Now that makes be most sense to me of all the suggestions.
Wow. There are so many things to consider that my head’s spinning. Did Arnold do all this stuff for Brooke? I mean I really doubt that he whispered in Brooke’s ear or helped others, but I know for a fact that he’s a good dancer.
I read the list three times, jotting down ideas on note cards. I then tape up everything on my bathroom mirror so that I can review the suggestions often. The last card I wrote I hang in the most prominent location, right at eye leveclass="underline"
If you’re going to ever win the prize, you’ve got to tell the prize you want it.
I take a deep breath and nod at my reflection. It’s time.
While I still have the nerve, I march out to the kitchen and grab my phone, then quickly dial Brooke’s number. I’m frustrated when her phone goes directly to voicemail, but I attempt to leave a message anyway.
Hey Brooke, it’s Nathan. I’d like to take you to dinner tonight so we can talk. How’s seven p.m.?
I pause for a moment. Was that too pushy, or appropriately direct? Damn. I better finish this up.
So give me a call…okay thanks…bye.
I stare at my phone for a moment and then remember that I haven’t hung up, so I nervously hit the end button. It occurs to me that maybe I should text her too since I can control my words better, and not sound like an idiot.
Hi Brooke, just left you a voicemail about dinner tonight. Let me know if seven is good.
I hit send. Moments later I get a reply.
Sorry, can’t do dinner, at Arnauld’s now.
Damn. A wave of panic washes over me, and my woo-ing plan takes a back seat to my fear. My fingers shake as I type crazy words I shouldn’t text.
Just needed to let you know that I’m not going to let you marry him.
There…I said it. I feel sick and triumphant at the same time. I can’t believe I just texted that.
Is that so?
Thank God she isn’t mad at me. But her calm reply just fuels my fire.
Are you going to marry him?
You just told me that you weren’t going to let that happen
But would you have tried?
I’m curious now…what would you’ve done to stop it?
Ride up on a horse and carry you off in your wedding gown.
Very dramatic
I mean it. You can’t marry that ass.
The ass is getting off the phone. Can we talk about this tomorrow?
Tonight. I insist.
I don’t know how long this argument will take. Tomorrow…please Nathan, I will explain everything then, I promise.
And just like that she’s gone. I watch her words fade back into the screen, the blue background a cold infinity I can’t penetrate.
Instinctively my fingers move over the tiny keyboard, willing the words I had wanted to tell her to materialize. Slowly, deliberately, I spell out my truth as if each letter is a sign I’m posting on the road of this twisted journey.
i l o v e y o u b r o o k e
I get overwhelmed as I reread my message for her. I thought we had more time than this. I’m fighting back waves of frustration to know that she’s with him even if they’re fighting. Couples fight and make up all the time, and there are still enough pieces of their puzzle I’m missing to make me uneasy. There’s a devastating fear of what may never be mine…with the absolute understanding that the only thing I really want, is the one thing I may never have. I keep typing, adding on.
i l o v e y o u b r o o k e w i t h a l l m y h e a r t
I study the words, rubbing my finger across the screen over and over, wishing she could understand that she’s everything to me.
But instead of hitting send, I delete the message and close the screen. This is so much bigger than a text. I need to face her with my truth. Tomorrow will be the day.
Animate Me / Chapter Nineteen / Stalking 101
“Look Mack, just what’s going on around here?” ~Daffy Duckxviii
Is five a.m. too early to call? That seems like a perfectly respectable time to call, even if it’s still dark out. I pace back and forth in my kitchen, glancing at my watch every minute or so. I picture Brooke curled up asleep like an angel, and it’s the only thing keeping me from hitting the send button on my cell phone.
At six a.m., after choking down a Pop Tart and my second cup of coffee, my resistance finally fails. With my hands shaking I text her:
Hi Brooke, can I take you to breakfast? I’m craving pancakes. How about you?
Yeah, that sounds good…kind of casual…not like I’m foaming at the mouth from the idea that she may be with Arnold making wedding plans. Maybe they’re online right now setting up one of those gift registry things. Yeah, sure, at six in the morning…maybe I’m losing my mind.
I set my phone in the middle of the kitchen table, and proceed to stare at it for fifteen minutes. There’s no response.
By eight-fifteen I’m dressed for work but a little edgy. Yeah, just a bit. I’ve already worn a path in the rug that runs down my hallway. It occurs to me that maybe she’s lost her phone. I’ve never heard of Brooke losing anything, but it could’ve happened. It’s not impossible. Before I get in the car I call her, reminding myself that if she’s lost her phone, she won’t answer.
“Hey Brooke, are you free for lunch? There’s this great little place in Toluca Lake I’d like to take you to. How’s noon, or even better eleven-thirty?”
Good, that was direct. Now I better figure out a great little place. It sure as hell can’t be Taco Bell. It occurs to me that she usually doesn’t eat until one p.m. but I’ll go stark raving mad if I have to wait that long to see her.
When I pull into the parking garage, Mojo’s car’s there, but not Brooke’s. Did she ride in with him? Or does he have her tied down, drugged up and locked in his attic so she can’t return my calls? I consider knocking on the lid of his trunk to make sure she isn’t in there. I don’t find my fears unfounded considering the last time she didn’t return a call, the monkey had kidnapped her, forced her to go to Santa Barbara, and proceeded to brainwash her.
Upstairs, before I’ve unloaded my workbag, I pick up the office phone and dial.
“Hi Morgan.”
“Hey, Nathan. What’s up?”
“Hey, thanks again for your help on Saturday. I really appreciated it.”
“Glad to do it,” she replies. “So, are you doing okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. But I’m wondering is Brooke in yet? I wanted to ask her something.”
“No, she’s not in yet…but it’s still a bit early for her. You want me to tell her that you called?”
“Yes, please do…as soon as you see her.”
At nine thirty I sneak out the front and check the parking lot again. Her car still isn’t there. Nine forty-five I text her:
Hey Brooke, are you having car problems? Do you need a ride?
Nothing.
At ten twenty Morgan calls me.
“I just heard from her. She’s not coming in.”
“Did she say why?”
“No, and she sounded really stressed out. Did you talk to her yesterday?”
“No we texted, but she was busy with Arnold, so we couldn’t talk.”
“Weird…I wonder what’s going on,” Morgan says.