Breath of Heaven -Segment Two-
Segment Two
It was weird how there was a certain electrical currents that flowed
through me whenever I heard Taylor's voice. The other guys I had been
infatuated with had never caused such an intensity to quake from the depths
of me. A guy could never give me goosebumps just by brushing his arm
against mine; never cause my heart to race and my stomach to churn with
hyper active butterflies. Whenever I would mention him to Meggie, I would
find myself pausing just a few moments to savor the sweet taste of his name
on my tongue. That was another thing I found Taylor infecting besides my
heart: my mind. Somehow, over the course of a week, he had taken over
ninty-five percent of my brain.
I need to stop thinking about him as much as I do. I know more about my
hermit next door neighbor than I do about Taylor; but that is all changing,
thanks to our hour long conversations we have on the telephone every night.
He is like those bad pop songs the radio disc jockey plays all the time: I
can't seem to get him out of my mind. I do not think it is heathy for him
to have such a strong hold on me when I haven't known him for more than a
week. I am just setting myself up for a heart break, but, for the first
time in my life, I am willing to open myself completely to him. To let him
know me like no other. I am willing to put up with the heart ache his
absence might cause, willing to give up the control I have already lost,
just for the chance to be with him.
"Talked to him lately?" Meggie asked the question I knew she had had on
her mind since she picked me up. We strolled casually down the tiled
floors of the mall, passing stores that only slightly held my interest.
Clothes from Contempo and Wet Seal were never my personal style.
"Taylor? Yeah, last night," I told her, trying to hide the giddiness in my
voice and replace it with a casual tone.
"Really? What did you two talk about?" I looked at her from the corner of
my eye, small grin etching into a corner of my mouth. Meggie was a curious
person, always wanting to know what was going on, especially when it came
to someone's personally life. Yep, that was her: Gossip Extrodinaire.
"Oh, you know, stuff." I didn't want to let her in on too much, considering
she may take it the wrong way and spread it around that I have a boyfriend.
Not something I wanted to happen.
"What kinda stuff. Knowing you, something serious." Her last sentence
proved how much she knew about me. Ever since birth I have been well above
the average child maturity level. I was more, how should I say,
introspective then most junior high students. I was always the one to
carry on a serious conversation.
"Oh," I let out a small girlish squeal. "The Gap! I hear they're having a
massive sale." Shopping in the preppie-esque store was the only thing I
found to deter Meggie from further questioning. Billie Holiday was playing
softly from the speakers in the ceiling, her raspy voice and clean lyrics
soothing my nerves; teenagers of all kinds were scattered about the store,
shopping for summer wear, no doubt.
Walking to the back of the store where the sales racks were, I shuffled
through the cotton shirts. "This would look cute on you," I told Meggie,
holding up the article of clothing to her body.
"You're avoiding the question. What did you two talk about?" She wasn't
letting up.
"I don't know what to tell you. We talk about stuff. What do you and
Randy talk about?" I walked aimlessly over to the jeans stacked in the
shelves along the back wall. "I need some more jeans. Low rise or boot cut?"
"Randy and I talk about... stuff."
"Exactly my point. My conversations with Taylor," I paused, enjoying the
flipping sensation in my abdomen, "aren't anything out of the ordinary.
He's a guy, I'm a girl, we talk. Nothing big."
She must have accepted my explanation, because she soon said, "Get the low
rise." I smiled at her, thankful her questioning had ceased. Picking out
my size from the plethora of denim, I ambled over to the cash register,
waiting my turn to purchase the jeans.
"You know," I said looking over at the adolescent girls giggling at the
boys that were throwing flirty glances at them from across the store, "I
remember the hellish days of junior high."
"I remember the annoying boys who used to talk in Beavis and Butt-Head
voices when reciting a lame pick-up line."
"Ahh, memories," I sigh, stepping closer to the register.
"You're such a dork." Meggie slapped her forehead, exaggerating her statement.
"Of course I am. I hang out with you." I smiled devilishly at her as she
pushed me over out of line.
"Dork," she muttered in mock annoyance. I simply laughed, regaining my
spot back in line.
"Call me later," Meggie hollered from the car window as she backed out of
my drive way.
"I will. Thanks!" I waved, and then turned, running for my house.
