Chapter 3: Chapter Three Soliloquy |Scott|
I got home later than usual. Although as long as I got home before my parents did, it didn't matter. Which was perfect because I wasn't in the mood to explain why I came home late.
I'd rather go bungee jumping with my own entrails than tell my parents about the letters. So I'd have to lie—I couldn't lie. I have a nervous tick that gives me away one hundred percent of the time. My face twitches and my right arm jerks. I imagine it's very unpleasant—and somewhat freighting—to look at.
It wasn't just me not wanting to fail at lying and embarrass myself. I needed to be alone with my thoughts. That short conversation with Rosette—a girl I never talked to—gave me a lot to mentally digest. I poured out my heart and filled up my mind to the point of overflow.
That warranted at thirty-minute thinking session.
I made my way upstairs to my room. There was an old messenger bag in my closet I swapped it for my ripped one. I grabbed my letters and set my bag next to my door. No homework for me tonight. Too many thoughts; not enough motivation.
I got on my knees and slid a box from under my bed. The box was so full the lid didn't fit. That box was my heart. Filled with my adoration and obsession for Cecile, struggling to contain it.
"I'll find a new box," I said placing the letters on top and sliding it back under the bed.
I held onto the one Rosette read and pulled myself onto my bed.
The ceiling stared back at me as I let my thoughts fill my head. They came in like rain, dropping into my mind one after the other steadily raising as they pushed against mental floodgates.
Eventually, my thoughts overwhelmed me and I needed to speak them. Ever since I became aware of my own thoughts, I've had a problem with over thinking. Saying what I had in my head out loud helped me organize my ideas better and stopped me from hyper focusing on small—often unnecessary—details.
I liked having help when I did it though, so I often looked to a friend of mine I called Larry. Larry was that inner voice ineveryone had in their heads. The voice that recited your thoughts to either critique or clarify them.
I liked to give my inner voice a name and a face. I think and he speaks—I liked that dynamic.
I imagined a tall guy in his twenties wearing a flannel shirt and ripped jeans.
"Lost my letters today," I started.
That's your fault, Scottie. Why would you carry your love letters around at school?
"Yeah that was really dumb. I won't keep anymore letters at school."
Had anyone else found those, you'd be up for social execution. Like those kids would tear you apart. You're so lucky Rosette found them for you. Did you thank her?
"No, I didn't,"
Dude... that's cold. She saved your stupid ass.
"I didn't have the time. I'll thank her tomorrow. I can't wait to talk to her again."
Another crush?
"No. No. I find her fascinating. I've never talked to someone and had to look into myself and be honest about how I feel. For the first time I said I loved Cecile out loud. Until now I've only thought it."
I looked at the letter in my hand. At the end of it I'd wrote: P. S I love you.
"Or wrote it down. You know what this means?"
You'll write letters in gel pen?
"No—well yes... I did get a few new ones."
"It means I've taken a step forward. Now, I think I'm ready to want Cecile."
As a girlfriend?
"Yeah. Cecile as a girlfriend. I like that idea." I smiled.
I imagined Larry smiled too.
Breaking out of the creepy stalker phase. I like it. So what's your plan?
I sat up.
"Don't know. Maybe I'll talk to Rosette more."
You think'll help?
"Worth a shot. I can only came up with so much talking to myself."
Why not talk to Tyrone? He's your best friend and, you told him about Cecile first.
"Tyrone isn't the type of guy talk about thoughts and emotions. He dosen't like it. Besides I need a fresh take on this."
I imagined Larry nodding. I had finished talking, so I tucked Larry back into the corner of mind until I needed him again. I laid down and turned to my side.
Talking to Rosette would definitely help me figure things out. She struck me as the quiet type to said something that should be in The Prophet whenever she opened her mouth.
That would come in handy.
But that wasn't the only reason. I hoped to get to know her better, our next conversation should focus on her. With any luck talking to her will be a lot more fun than talking to Larry.
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