hi, friends. happy new year! and today, on jan 19, it's my birthday! i'm 20 y/o now. so this is my birthday present to you <3 thank you for being so patient with me. here's the next chapter, and please read the author's note in the end. enjoy the chapter! xx
shoutout to @cluelessbunny for the memory documentation cover! it's my first ever one for this story :)
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"A friend is one of the nicest things you can have and one of the best things you can be."
- Winnie the Pooh
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Chris: Where are you? In the cafeteria. Come eat lunch with me!
Although my eyes roamed over the words over and over, my fingers remained hovering still above my screen. I rested my head back against the cool lockers, sighing.
Mrs. Ichikawa wasn't here today, so I was up on the second floor. During the days I couldn't eat with her, I sat in a corner nook that was lined with lockers and student made posters promoting current events or spirit weeks. Only a few other students hung around here during lunch, so it was quiet and secluded enough for me to eat and do whatever I wanted when Mrs. I was gone. Today was one of those days, and I had planned to eat up here and call London to prod her about telling me about this boy she had over last night. In thinking that, I totally forgot about the boy I had over last night.
It's been a long, eventful weekend. Everything that's happened felt like a dream come true, my daydreams bleeding into reality. Days have passed since Chris and I first started talking, and in a matter of days Chris and I have gone from distant to close, as if we didn't just spend the past five years apart. Despite all that, I didn't really know how much everything was going to change. I knew he had his own group of friends, and I had... well, Mrs. Ichikawa.
That's another thing, I thought with a bit of dread. Do I tell him the truth about Mrs. I? Even bigger, do I tell him I've developed a habit for eating lunch with teachers since middle school?
To others, it might sound lame. But my eating with teachers has never been something that's bothered me. I loved all the teachers I've had as company during the last couple years. It was only until Papa had his talk with me did I realize what was wrong with what I was doing. It wasn't the act itself, but the reason behind it. I may have lied to Papa about what I was doing, but I lied to myself about why I was doing it. Trying to blend in with the older crowd wasn't just a preference, but it was a way to hide from my fears instead. And the only other person who would know about those fears made my phone buzz with a call from him. Chris's name spread across the screen. The incessant buzz of vibration felt pestering. Tell him. Do I tell him? I thought as my thumb betrayed me and pressed accept.
"Darce?" said Chris when I answered my phone. "Hey, did you get my text?"
I winced as the lie rolled off my tongue, "Um, no. I didn't. What'd it say?"
"Well, I wanted you to come eat lunch with me and my friends. I'm in the cafeteria."
My toes curled in. I was silent for too long. His voice came through again, questioning. "You there?"
"Yeah, I'm here," I answered, my own voice cracking. Tell him. Talk to him.
"Oh, shit!" he exclaimed before I could put in another word. "Sorry, I didn't even ask you. Are you with some friends?"
Cold dread crawled in me. With that simple assuming question, I was reminded again of my past and faced with the reality of my present. The words slipped out of me without me fully wanting them to.
"No, actually," I said in a faint voice. "I don't have any."
A beat of silence passed, and then his chipper voice. "Oh, well, you can come meet my friends! You kinda met them when we were... erm, fighting... but I told them how we're cool now."
I dug my back harder against the lockers, as if doing so would allow me to hide from what I wanted to do but was absolutely dreading. My mouth continued to betray me as I asked him if he could meet me on the second floor to talk instead.
It only took him a couple of minutes to get up to the second floor, but in that time, I instantly regretted my decision. Why did I feel like I needed to have a dramatic, sit-down conversation with Chris over this? I didn't. I wouldn't talk to him about it, not yet.
He settled down in front of me, sitting criss-cross. He didn't take out any food. Instead, he rested his elbows on his leg and cupped his chin in his hand. "What's wrong?" were his immediate words.
"Nothing." Running with the intention of bailing my last decision, I took hold of a different topic instead. "I just wanted to talk to you about something that I wanted to do."
His eyes twitched into a quick suspecting squint, before he nodded and told me to continue. Feeling relieved he went with my lie, I recounted the afternoon where Jessica and I went through the many photographs she'd taken when we were younger. Chris listened intently when I told him about Jessica's philosophy behind photography and memories, and was nodding at the concept of me journaling in the new year before I even finished talking.
