Page 51 of Through Quick and Quinn
It’s been almost two months now since Quick has spoken to me. We’re about to go on summer break for eleven weeks or something like that, and I can just feel it in my gut… If we go through vacation without mending this, it will be over for sure. I am missing him terribly, to the point where my stomach hurts, and I can barely think about anything else.
I’ve been trying to give him the space he needs, but lately I’ve been worried that he will perceive the space as a lack of effort due to my acceptance of our ending. But I do not accept it! And the last thing I want is for him to think I do. So, two nights ago I texted him and apologized yet again. I explained that by not reaching out I was trying to be respectful, not aloof, and that I was wrong for attempting to control his process. Honestly, I over-texted. I wanted to tell him every single possible thing, just in case it was my last opportunity to do so. So yes, I told him I missed him, that I would do anything to make it right, and I pleaded for him to forgive me. I held back nothing, and I’m okay with that.
I’m not okay with the fact that he didn’t respond. It’s torture.
To center myself, I spent hours last night making him his fourth page. I immersed myself in 639 hertz and surrounded myself with my rose quartz, aventurine, and amazonite crystals in an effort to summon as much heart chakra energy as I could. I poured my heart into designing the page that read, “While one cannot erase mistakes, one can and should learn from them.” I utilized every shade of red that I had, and attached a small heart eraser to what I thought was my best lettering work yet.
I enclosed it in a manilla envelope and placed it on his desk as I walked by him in history class today. Quick did not demonstrate acknowledgment of my presence in the slightest, not even a blink. As I sat down, I looked toward the front of the room and caught Mr. Erickson’s gaze. With a look of blended sympathy and compassion, he smiled at me. It never once crossed my mind in all this time that Mr. Erickson knew of our club’s dissolution. Of course he gathered that something was amiss, and by the looks of it, it was breaking his heart, too.
I can only hope that when Quick opens that envelope, he can sense how deeply remorseful I am.
…Q
+ + +
Hey Geoffrey,
This summer is going to suck.
-Deck
Friday, May 24, 2024
Note to self:
This summer is going to suck.
…Q
Quick:
Astonished
My summer vacation started off as I wanted it to. In solitary seclusion. Just the way I liked it. My bedroom was the perfect hermitage, with its dark window coverings and its close proximity to the kitchen. I was back to sleeping all the time, as much as fourteen or sixteen hours a day, and when I was awake, I was using my energy to eradicate thoughts of Quinn and the terrifying nightmare she put in my head.
For a while, my parents didn’t even notice that I was a recluse. Either that or they didn’t care. They didn’t knock on my door once. A few times, my dad and I happened upon each other as I was throwing together some food, but the conversation never went beyond an exchange of three or four niceties, most of which were monosyllabic responses. Yeah. Good. Cool. Bye. As for my mom, she was basically a zombie. How could she possibly notice what was going on with me?
My life in this quiet, lonesome darkness only lasted about two weeks. In mid-June, my folks informed me that now that I was seventeen, I needed to get a job. Almost as though they wanted a prize or a pat on the back, they gloated that they gave me two weeks to unwind from the school year, but enough was enough. Well, my dad informed me. My dad gloated. My dad put his foot down. My mom was just physically present for it. I didn’t argue or protest; I had already been considering a place of employment for a few days prior anyway.
The grocery store.
I was getting tired of eating the same crap. Instant ramen and plain sandwiches and potato chips. I figured if I worked at the grocery store, I could not only learn of the different options out there, but I could grab them after a shift. Maybe even for a discount.
After showering the next morning, I put on my least wrinkled T-shirt and my nicest pair of jeans. They were a little loose and it occurred to me that I was so tired of eating what was in the kitchen that I kinda stopped consuming food. That wasn’t good. Just thinking about the grocery store, my stomach alerted me that it, too, was ready for this change.
I walked to the store that was closest to my home, which was about a mile and a half away, hoping that my first try would be a hit. Nope. The manager basically laughed at me. But I took something away from the experience and went home to create a resume. It was a pretty pathetic one, and it stung to list REED under the section, “Experience,” but I printed it out anyway.
On Day 2, resume in hand, I headed in the opposite direction for about two miles. Again, I asked to speak with the manager and again, it was a miss. They weren’t hiring. Try again in a month or so. I tucked that possibility into my brain’s pocket and hoped I would find a gig before then.
I woke up on Day 3, and as I sat up to turn off my alarm, I took in a deep breath. As I sighed my air out, I said to myself, “I got this.” I didn’t plan to do that. And I didn’t realize I did it until after I did it. “That damn Quinn got into my head so deep,” I muttered to myself as I trotted to the bathroom.
I guess the third time really is a charm. When I arrived after the three-mile walk to the supermarket, I encountered my future first boss: a seething and stressed-out middle-aged man. Apparently, one of the guys who worked in the produce section decided to hit the road with his band and he had informed the manager that very morning. Hastily, he grabbed my resume, took one cursory glance at it, tossed it on his desk, and asked, “Can you start today?”
He asked if I knew anything about produce, and I confidently told him that I’m a quick learner. Before long, I was unloading trucks, organizing fruits and vegetables, removing expired produce, and cleaning floors and shelves. Occasionally a customer would ask me a question, but the engagements tended to be short and sweet. Not too painful. All in all, I really liked the job and ended up taking every shift that was offered. Sure, it was nice to earn money, and yes, I was enjoying the new eats I was discovering, but it also felt good to accomplish things. To be noticed somewhere. To be needed somewhere.
One afternoon, about ten days into my life as an employee, I noticed something in the produce department. Well, no. I noticed it during my very first shift. But I didn’t think about it until that moment. Maybe I was no longer so entrenched in learning my duties that my brain allowed itself to do what it always did. Asked questions. Was curious. Sent me down rabbit holes.
Again.
