spring weather. She said she needed to get to the store for more formula. I said I would go, but she insisted. She had dark circles under her eyes; it had been a hard go the last two weeks. I thought she just needed some air and a little peace and quiet.
She kissed me and Stells Good-Bye and I swear I saw a flicker in her eyes. The flicker that later told me she wasn't ever coming back. She grabbed her coat and purse and that was the last I saw of her. I immediately thought she was kidnapped, in an accident, hurt or lost somewhere. There was no explanation for it. The police tried to calm me down and make me see the obvious conclusion - that she bolted. I wouldn't accept it and grew so agitated by them. My mother came over and basically sent me to my room to calm down.
Then I found the letter. It was rolled up like a scroll and tied with a red ribbon in my sock drawer. I could barely read the words; my hands were shaking so much. In a nutshell she didn't want this life, it wasn't what she signed up for. She loved me, but she's just not mother material. She couldn't stay, hoped I would understand in time, but I was never to try to find her. I never knew whether she noticed or not, but the note was tucked right next to the ring box. Maybe she found it and it scared her, maybe not, I'll never be sure. I felt so much guilt about it, like it was my fault. Maybe I was overbearing, crowding her; she was a free sprit and I was traditional and boring. I stopped beating myself up about it awhile ago, but I still think of her almost every day and wonder if we ever cross her mind.
Chapter 11
Parlez Vous Francais
STELLA
It's Monday morning and I just can't wait to get to school. I haven't felt like this in well - ever. I woke up at the crack of dawn wide-awake. What am I going to wear today?! It has to be cool but not overly done and pretentious. It has to he sexy but not slutty. This will be the first time I've seen him since work on Saturday. He left with bags of clothes, but no mention of my number or a date or anything, just a 'see you Monday' and away he went. Typical guy.
I'm going to play it cool, and wait for him to make the first move. That is if he actually will. On Saturday, I thought without a doubt he was flirting. As I internalized every word we said to each other since then (as all girls do and anyone who says differently is a liar), self-doubt is making a nice argument and now I'm not so sure. Whatever the case, I'm a hot mess, littered with insecurities and the intense obsession to look really cute today. Who is this girl anyways? I think I liked her better when she was laid back and cared more for Typography Documentaries then boys.
I end up in skinny jeans, pale pink ballet flats and a white shirt with the buttons undone just enough to see the very tip top of my light peach lacy bra. A little peek but nothing to get Mrs. Dexter, our principal and proper fashion nazi, in a tizzy. I piled on lots of necklaces and nervously waited for Gabs, chewing my nails to the cuticle. I know, filthy habit. Murrie is under going the switch to summer tires so thankfully Gabs can pick me up and I can avoid the stinky bus.
It looks really nice today so I don't even grab a coat. It's funny how naked you feel that first warm day of the year when you forgo the jacket and step outside without your winter armour; like you left the house with no pants on.
I grab my bag and aviator sunglasses as I hear her roaring up the driveway.
Jumping in the Subaru, Gabs eyes me speculatively. "Well well well, aren't we miss Glamour girl today. Quelle est l'occasion speciale?" she goads, judging my wardrobe blatantly as I fiddle with my seat belt, unable to get the sucker to click in. I can't hide anything from this girl, so I avoid her eyes and try not to start giggling maniacally; I do this when I'm nervous. Never sit beside me at a funeral, I'm so inappropriate.
I scramble to clear my brain of everything Ash. Dead puppies, war,
She kissed me and Stells Good-Bye and I swear I saw a flicker in her eyes. The flicker that later told me she wasn't ever coming back. She grabbed her coat and purse and that was the last I saw of her. I immediately thought she was kidnapped, in an accident, hurt or lost somewhere. There was no explanation for it. The police tried to calm me down and make me see the obvious conclusion - that she bolted. I wouldn't accept it and grew so agitated by them. My mother came over and basically sent me to my room to calm down.
Then I found the letter. It was rolled up like a scroll and tied with a red ribbon in my sock drawer. I could barely read the words; my hands were shaking so much. In a nutshell she didn't want this life, it wasn't what she signed up for. She loved me, but she's just not mother material. She couldn't stay, hoped I would understand in time, but I was never to try to find her. I never knew whether she noticed or not, but the note was tucked right next to the ring box. Maybe she found it and it scared her, maybe not, I'll never be sure. I felt so much guilt about it, like it was my fault. Maybe I was overbearing, crowding her; she was a free sprit and I was traditional and boring. I stopped beating myself up about it awhile ago, but I still think of her almost every day and wonder if we ever cross her mind.
Chapter 11
Parlez Vous Francais
STELLA
It's Monday morning and I just can't wait to get to school. I haven't felt like this in well - ever. I woke up at the crack of dawn wide-awake. What am I going to wear today?! It has to be cool but not overly done and pretentious. It has to he sexy but not slutty. This will be the first time I've seen him since work on Saturday. He left with bags of clothes, but no mention of my number or a date or anything, just a 'see you Monday' and away he went. Typical guy.
I'm going to play it cool, and wait for him to make the first move. That is if he actually will. On Saturday, I thought without a doubt he was flirting. As I internalized every word we said to each other since then (as all girls do and anyone who says differently is a liar), self-doubt is making a nice argument and now I'm not so sure. Whatever the case, I'm a hot mess, littered with insecurities and the intense obsession to look really cute today. Who is this girl anyways? I think I liked her better when she was laid back and cared more for Typography Documentaries then boys.
I end up in skinny jeans, pale pink ballet flats and a white shirt with the buttons undone just enough to see the very tip top of my light peach lacy bra. A little peek but nothing to get Mrs. Dexter, our principal and proper fashion nazi, in a tizzy. I piled on lots of necklaces and nervously waited for Gabs, chewing my nails to the cuticle. I know, filthy habit. Murrie is under going the switch to summer tires so thankfully Gabs can pick me up and I can avoid the stinky bus.
It looks really nice today so I don't even grab a coat. It's funny how naked you feel that first warm day of the year when you forgo the jacket and step outside without your winter armour; like you left the house with no pants on.
I grab my bag and aviator sunglasses as I hear her roaring up the driveway.
Jumping in the Subaru, Gabs eyes me speculatively. "Well well well, aren't we miss Glamour girl today. Quelle est l'occasion speciale?" she goads, judging my wardrobe blatantly as I fiddle with my seat belt, unable to get the sucker to click in. I can't hide anything from this girl, so I avoid her eyes and try not to start giggling maniacally; I do this when I'm nervous. Never sit beside me at a funeral, I'm so inappropriate.
I scramble to clear my brain of everything Ash. Dead puppies, war,
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