"I like it," he said, leaning back on his arms. "A diary."
"I like to call it memory documentation." Though, technically speaking, yes, I basically wanted to start a diary. "I want to do it for the whole year next year. Just write it all down - as much as I can. The small details, the big details, my thoughts, and my feelings. I want to be able to look back at it and remember all the things I might've forgotten. There's just some things that you can't remember anymore, ya know?."
That's what Jessica made me realize about overarching memories. They're the ones that are looked back on. They're the ones that are remembered the most, but all of them are composed of small memories that make up the big picture. Those small forgotten memories are probably what made it so special in the first place, but it's all categorized under this one moment in your life. These details, once so special and fresh on your mind, will disappear with time; that's where the diary comes in.
"If it's something you really want to do, then go for it," Chris said. "In fact, maybe I can do something like yours. I can collect stuff. You know, memorabilia. Souvenirs from the past."
The corner of my lip tugged into an amused smile. "So... hoarding?"
"I like to call it collecting memories," he teased in the same tone I had used. "Hoarding is something completely different - if you've never watched the show before."
"Do you think we can keep it up for the whole year?"
"I'm pretty down about it. And you?"
"I feel the same."
"Keep each other in check then?" To this, he reached his pinky out for mine, causing me to smile at the remembrance of the cliché but classic Darcy and Chris tradition of pinky promises. He seemed to remember it, too, judging by the knowing smile on his face when I wrapped my pinky around his. Satisfied with our plan, Chris sat back with a sigh. Then he said, "So why did you really call me up here?"
I froze, careful to keep my smile from faltering in surprise. "What do you mean? I wanted to talk to you about the journaling?"
This time, the suspecting squint stayed, and instead of replying, my eyes dropped down to his sneakers. Contrast to his pale skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, and overall bright personality, Chris liked to wear dark clothing. He wore the same oversized hoodie I've seen him wear over and over, black jeans, and some black and white sneakers. Noticing my staring, he wiggled his foot.
"You're stalling."
"Chris, I don't know what you're talking about," I lied, forcing some steeliness into my voice. "I just wanted to eat up here."
His eyebrows creased. "You said you wanted to talk."
"Just talk," I insisted, shaking my head. "Nothing's up."
When his shoulders slumped in resignation, I knew he believed me again. "Okay," he said, finally. "But just know if something's up, I'm here. You can tell me. Even though we haven't talked in years. That's what last night was all about, wasn't?"
At that, I couldn't deny him. He was right, after all. Last night, all I wanted was for him to feel like he could tell me anything and everything, no matter what it was. I wanted him to trust me... Shouldn't I do the same with him?
So, I caved, against everything in me that was screaming "You don't have to tell him!"
But I told him everything. I told him about all the teachers I ate with during lunch, the jobs that I threw all my spare time in, and the lies I told Papa when he asked me about my school life. At one point, Papa was under the impression I joined a community service club and was attending weekly meetings every Tuesday and Thursday. However, in reality, I was really just staying in the library for an hour or so, doing homework to make the lie more believable. For five years, that was my system.
The tension in my body never alleviated, even after I finished spilling everything to Chris. It didn't help that his face was so set as he stared down at his hands, which were now folded tightly in his lap.
"And... all that because of the bullying." He said it more like a fact than a question, but I nodded, a slight smile tugging at the corner of my lip. I wasn't sure if he'd remember, but it seems that part, he didn't need me to catch him up on.
After I was adopted, Papa suggested that I ease back into public school rather than continue being homeschooled like I was in the orphanage. So when third grade came around, I enrolled. I felt like how I felt when I first arrived in the orphanage - too uncomfortable, too shy, and too defensive. Despite that, I met a girl named Jillian, a frizzy haired girl with three of her front teeth missing. She was my partner for the science fair, and we worked together on a project about why the moon glows. When she came over to my apartment to work on it, she met Papa. She found out that this sixty-two year old man was my Papa.
And she told everyone.
