“Amy,” he says simply in his deep voice.
I want to say something but I can’t so I stand perfectly still staring at him. He holds my gaze and then slowly lowers himself to the ground. He folds his legs beneath him and then removes his hat and sets it beside him. He rubs his hand through his sweaty hair, and just as if he’s having a casual conversation with the normal girl next door, he starts talking.
“Let’s play a game. I’ll give you two words and you pick your favorite. You can ask me too. I’ll start.”
I continue to stand there in disbelief. Is he for real? He wants to talk to me? I look around as if I expect to find another girl standing behind me. One that’s beautiful and can actually form a sentence. It’s just me though so I slowly lower myself to the ground and cross my legs like his. We face each other with only about six feet and the broken fence between us.
“Mountains or oceans?” he asks. He has a small smile on his face. I’m not sure what kind of game this is, but I’m extremely nervous and it takes me a while to swallow the lump in my throat before I can answer.
“Mountains,” I say softly.
He pauses, maybe waiting for me to ask him a question but I just can’t. He makes me so anxious, I can’t think.
“Rain or sunshine?” I love both the smell of the rain and the warmth of the sun. They give me comfort.
“Um, both?” I reply with a question. Am I playing this game wrong?
“Me too.” He smiles brighter. He has a nice smile. His lips are full and pink and his teeth are straight and white. He has indents in his cheeks when he smiles wide. His smile makes me smile.
“Morning or night?” he continues.
“Morning.” I don’t even hesitate. The darkness brings shadows and nightmares. He nods and tilts his head at me. Is he going to ask me why? His eyes meet mine and he doesn’t break the contact as he asks his next question.
“Read or write?”
“Both.” They both bring me comfort and allow me to escape. His gaze drops to my book for a moment and then his eyes find mine again.
“One more. Flowers or candy?” One corner of his mouth lifts like he might smile, but he’s trying to hold it back. I’ve never been given either. I look away from him. I don’t want to play anymore.
I stand up quickly and look back at him. “I have to go.”
“Wait. Amy!” I hear him call out but I can’t stay. Imagining things about him and writing about him is one thing. Nothing good can come out of actually talking to him. I’m not just a normal girl next door.
I run towards my house, making sure to wipe the last of my tears before I swing the door open. As soon as I step into the house, I see her standing in the kitchen, her fragile frame leaning against the counter. Her hair is greasy and hangs limp around her face and the dark bags under her eyes are worse today. My eyes fall to my journal in her hand.
“Amy, what have I told you.” she says sternly as she walks towards me and stops just inches from my face. “Boys. They’re like animals, Amy. They’ll smell you, stalk you, and then hunt you. They’ll trap you like helpless prey and then torture you. They’ll tear at you with their claws and then take what they want, leaving you like an empty carcass. That boy, Amy. He will destroy you. You’re dirty.” She raises the journal with her hand and before I realize what she’s doing, it hits the side of my face.
It hits so hard, I stumble backwards. “I didn’t do anything wrong, he just talked to me!” I cry, holding my cheek.
“You’re so stupid!” she yells, her spit flying into my face. “Get in the shower and wash his filth off of your body,” she yells, pointing my journal at me.
I know better than to keep arguing with her. I immediately walk to the bathroom and step into the hot shower. My tears mix with the water dripping off of my face. When I finish in the shower and open the door, I immediately smell it. The smell of burning paper. She’s burning my journal! My security blanket. All of my thoughts and dreams. I hurry to my bedroom and lock the door behind me.
I lay in bed that night tossing and turning. I can’t stop thinking about him. His name is Dillon and he talked to me. He smiled at me. I don’t sleep at all. I wait anxiously for the sun to rise so I can go back to the elm. When morning finally arrives, I slip out the door while my mother still sleeps. I practically run at full speed down the path until I get to the elm. I can feel my heart beating through my chest. My hair is damp and sticking to my neck. I stop abruptly at the end of the trail and put my hands on my knees until I catch my breath, and then walk cautiously to the box on the ground beneath the elm.