Cheerleaders Don't Cry

25

Marcy Hannon

Cooper dropped me off at home around 6 in the morning, and I slept until noon. If my mom had noticed my absence, she didn't comment on it. I heard her leave the house at 1 o'clock - when I went downstairs, my car keys were on the table, in front of my usual seat. I guess I was 'un-grounded' now.

Amber lived in the midtown Westport apartment complexes - two-story structures that stretched for an entire block. She'd given me her address a couple of months ago, when she'd invited me to come hang out with her and Josephine. I hadn't taken her up on the offer, for obvious reasons. It took me about fifteen minutes to drive there. I parked in a resident parking space, hoping that whoever was on parking duty wouldn't notice the lack of a permit in my windshield. The Westport apartment complexes had accessible outdoor entrances, so I took a white, freshly painted stairway to the second floor, following the walkway until I reached apartment 220. It looked exactly like all of the other apartments - eggshell painted wood, dark brown door - except that there was a lily and rose floral wreath hanging from a nail on the door, and a weathered welcome mat at its foot.

I rang the doorbell and waited. No answer.

I rang the doorbell again, checking my phone for the time to make sure that I wasn't just being impatient. Three minutes passed, and still no answer.

I knocked three times.

Footsteps approached the door, before the knob twisted and the door creaked open, revealing a woman with dark, wrinkled skin and silver streaks in her thick black hair. She was wearing a gray bathrobe and slippers. Round glasses were perched at the end of her nose.

"Yes?" she asked, one hand holding the door open, the other tucked into the front pocket of her robe.

I smiled. "Hi, is Amber home?"

The woman looked me up and down briefly, before stepping back from the door and calling into the apartment "Amber! A friend is here to see you!"

The woman walked away, leaving the door ajar. I waited, unsure whether to wait outside or enter the apartment. From what I could see, it looked small. There were toys strewn about on the carpet, a television blaring in the corner, and the sound of an infant crying. A few moments passed - Amber finally emerged from a room on the left, approaching the doorway. She was dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, her long black hair tied in a bun. Her expression quickly turned dark when she saw me.

"Marcy." Her voice was flat. She closed the apartment door behind her, stepping barefoot on the welcome mat. "Did you need something?" she asked.

"Um ... " I hesitated. "I know that you don't want to talk to me."

Amber crossed her arms. Clearly. Her lips were pressed together in a thin line, and her eyes were narrowed. Her face typically held residual happiness. Even when she wasn't smiling, you could sense a warm, cheerful energy. Now, I only felt a cold, empty void. I completely deserved it.

"I was just ... I did something really awful to you, and I'm sorry."

She looked down, pushing her toe into the material of the welcome mat. A stray lock of dark hair fell across her forehead.

"You're one of the only people at that school who's ever been nice to me, and I'm just - I'm really sorry, Amber."

People never really talk about how hard apologizing is.

It all comes down to a single five lettered word, 'sorry'. The other person gets to decide whether or not it's sincere, whether or not to accept it. If they do - great. If they don't, well, there's not much else you can do about it. That decision was never up to you - you can't control the mechanisms of somebody else's heart.