soft tank top, and lightweight cashmere sweater of the same pastel shade as the top. I picked a pair of sandals that would pick up an accent color in the skirt from the dozens of pairs in the closet. When at last I lay down, I was too troubled to sleep. I felt bad for being so rude to Zell today. It was uncharacteristic for me to be impolite to anyone. I needed to apologize to Zell tomorrow. I had barely looked at Zell today, but all I had heard all day was how hot he looked. I couldn’t wait to get to school the next day to see if he was as unbelievably handsome as everyone was saying, or if we all just had an overactive reaction to the new guy in school. Then, there was art class. What happened there? Was it all a dream? It seemed real to me, too real. I was not entirely convinced what had happened during the video in art class had been a dream.
Finally, I drifted off to sleep. It seemed as though I had only been asleep for a few minutes when I awoke suddenly. I thought someone had touched me. My eyes slowly adjusted to the dark and focused on someone standing in the corner of my bedroom. Frightened, I fumbled for the switch to turn on the lamp beside my bed. As the light flooded the room, I could see that no one was there. I must have been dreaming again. I was probably just imagining everything, but here in my room, in the middle of the night, I was not so sure anymore. Anything seemed possible. My thoughts immediately went to Zell. Perhaps, he was a not the good guy he seemed to be. There was definitely something off about him just showing up in Dacula, Georgia saying he knew me. Perhaps, he is a psychopath like Ted Bundy, nice on the eyes, but having the heart of a killer. My blood ran cold, and I shivered. Sleep was almost impossible.
I was nervous the next morning. I washed my hair over and over again to make it shine. I even rolled it on a few electric rollers. The last time I rolled my hair was the previous spring for junior-senior prom. I must be losing my mind, but I could not stop. I was out of control. I was dressing for someone who may not give me the time of day especially since I was someone else’s girlfriend. Nothing I did makes sense to me anymore. I carefully put on make-up so that my complexion was smooth and even. My hands shook as I made toast for breakfast. Even with the elaborate dressing ritual that I had just performed, it was still too early to leave for school.
Dad walked in the kitchen and jumped back startled dropping the paper he had just retrieved from the sidewalk.
“Annie, I didn’t expect you in the kitchen so early. You surprised me,” Dad said adjusting his glasses. “Is it picture day at school?” he added noticing that I was not in jeans and a tee-shirt.
Dad didn’t intrude much in my life. His faith had been his profession and family since my mom died. I th ink he was afraid of attachment. I think he was fearful that he would lose me too and have his heart shredded once more. The only time I have seen him cry was the day my mother died in the accident. I had been thrown from the car and survived. Sometimes in those early years of her death, I would catch him looking at me strangely. I often thought he must wonder why I didn’t die instead of her. I was almost a mirror image of my mother. My mother wore her hair short, so I wore mine long. She was so beautiful that she never wore make-up, so I did. She was a real Beaver Cleaver’s mom. You know, she vacuumed wearing pearls, so I was the biggest tomboy ever. Not because I didn’t want to look like my mom, but I did it for my dad’s sake. The less I reminded him of her, the happier he seemed to appear. I knew it must rip his heart out every time he looks at me because I could have been her clone.
“You look beautiful, dear,” he complimented me nervously adjusting his glasses again. My dad had trouble showing emotion. Emotional issues made him a basket case. He wasn’t that way before she died. He had shriveled up
Finally, I drifted off to sleep. It seemed as though I had only been asleep for a few minutes when I awoke suddenly. I thought someone had touched me. My eyes slowly adjusted to the dark and focused on someone standing in the corner of my bedroom. Frightened, I fumbled for the switch to turn on the lamp beside my bed. As the light flooded the room, I could see that no one was there. I must have been dreaming again. I was probably just imagining everything, but here in my room, in the middle of the night, I was not so sure anymore. Anything seemed possible. My thoughts immediately went to Zell. Perhaps, he was a not the good guy he seemed to be. There was definitely something off about him just showing up in Dacula, Georgia saying he knew me. Perhaps, he is a psychopath like Ted Bundy, nice on the eyes, but having the heart of a killer. My blood ran cold, and I shivered. Sleep was almost impossible.
I was nervous the next morning. I washed my hair over and over again to make it shine. I even rolled it on a few electric rollers. The last time I rolled my hair was the previous spring for junior-senior prom. I must be losing my mind, but I could not stop. I was out of control. I was dressing for someone who may not give me the time of day especially since I was someone else’s girlfriend. Nothing I did makes sense to me anymore. I carefully put on make-up so that my complexion was smooth and even. My hands shook as I made toast for breakfast. Even with the elaborate dressing ritual that I had just performed, it was still too early to leave for school.
Dad walked in the kitchen and jumped back startled dropping the paper he had just retrieved from the sidewalk.
“Annie, I didn’t expect you in the kitchen so early. You surprised me,” Dad said adjusting his glasses. “Is it picture day at school?” he added noticing that I was not in jeans and a tee-shirt.
Dad didn’t intrude much in my life. His faith had been his profession and family since my mom died. I th ink he was afraid of attachment. I think he was fearful that he would lose me too and have his heart shredded once more. The only time I have seen him cry was the day my mother died in the accident. I had been thrown from the car and survived. Sometimes in those early years of her death, I would catch him looking at me strangely. I often thought he must wonder why I didn’t die instead of her. I was almost a mirror image of my mother. My mother wore her hair short, so I wore mine long. She was so beautiful that she never wore make-up, so I did. She was a real Beaver Cleaver’s mom. You know, she vacuumed wearing pearls, so I was the biggest tomboy ever. Not because I didn’t want to look like my mom, but I did it for my dad’s sake. The less I reminded him of her, the happier he seemed to appear. I knew it must rip his heart out every time he looks at me because I could have been her clone.
“You look beautiful, dear,” he complimented me nervously adjusting his glasses again. My dad had trouble showing emotion. Emotional issues made him a basket case. He wasn’t that way before she died. He had shriveled up
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