Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76172 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76172 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Wanting to escape my life, I told him I loved him after, the warmth of his skin against mine giving me the courage that was always out of reach until that moment. Like any man in his right mind would do, he told me what happened between us was a mistake. I can’t blame him for being the sane one in the moment. I knew then I didn’t love him, but I saw him as a way out of Broken Bow. Rightfully so, he got dressed and scurried away like a mouse caught in the kitchen in the middle of the night. We haven’t spoken since. As I watch him mow, he doesn’t once look up at my window despite him having done it often last summer. In part, that’s what gave me the courage to approach him. He was always the older guy across the street, the one out of reach because of the three-year difference in our ages. He was a senior when I was a freshman and completely untouchable.
I left the curtain closed, the stiff fabric falling from my fingers, relegating me right back to a world filled with artificial light in a home I’ve never really felt love in.
Sighing, I retake my place inside of my small closet and pull a box close to me. A wave of nostalgia hits me as I pull the flaps open to reveal several journals.
I’m known for always having one with me. I’ve carried them my entire life. Since I have nothing but time on my hands, I start from the very first one. I recall labeling each of them as I got older. It was done in a chaotic time in my life, and I felt like having control over this was, in part, having control over uncontrollable things in my life.
The first one was from kindergarten. I can practically hear my teacher when she told the class that writing every day would make us superstars. She smiled at me every time she saw me with a notebook in my hands. I know now I did it because I craved her approval.
My cheeks swell, a small smile playing on my lips as I flip through the pages of crude drawings and letters of the alphabet I practiced relentlessly. I run my fingers over the stick figure family of five. Everyone had a wide smile on their faces, and it makes me wish I’d known at the time to write the dates down.
I had a brother once upon a time. I know the second boy in the drawing was my brother’s best friend, Emmett Wilson. They were inseparable, and I fought to spend time with them as often as I could. But the nearly twelve-year age difference meant they were practically grown before I was capable of forming memories of them.
Vaughn died when I was six, a casualty of a war my parents swear he never should’ve gotten involved in. They blamed his best friend for joining the Marine Corps in the first place, but my earliest memories of my brother involved him being excited about traveling the world and defending his country. The plaque on the wall at my school declares my brother a hero, but my parents claim to this day that he died because of Emmett’s selfishness.
I used to hate the man, but as I’ve gotten a little older, I know what it’s like to want to leave this small town. I know what it’s like to consider all the options in order to walk away and never look back. Maybe that’s what Vaughn felt as well. Maybe Emmett made the suggestion of joining the Marine Corps, but I doubt the man bribed him into joining.
A pattern begins where I stop writing my name and begin writing Vaughn’s. Several pages later, I come across Emmett’s name, the first one on the page written in perfect block letters, followed by a child’s handwriting, trying to mimic it. He had to have written this in here all those years ago.
I flip the page, the rough alphabet letters transforming into hearts. I don’t recall having a crush on Emmett Wilson, but the evidence of it is right before my eyes.
I run my finger over the heavy-handed words. I’ll marry Devyn Malloy when I’m 30.
My name is written in nearly illegible cursive. His signature written under the declaration is nearly as impossible to read.
I close my eyes, trying to recall that day, but the memories are just too old. Maybe I was just too young for them to stick.
I flip the page again, reading other promises made. Vaughn promising me he’ll take me to the store for candy under the stipulation that I leave him alone for three hours. My mom promising me the new My Little Pony toy. Dad promising me I could stay up late if I helped clean the garage.