Both my parents' cars were in the garage, and I could hear shrieks of
laughter as I got closer to the entrance to my house in my garage. Opening
the door, a gust of cool air hit me, and I sigh in relief. Closing the
door, I threw my keys on the small table that leaned against the wall,
shouting, "I'm home!", to alert my family of my presense.
"Hannie! Hannie!" My four-year-old sister came bounding from a room in the
house. Her blonde, curly locks were held tight in a pony tail, and her
smile was bright enough to light the room. She was not a planned child by
all means, or, in my mother's terminology, an 'oops baby'. She was born
right before my freshemen year. Due to the gap in our ages, I never went
through the sibling rivalry stage like I had with other younger brother,
Matthew. I took care of her and loved her as if she were my daughter,
which explained why I called her 'my baby' when I showed her off to my
friends. She was almost a clone of me when I was her age, and my father
made sure of telling me that every chance he got.
"Hey, Bailey," I said picking her up in my arms. "How was your day?"
She locked her hands tightly around my neck before explaining her many
enterprises to me. "We went to Grammie's today. And I saw Buster! And
Mommy got me a new toy... " I listened as she rambled on about her
adventures at our grandmother's house. My father's parents lived in Tulsa,
which made our move seem not as horrific. I wasn't as close to my father's
mother than I was with my mom's mother, though. Bailey was still talking
about playing with Buster, our grandmother's beloved dog, when I walked
into the kitchen looking for messages.
"Bailey," I interrupted her rambling, "did anyone call for me today?"
"MmmHmm!"
"Who?" Was my sing-song question to her sing-song response.
"A boy!" She giggled at the thought.
"What boy?" I asked, praying it would be Taylor.
"Mommy said his name was Tayer." She didn't quite pronounciate the 'l'
properly, but I knew who she was talking about. The smile I had on my face
stretched even further on my lips.
Before I could put Bailey back on the ground to call Taylor back, my mother
came prancing into the kitchen where we were. Her spectacles were riding
low on the bridge on her nose, her dark auburn hair was mixed with the few
grey hairs she had at forty-four. "Did you just get home, Hannah?" I
nodded. "Okay. Oh, I want you to eat dinner with us tonight." I had been
spending a lot of time at my friends' studying for finals. I never had
time to go home to eat with my family so I opted to eat at my friends'
houses. My mom was never too keen on that.
"Yeah, sure."
"Taylor called while you were out."
"I know," I said once again trying to hide the foolish grin on my face. I
attempted changing the subject so I could dodge the questioning I knew
would come. "Need any help with dinner?"
My mother looked up from the pan she was laying the sticky ricotta cheese
in; she had a puzzled look on her face, a mixture of disbelief and
merriment. "You, Miss
I-Don't-Freely-Give-Away-My-Help-Unless-Forced-By-Punishment, want to help
me with dinner?!" Was it just me, or was she surprised? "What a revelation!"
"Yeah, yeah," I murmured in her direction and rolled my eyes at her mock
marvel. "This is a once in a life time thing, so I suggest you take me up
on the offer."
Her blue eyes were still sparkling with amazement behind her framed glasses
as she handed me the lettuce to make our nightly salad. That was my
mother's solution to everything: don't have an appetizer for dinner? Salad
was the magic answer.
"So," my mother began casually, "who is this Taylor boy?"
"He's not a boy?" She looked at me skeptically. "Don't take that the wrong
way. You're disgusting, mom!"
"What?! I didn't say anything! Bailey, did I say anything?" Bailey looked
up from the writing she was doing with the refridgerator letter magnets.
"No, mommy," she said innocently, oblivious to my mother's sarcasm. Mom
smiled back at her, winking lightly.
Comfortable silence followed; I concentrated on cutting the lettuce small
enough for my mother's liking, yet big enough for my father's liking. I
live with a complicated family. Mom was sifting through our large can
collection for the right spaghetti sauce, when she finally decided to
broach a subject. "So, who is he?" Her question was spoken freely and
with ease. My mother and I have been getting along better now than when I
was in the weird, pesky stages of early teenage life. Our fights, then,
were battled weekly and amazingly loud. Yet, the fact that I shared top
secret information, knowledge that was important to a thirteen-year-old,
was evidence that no matter how bad our fights were she was still my friend.
