From Me to You [Complete]

1

It's hot. A soft breeze comes through the open window, making some of the sweat on my arms disappear for about two seconds. I shake my head, trying for what seems like the seventeenth time to find a comfortable position. The sheets Alice made sure I had are mostly still folded underneath me, since I deemed it too hot to cover myself with them. I also didn't pull out the couch bed like Alice told me to. I thought I might be able to save myself some clean up time tomorrow morning by just sleeping on the couch as is.

I stare at the ceiling, hoping to find a crack or something I can stare at until my eyes start to water. The ceiling is perfectly smooth, however, and I roll my eyes at the perfection that seems to be this cottage. A blank white ceiling from wall to wall, not even the smallest, tiniest crack to be seen. I close my eyes, hoping I can think of something relaxing. But my brain isn't ready for bed just yet; the excitement of the day, which only ended about an hour ago, still runs through me.

My family arrived at the Lyons' cottage in the afternoon, here for one week. We left just before lunch in my mom's red van, our classic road trip vehicle. Both of my parents were in a rush to get ready and on the road. Of course, I had all of my necessities prepacked since I've been looking forward to this vacation for weeks now: my current favourite novel that I'd hopefully be too busy to read, a notebook in case a writing inspiration took hold, an inflatable soccer ball that always seemed to come in handy, and, of course, a bathing suit. Somehow everything fit into the van and we got on the road.

The drive was just over an hour. I made some progress on a new letter to one of my best friends, Izzy, who I write to often. But it turned out my older brother, Andy, was reading over my shoulder the whole time, and I had a sneaking suspicion that he saw a couple lines that I don't want him to know. Meanwhile, my sister, Ann, in typical absent-minded Ann fashion, forgot her jacket, which I believe my mom reminded her about several times. My mom gave a brief lecture about common sense once that came to her attention. I also started writing a poem about traveling -it's pretty rough at the moment all things considered, but I'll come back to it. I got distracted because we passed a KFC and my brother started repeating the phrase, "Chicken... Hint." That kid is always hungry.

Upon reaching our destination -or at least the population sign- my pulse quickened and I forgot about how annoying my brother can be. As I said, I've been looking forward to this trip planned out quite a while ago between our two families -the advanced notice made sure everyone booked the week off from work. Before today I haven't seen the Lyons in years, although I am almost always in snail mail contact with one of their sons, Michael. However, I looked forward to talking to Michael in person, and being around the rest of his family who I really only hear about on paper.

We pulled into the driveway of the Lyon's huge mansion of a cottage. It shined in the summer sun, the rust coloured paint looking almost glossy in the heat. Michael told me they recently added an addition on the back to allow more space in the bedrooms. I didn't have a good viewpoint of it from my seat in the van. But honestly, all I was hoping was that my hair wasn't too mushed from the car seat, and that I didn't look like I'd only spent five minutes on my outfit -which I had. I swallowed hard, but luckily my brother was around to interrupt my worry with his usual arrival complaint, "Hm, I hope they have food, I'm starving." This time, however, since it was on his mind already, it was followed by, "Maybe some chicken? Hint."

Shaking my head, I applied one final coat of fruity melon lip balm to my lips and took a deep breath. I jumped out onto asphalt that wa already getting hot from the afternoon sunshine. My mom started handing us boxes and bags, with instructions to bring them inside, and we all grumbled that that was exactly what we were about to do -as if. I grabbed my bag in one hand and, with a smart remark to my brother to shut up about chicken, seized a bag out of my mom's hands in the other.

Michael's parents, Alice and Marc, appeared on the steps above as I approached the door. Alice descended the stairs to hug me, and I attempted to hug her back with my hands full. By the time I had everything arranged comfortably, she had moved on to my mother, and they were having some kind of excited but hushed conversation that only moms can. I shook my head and turned back to the door which Marc held open for me. He patted my shoulder in greeting on the way by and I smiled back politely.

As I stepped inside, breathing in a smell that combined freshly baked cake and cold pizza, my smile faded in wonderment. I dropped my bag near the door, shoving it out of the way with my foot and dropping the smaller bag on top of it. I gazed around, trying to cram every detail of the room into my brain at the same time.

It looked almost exactly like I pictured it from Michael's letters. White walls -I think Michael said the paint name was Egg Shell- with two plaques hanging in the dining area that read: 'A Happy Kitchen Makes a Happy Home' and; 'Rules of the House', followed by a list of silly rules like 'If you sleep in it, make it'. My eyes skimmed over the kitchen, taking in the just wiped granite counters, the cut cantaloupe sitting in a bowl, the empty pizza box lying on the top of the fridge, the sparkling clean stainless steel sink, and the darkly stained cupboards. A light brown table stood centred in a dining area to the upper right, and a picture of a meadow hung crookedly on the wall nearby. In the lower living area, separated from the kitchen and dining rooms by a wooden railing, two matching green couches hugged the walls.

"Does it pass inspection?" I jumped, startled, and turned my head to see the seventeen year-old boy who intruded on my examination. He was wearing a white T-shirt with a slogan that I missed taking in, and olive green shorts that hung down to his knees. His curly dark hair hung ever so slightly over his brown eyes -which were staring intently into mine. I had forgotten how intense he can be in person. He was leaning against the door frame of the hallway off the kitchen.

"I suppose," I said, smiling ever so slightly. I felt a growing sensation in the pit of my stomach. I wanted to run to him, throw my arms around him and hug him tight. It had been too long since I'd seen Michael, and also since I'd been able to think about him seeing me. Plus the last time I was only twelve, and what did I know about looking attractive. I try not to think about how handsome he looks from a summer of sun. After being pen pals for months, I have a whole new appreciation for seeing him in person. Letters do however give a unique opportunity to discuss topics that might seem too uncomfortable in person. My stomach squirmed at the thought. At least we had an equal advantage of knowing a lot about each other.

"C'mon, Amanda, we need some more help out here." My mother's voice broke my gaze with Michael when I turned to call back to her.

"Okay!" As I made my way back down the stairs outside, Michael trailed out behind me. I tried not to think about where his eyes were staring, and helped my mother take our beach chairs out of the van.

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