The Boy With The Skull Tattoo 18+ (DISCONTINUED)

4. Commemoration

"You know, he never really invited me. Well, I mean that I've never thought about coming to these kinds of events until now."

I sat there on my bed, ogling him as he gave me the dress of his choice. I could still hear Emily's obnoxious screaming coming from my phone as it laid face down on the bed.

"I know that I never really spoke to him much, but I'm getting old, and so is he. We're not teenagers anymore, and I'm tired of separating myself."

The dress he had picked out was black, and it would have made my cleavage spill out everywhere. Luckily, I was in the mood to wear something like that.

"This will look good on you," he said, laying it out on the bed.

"Good, now go!" I said.

He calmly closed the door behind him, not even saying anything insulting like he usually did. He was beginning to mature.

Looking at my reflection, I began to remember my childhood. I remembered the first time I met him. His mother invited us to have dinner at her house. He was sitting across from me at the dinner table. We were only eleven years old at the time. We were born in the same year, but I was born in July, while he was a May baby. He had long, curly brown hair and he wore geeky glasses. He loved striped shirts and cargos. His favorite sneakers were Converse.

I was the awkward brunette that hated him because he was just so unbelievably lovable. He was always lovable. His love was so pure that it hurt. It still hurt to this very day. I watched him grow up, and he reminds me of the man I should have loved. I should've told him how I felt. I was only sixteen when I had feelings for him. I had always fantasized our little lifestyle. What would life be like if he and I had actually dated? Ugh, no, never mind.

My father was African-American and my mother was of Cuban ancestry. Drew's parents were of French ancestry. I laughed to myself when he told me his name; Drew Willy Cartier.

He was so shy and weird-looking as a child. He had narrowed eyes that slanted a bit. His full eyebrows looked plucked, but they were already nicely-shaped. His full lips were pink and puffy. I'd never seen such perfect lips on any boy before. He was named after his father, Willy Drew Cartier. His mother and father divorced when he was five years old. He couldn't remember what his father looked like after a while.

There were times when I'd come home from school and Drew waited by the house window. He waited like an owl, hungry for the night to appear right before its eyes. I asked him what was so special about that window. He told that his father would play baseball in that yard. He'd teach him everyday when he came home from school. One day, Drew hit the ball so hard with the bat that it broke the window. It was same exact window he'd look through everyday. He told me that day was the day he'd never forget. It was the last memory he had of his father. Drew never really owned things that belonged to his father; only his name. After a while, he stopped looking through that window.

I finished dressing, applying the last bit of lip gloss and adding the final touches to my hair with my purple curling iron.

As soon I was done, I walked downstairs, prepared to go. Drew was sprawled across the couch. He looked depressed. I'd never seen him look so upset.

"Drew, is everything okay?"

He lifted his head and took a moment to look at me. He usually never stared at me for this long. He wiped his little tears away, ran his thumb down my cheek, and smiled.