I sigh, rolling my eyes simutaneously. "He's just a guy I met at Nate's
party last week. No big deal."
"He sure sounds like a big deal,"she muttered suggestively.
Deciding the best way to stop this conversation was to change the topic, I
quickly asked, "When is dad supposed to be home?" I swiftly washed and
drained the lettuce, throwing the crisp green vegetable into a bowl.
"Well, uh, let's see... My car is in the driveway... Hmm. I wonder when
I'll be home... " My father made his grand entrance mimicking the red neck
accent he had come to master. My dad was nothing short of a goofball. He
could always pull off being dumb; embarrassing me to no end in front of
friends; saying mindless sentences when joking around with his brothers.
You name it, he did. But, he did make for a good laugh at times.
"Sorry!" I said drastically. "I am blonde you know... " My absolve for
anything I did that was mortifying. Us blondes may be air-headed at times,
but we always have an excuse.
"Did you just get home from the mall?" He was beginning to sound fatherly.
"Get me anything?" Maybe not.
"No. I just got some jeans." I was suddenly antsy to get up to my room
and return Taylor's phone call. My mom shoved a tomato in my face,
wordlessly telling me to cut it for the salad. Sighing once again, I began
to cut the red sphere.
"So, Nance, what's for dinner?"
"Spaghetti and salad." And so began another boring conversation between my
parents.
My thoughts drifted to the person they had been centered on for most of my
week: Taylor. I had learned more about him in the six days I had known
him, it amazed me. I was never one to be as open as I was with him, when I
had only known Tay for such a short amount of time. He had an
understanding that set me at ease.
Oddly enough, I would find myself enthralled by stories about his crazy
family. Just being able to know him on a more personal basis, to make the
angel I had drew him as seem more human, was enough to feed my hungry
curiousity.
My contemplation was quickly shattered as someone, most likely my little
brother, slammed the front door. A blur of color flashed by, and came to
an abrupt hault at the opposite end of the kitchen. Matthew's, my brother,
sandy blonde hair reflected the glimmer omitting from the kitchen lights.
His lanky, fourteen-year-old frame stood tall as he picked through the
fruit basket and grab an apple. After biting out a chunk, which nearly
consumed the entire apple, he spun around, revealing his new, braceless smile.
"I'm home." His innocence was manufactured. Matt was never innocent.
"Unfortunately," I said sacastically.
"Aww, Hannie! I knew you would miss me!" He glided across the tile on his
rollerblades and threw his arms around me, bending down to kiss my cheek.
His brown eyes sparkled when he realized his mission to annoy me was
working. "What ya' feedin' us, mom?"
"Spaghetti. Now, take off those rollerblades before you scuff my floor any
further," my mother commanded, never turning her back to look at the
charade Matt was putting on. This was a nightly thing. I think he gets it
from Dad.
"Sounds great! I'm going back over to Andy's to finish our hockey game
after dinner, though. I have to maintain my position as 'Hockey Champion
of the World'!" Matt proclaimed before exiting the kitchen.
"Ego alert." It was said so that only I could hear it.
Matt was only home when food was on the table. He somehow thought our
house was a fast food stop, always leading friends through the kitchen to
pick up some food, before leaving to finish whatever sport they were
playing. Boys!
"That kid... " Dad chuckled to himslef before withdrawing to finish
whatever business he was doing before hand.
"Hannah, set the table, will you?" Realizing I wouldn't be able to contact
Taylor until after dinner, I covered the freshly made salad with a paper
towel before getting the plates out of the cabinet. Grabbing the proper
amount of silverware, I pulled the place mats out of the drawer they were
kept in.
"Bailey, want to help me set the table?" Making sure my tone was exuberant
enough to encourage a four-year-old to want to help do chores, I smiled
brightly. Her nod was nothing short of emphatic. "Then take these place
mats and follow me."
That night at dinner, after saying grace, my family sat together enjoying
the Italian delicacy; I watched the same scene I saw every night. Matt,
despite his childish personality, was trying to teach Bailey how to spin
the spaghetti around her fork properly, which didn't work too well
considering her noodles were cut small. My mother and father both took
turns listening to our days, while somehow carrying on a conversation of
their own. As complicated as they maybe, they always seemed to make me smile.
******
Go back
"The Writings on the Wall..."