From there, I was bullied because I "had a grandpa" as a dad. When I retaliated with information that he adopted me, the bullying stretched to the topic of my parents not wanting me. They fabricated all these different reasons as to why, calling me all sorts of names and spreading all kinds of absurd stories. A lot of them figured if my parents "didn't want me," there was something wrong with me, and that bad something fueled the bullying. When I told Papa, he complained to my teacher and the principal, then took me out of school. I continued on with homeschooling until we moved to California, two years later. Since time had gone by, Papa encouraged me to enroll back in public school again. With the whole move - and the reason behind moving in the first place - I agreed as to not trouble Papa any further.
Little did he know, I wasn't going to put myself in the line of fire ever again. For the five years I spent back in public school, I took solace in eating in teachers' classrooms and any empty space I could find. I cut short any conversation kids would try to have with me out of bitterness for people in my past until nobody talked to me at all. I never put myself in the line of fire again. And because of that, I've never made a friend in school before. I never tried with courage again. Until I willingly talked to Chris. Despite our little spat in the beginning, my efforts paid off.
"Fuck, I-I remember. All of it." His eyes shifted from his hands to the locker, glazing distantly as if the memories were flashing before his eyes. "I came to your place after school. You were crying in your closet for a while so I just sat outside and waited 'til you told me. You told me kids were making fun of you because of Richard and because you were adopted. When I went home, I told my parents about it, and they explained to me how shitty it was. But I never imagined it would hurt you this much."
For a moment, I felt dejected about it, too. I didn't have the experiences other kids had, with their decorated birthday lockers and nicely written notes from friends to display on the front of their binder. But then I remembered Mrs. Abaroa's hilarious story times, Mr. Abel's astounding traveling tales, and Miss Hines's comfort during a particularly hard time in my life. I remembered the different people I met, the experiences I had, and the skills I obtained throughout the jobs I had. My teen years weren't exactly typical, but then again, neither was my childhood. Maybe typical just wasn't my way of life.
At that, I found myself smiling, an innermost contentedness settling in the center of my chest like a flower blooming, open and alive. Chris, on the other hand, looked miserable on my behalf.
"I'm so sorry, Darce," he murmured, but I shook my head.
"No, don't. It really wasn't all that bad," I tried to assure him. "Papa just had a talk with me the other day saying he doesn't want the past interfering with how I live my present anymore. But, honestly, I've been okay with how I've lived my life so far. I may not have friends here at school, but Mrs. Ichikawa is a sweet woman and I have everyone at the café to make me feel like I'm not completely alone."
"Well..." He gave a small shrug of his shoulders, looking almost awkward as he averted his eyes. "You have me, too, ya know."
His words shouldn't have induced my heart rate the way it did, but it certainly did. It's a good thing he kept speaking, because I didn't think I'd be able to.
"I don't think you should have to worry about being scared to put yourself out there, Darce. This is high school. We're not stupid kids anymore. Or, well, some of us aren't." I laughed as he grimaced. No doubt he was thinking of a few faces. "But, what I'm trying to say is" - he nudged his shoe with mine again - "I got your back."
His words made my heart keep its fast pace as nerves and anticipation and hope shook it. At the same time, however, I felt myself wanting to deny him any opportunity. The ingrained defense I've developed for myself was rising, but the desire for something more than being alone was a force to be battled with.
In a voice so weak I wasn't sure at first if he heard me, I asked, "Do you really?"
And with a smile so small but so comforting (in a way only Christopher Radley could) he reached for my hand and, once more, wrapped his pinky around my own in a silent promise.
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this was sooo incredibly hard for me, as it was the first actual chapter i needed to write from scratch. i was also so busy with my last semester, so thank you for those of you who were understanding and supporting. do know that i am a college student and human struggling with life and (tbh, confidence problems), so i'm not a professional writer or anything!
in 2019, i want to continue to strive to write more. however, i've realized that i'm quite afraid of wattpad. i talk more about it in my new post on love, jess, which is located as a story on my profile. do please give it a read - i'll post the external link to it if you're on web browser as well. and let me know what you think of the chapter <3
the next chapter for this story will come from the past version, but needs some re-writing. i hope you can be patient with me x
i'm gonna go sleep now so i can wake up and enjoy my 20th birthday (HAHA A WEIRD SENTENCE TO WRITE I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M 20 OKAY BYE)
c.q. - what do you want to accomplish in 2019?