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I laugh. “Yeah, that’s fine, I have a lot to tell you.”
She lets out a little squeal. “Ooh, I can’t wait.”
After I end the call, I pick up the first box I see. It’s not marked so I open it and smile when I see my cheerleading uniform at the top. Why did she keep this? I’ll never know. I remove it and look at the bottom of the box. My diary. Oh, my gosh, I’d forgotten about this thing.
I turn the manual dials to put in the three-digit code, 1-2-3, and open it up. I thumb through it, smiling at my young teen thoughts. I continue to flip through it when I see Carter’s name and stop.
July 20
I can’t believe they came! I asked Eric to ask Carter if they’d come help at my cheerleading car wash fundraiser and Eric said I was stupid cuz they’re 22 and too old but my teacher said they could be our ‘sponsors’ so I begged and begged and they showed up! They took their shirts off and we got so many cars coming through—lots of old ladies. It was awesome! We made $412! I was really distracted tho! Carter without a shirt looks like some kind of movie star. I could not keep my eyes off him. I know he’s old but he’s sooo fine. I hope he’s still single when I turn 18 cuz I’m gonna snag him! <3 <3 <3
I chuckle at my little thirteen-year-old self. If I could go back in time and tell myself anything, it would be to just be patient, her dreams were going to come true.
I flip through the diary and find another from when I was 17.
December 26
Carter is staying with us during Christmas. He moved to Kansas for some girl he met but they broke up and he’s moving back here and starting his own business. I keep trying to flirt with him but he barely gives me the time of day and calls me ‘kid’ like when I really was a kid. I’m almost 18 and I wish he’d notice me. Oh well, at least he’s moving back here and I’ll get the chance to see him again hopefully! He’s soooo fine.
Yes, he is. I sigh dreamily like my seventeen-year-old self.
That is the last entry. I remember thinking writing in a diary was dumb and for kids so I’d stopped. I wish I hadn’t. Maybe I should start journaling. The grief counselor I saw after Mom’s death suggested it. She eluded that I still had unresolved anger and sadness about Eric’s situation and told me it was okay to grieve losing him, even though temporarily. Said I should be writing down how I feel, either in a physical journal or an online one, or start a blog, even if I only shared it with myself.
After reading my diary, I think maybe it won’t be such a bad idea.
I put the journal, my high school yearbook, and the cheerleading outfit back into the box and use the Sharpie to mark it with a K to keep. I can’t give that stuff away. I’m glad it’s only my high school cheerleading uniform she saved though. I’d started cheering young—in elementary school, but thankfully those old uniforms had been donated or thrown out, if I remember.
I peer around the garage and at the rest of the boxes I have to go through. Well, I can only hope there are no more uniforms in there. Then, I remember all the sports Eric played and groan. Yeah, it’s going to be a long day.
***
Coffee in hand, I greeteveryone cheerfully Monday morning as I enter the office. After Carter dropped me off at home Sunday morning after spending all day Saturday with him—mostly in bed or eating delivery—I’d spent the whole day at Mom’s, cleaning things out. I made pretty good progress, but I still have a lot to do. The junk haulers are going to be making a pretty penny from me. I’m just glad I have a place to store the things I decided to keep.
“How was your weekend?” Jeff asks as I sit at my desk and start to turn everything on.
I smile at him as I shove my purse into my desk drawer. “It was awesome. How was yours?”
“Very nice. Took the kids to the water park on Saturday, then church on Sunday.”
“Sounds very relaxing. I haven’t been to the water park since I was a kid. I need to go back. Sounds like fun.”
“Yeah, they just opened Memorial Day weekend. Better go before the end of the summer.”
I nod in agreement but he’s still standing at my cubicle. Usually he greets me in the morning on his way to the breakroom to get coffee, but he’s lingering.
“Is there something you need to talk to me about?” I ask, not sure what else to say.
He’s hesitant. Jeff is a very friendly guy—a family man. Probably in his late 30s. He’s a good supervisor and is always very helpful. But one thing he’s not is confrontational. He’s easygoing and I’ve never seen him angry. Finally, he says, “I’m sorry about what happened Friday, I didn’t know you’d gotten locked in the office on Thursday night. I’ve been feeling bad about it all weekend.”
I haven’t...
“Were you feeling bad about me getting my butt chewed from Mr. Lockwood, or that I was stuck on the floor?” I ask with a grin.
He smiles. “Both. But mostly what Mr. Lockwood said. I mean, he’s right, but I should have briefed you on what to do in case that happens.”
“It’s okay, Jeff. Now I know. I don’t usually stay late anyway. I was just trying to wrap up one last thing so I didn’t have to deal with it Friday.”
Jeff looks relieved. “Okay good. If you’re not upset, then I’m not upset.”
