7. Packing for Paris
“Are you excited?” Cherie says as she opens the door. She is as giddy a child the night before any given Christmas morning.
“I am definitely excited,” I say as enthusiastically as I can. I do not feel good about myself in the least bit. I wondered how her old Sitter was able to do this… what did she do in these situations? Then again, her old Sitter didn’t seem like she even cared that much—so maybe she just allowed this cycle to happen… just like I am. “I’m glad to see you so happy.”
“We’re going to see it this time, I know it,” Cherie says as she hurries around living room. I had half expected to see her tired like Noah. “This time for sure.”
“How can I help?” I ask as I rub my hands together. If I’m going to do this, I might as well go all in.
“Can you get my luggage from the top shelf of the closet?” She asks as she runs to her bedroom and returns with a pile of fall clothing. “I always need the step stool to reach it but you’re much taller than I am.”
“No problem,” I say as I pull down the small wheeled suitcase.
“Now what to pack,” she says as she digs through her clothing. “It’s going to be cool, so I should dress warm, right?”
“I’d imagine so,” I say as I smile. I do not see what the difference would be as she dresses for fall every day.
“Do you like this black sweater? “
“I think it’s nice,” I say as I nod.
“I should try it on, yeah?”
“If you like,” I say as I shrug my shoulders.
“I’ll try it on and you tell me if it looks good, and then we’ll try something else—I only need like three outfits right? But I need the perfect ones; I mean I want to be dressed perfectly when I get my picture taken in front of the Eiffel Tower…” She says in a quick pace as she runs to the bedroom and slams the door behind her. I have never seen her so frantic.
She emerges moments later in a tight fitting sweater top with a low cut front with white flower trimming. A shiny abalone shell button rests at the top, a stark contrast to the black and white of the sweater.
“I think it looks amazing,” I say. I do think she is rather attractive and as much as people make her out to be monster of some kind, I do not see anything but a beautiful young woman—I know that this is wrong. It is constantly in the back of my mind telling me to be cruel… for both our sakes. Don’t let her get attached… don’t get attached. Be cruel to be kind. However, I just can’t. I cannot bring myself to do it. I thought I could. I feel like I should be able to, but I am lost.
“I’ll definitely bring this one then,” She says as she runs off once more.
After a few times of back and forth she decides on four outfits that will be perfect. I think her asking—her dressing up in different outfits and making me decide, forces me to see her in a different way. A way I have been attempting to avoid this entire time. When she is like this, she seems so normal. Even when she’s being a mirror… I’m not annoyed by it. I’m not even afraid of the death aspect. This last notion begins to worry me. I remind myself I have a date with a normal. Maybe that will clear my head tomorrow. Perhaps, I just haven’t been around the opposite sex enough… working midnights and the odd jobs I’ve been doing for all these years doesn’t exactly lead to many opportunities.
“Thank you,” she says as she begins to pack up the four outfits into her suitcase. “I was up all day yesterday trying to figure out what to wear.”
“No problem at all,” I say as I nod. “Would you like me to make something for lunch?”
“Oh!” Cherie exclaims as she rushes to the fridge. I made some egg salad sandwiches. I hope you like them, I know not everyone does… I also have some potato chips. “
“You made this for us?”
“Yeah,” Cherie says as she smiles happily as she un-wraps two sandwiches and places them on a plate. She rips open the bag of chips and pours a generous pile next to her already cut sandwiches. She proudly places them on the table.
“Thank you,” I say as I smile. “You really didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to,” she says as she returns the smile as she sits down at the table and begins to eat.
“Are you afraid of flying at all?” I ask. I had been on a plane once; it was before V-Day of course. I couldn’t have been more than twelve and we were on our way to visit relatives in California. I was terrified the whole time. I was convinced that we were going to fall right out of the sky. It was just that we were up so high.
“Nope…!” Cherie says quickly as she hides a laugh with the back of her hand so that no stray particles of food may escape. “I fly all the time. I’ve flown in small planes… I’ve flown on big planes… I’ve driven nice cars and been on boats. I even know how to sail a little, my dad taught me.”
“I’m a little afraid of flying…” I begin to say but I notice that Cherie has stopped eating. Instead she just looks down blankly at her plate.
“Are you alright?” I ask, not knowing what exactly changed. She has been nothing but happy all day long. She hasn’t even mirrored at all.
“I don’t know what happened to my parents…” Cherie admits as tears begin to stream down from her eyes.
I rush over and take my unused napkin and wipe away the tears from her face. “I’m sorry…”
“They were with me, and now they’re not,” Cherie says as she continues to cry. “Did they abandon me?”
“No…” I say as I place my hand on her shoulder and continue to keep the heavy flow of tears at bay. “Of course they didn’t.”
“Are they like me?”
“I don’t know,” I say. I wish I did. I wish I could offer her some comfort. However, there was nothing in her file about parents.
“Look at me, crying the night before the big day…” Cherie says as she shakes her head. She reaches over and places her hand over mind. “And after all, you lost both of your parents. You seem to be alright. I should be alright too. I should be strong.”
I immediately want to withdraw, however I know that this will only upset her. “You don’t always have to be strong. It is alright to cry, it is fine to be weak at times. You just have to continue on. I had a hard time, and I cried. Everything bad you go through in life needs time to heal—and eventually you will heal.”
“You’re a good friend.”
I want to say that I’m not a friend. I’m not supposed to be. Just like before, I can’t say it. I am a weak person. Given the chance to do what is right, I buckle under the pressure. “Thank you…”
“I know that day, at the grocery store—when the kid said freak, he meant me.”
“I know, you’re smart… I just wanted you to have a good day,” I say as I let out a heavy sigh.
“I had a great day,” Cherie says as she squeezes my hand tightly. “You didn’t have to do that. Anyone else would have faced up to the truth that I am a freak.”
“You’re not a freak.”
“Not a freak…”
“We were doing so well today…” I say as I laugh.
“So well today,” Cherie repeats as she laughs.
She then, reflexively, yawns and stretches her arms out wide. Her obvious tell that she is exhausted. I look at my phone, it’s only about one p.m. Pretty early for her naps… Then again Sunday is almost here.
I take the plates to the kitchen as Cherie rests her head against the kitchen table. I wash the dishes and the return. “Are you tired?”