If It Were Me

They Say That Promises Sweeten The Blow

       When we went back to school the next day, everything was ridiculously awkward. I knew it was partially my fault since A) I felt like I was nauseous, possibly even faint and B) I was fighting with every possible impulse in my body to not run the other way. I expected Grant to be nervous, maybe even a bit scared. But I didn't think it would be this bad.

        I noticed the strained atmosphere the moment I stepped into Grant's car. The hair on my arms stood erect at the intensity and a sheen of sweat formed over my already moist skin. I smiled as my stomach curled.

        "Good morning," I said, stepping into the passenger side. Okay, see, Seaver? That wasn't so bad. I glanced towards the driver nonchalantly. His hands were wrapped so tight around the wheel they were bone white. A stone lodged itself into the pit of my stomach at the question of why was he so nervous? Grant flinched when I slammed the door shut and threw my stuff into the back seat. Cool. I got to act cool. I raised an eyebrow.

        "What's with the face?" At this, Grant flushed the color of a rose petal.

        "Uh, I, yeah, good morning," Grant stammered out, his anxious green eyes averted towards the driveway. I laughed shrilly and abruptly stopped. God, that was awful. I needed to breath. Feeling the heat of my gaze on the profile of his face, Grant reached out and fumbled a bit with the joy stick.

        "Damn thing, always getting jammed," he mumbled nervously before he finally shoved it into reverse. I chuckled, just as wound up, and waved at the neighbors, whose leering eyes watched us over their white picket fence as we turned right down the road past their house.

        "You don't have to be so nervous. Relax," I said, turning the AC vent towards me. I wasn't sure who I meant it more to, him or myself, but it seemed to work. He blushed harder, his neck now tinged with it.

        "I'm trying, but its proving to be difficult," Grant finally sighed, ruffling a hand through his chestnut hair. I resisted the urge to let out a shrill laugh again, instead choosing to pick at the neat ends of my t-shirt. I didn't realize I was so unprepared.

        Even though Grant promised to answer all of my questions- or at least the ones he was comfortable with- I also knew it applied to me too. He was going to ask what I had seen when I freaked on him two days ago. And that was something I was not prepared to answer.

        A shudder ran through me at the image of my mother's still white body in her bed, wrapped in the blankets like a butterfly broken from its cocoon. She had looked peaceful, with her lips tilted to the barest hint of the smile I used to know.  I already knew what it was, what she had done. I wanted no reason to look more into it than I had to. My throat closed as I realized that was probably what would bring my mother peace.

        "Seaver." Grant's deep voice shook me out of my revere and I looked at him.

        "I'm sorry, what?"

        "I asked if you were okay," he reiterated, taking a left hand turn into the school parking lot. I stared out the window, shocked. Already? Guilt ran me over as I thought of how long I had actually been daydreaming. My gaze flickered over him again, looking in a bit closer. My murky browns took note of the bags underneath his eyes again and the light sheen of sweat over his broad forehead. My stomach rolled a bit as I noticed his eyes were a bit too large on his face. Was he okay? 

        Grant raised a smooth brow and it was my turn to blush. He was still waiting. "I'm okay, but are you?" I said and frowned at the palor of his skin. It was rice paper stretched across his cheeks, pale and gaunt. Was he eating properly?