she was about to start crying - it was too dark to tell if they'd be happy or sad tears.

"You okay?" I wiped her cheek with my thumb. She pinched her eyes closed, having an internal battle with whatever she was struggling with.

"I'm really trying here. I can't help what's happened before, but I'm trying to forget it."

I let her talk because I didn't understand. "Austin told me you were asking about me."

Now it made sense. Before I could apologize or fix this, she started speaking again.

"Don't apologize for anything. I should be the sorry one, I'm not good at analyzing how I treat other people, especially the ones I care about. I, uh, want to tell you something but don't interrupt. If you stop me, I don't know if I'll be able to start again."

I nodded but she didn't see. She took my silence as an okay and once again, she breathed before beginning a story I really wished I never knew.

"I was in the fourth grade and my mom started forgetting simple things. Her hands shook and she became frustrated easily. It was early Alzheimer's and when the doctors finally diagnosed her, they didn't know if it'd get better or worse." Periodically, she took breaths, trying to lessen the amount of pain this was causing her; I could tell. I didn't interrupt, I knew she needed to say this and maybe I needed to hear this.

"She forgot things and so my dad drank. He drank away Mom's problems and our money problems and anything else that was going wrong. He'd get so, so, drunk and he'd corner me in a room, telling me over and over again how this was my fault. Mom had this disease because of me, it was all me. It was all my fault."

Her voice was now angry spurts of words. She was crying and all she would allow me to do was hold her hand.