Page 17 of I Hear You

I’m also pretty certain Joy is overpaying me, but I’m not complaining. If I could save up just a little more money, I can finally afford my first car. Having a car in this town isn’t a necessity, but having the security of something that’s mine would be nice. If I’d had a car when I was in high school it would have saved me from some of the hard choices I had to make when I couldn’t stay at home.

The bell at the door chimes and I shout over my shoulder, “I’ll be right with you," as I finish hanging another customer's order up for Chuck in the kitchen.

“Take your time, hot stuff,” a familiar voice giggles.

Taylor.

Excited to see my roommate, I turn around with a huge smile on my face, hoping she can add some excitement to this boring shift. When I turn around, I’m surprised to see the guy from the bus station ticket booth holding her hand. But also, not surprised at all. This town is freakishly small.

“Hey. Lost luggage girl!” Jesse beams and holds his hand up for a high five.

I slap his hand, shaking my head at his nickname. Even from the brief interaction I had with him at the bus station, I knew I liked Jesse. He comes across as a guy who is always in a good mood. The type who can usually find a way to make even the most mundane things fun. These two dating isn’t shocking at all.

“I am still so embarrassed,” I admit.

Taylor’s looking back and forth at us like we each just grew an extra head.

“Wait! You two know each other already?”

“Yeah Babe, this is who Henry gave a ride to on move-in day.”

I’m surprised, and a little confused. Why would Jesse explain me that way to her and not as the girl whose luggage he basically stole?

“Oh my gosh, that was YOU!” Taylor screeches.

I’m unsure why she seems so… elated about this revelation. I choose to ignore it.

“So, are you guys here for dinner? Do you want a booth?”

“Yes to dinner. No to the booth,” Taylor says. “We’ll just sit at the counter so we can bug you.”

They sit down at two of the counter stools and I bring them water and menus. An older couple is waiting for me at the register. I excuse myself to go help them. When I get back behind the counter, Jesse and Taylor have turned toward each other and are sharing quick kisses and giggling. They are almost sickeningly sweet. Now I understand the jokes about being married. They stop and turn back toward me as I come to rest in front of them.

“So, Madison,” Jesse starts. “How are you liking Easton?”

“Honestly, it’s great. I love my job here, even if today is hellishly slow. I don’t care for the humidity, but I’m excited to experience a real fall soon. We basically only have summer and winter back home. Plus, my classes have been fun.”

“Well, you’ll love fall even more when you find out how freaking awesome it’s going to be watching me smash some dudes on the football field.”

He takes one hand, balls it into a fist and smashes it into his other hand while he says this. Taylor and I both laugh at his little demonstration. He feigns being hurt by our laughter but is chuckling a little himself–glad to know he doesn’t take himself too seriously. Those are the type of people I like to surround myself with. Ones who can crack jokes about themselves and find humor in being silly.

I take their order; Taylor gets a burger and onion rings. Jesse orders spaghetti and meatballs with a glass of milk.

I try to keep myself busy bussing a few tables and refilling the ketchup bottles. Soon, Taylor and Jesse are the only customers. After I drop off their food, I head to the far end of the counter where I have one of my textbooks open. Joy already gave me permission to do homework when it’s slow, but I try not to take advantage of the privilege. I’m reading through the textbook for my creative writing class and it’s talking about confessional writing. About how this style of writing is usually directly related to divulging shameful matters. It reminds me of something Ender and I used to do in our emails.

I can’t remember how or why it started, but we would send each other emails with the subject line beingConfessionand then confess something. Sometimes it was completely stupid and trivial, likeConfession: I just ate an entire pizza in one sitting,but other times it was deeper and more raw, likeConfession: I just dumped all of my mom’s wine down the drain.

The unspoken rule was we didn’t ever judge each other for our confessions, we didn’t ask questions and we didn’t try to fix the problem immediately if there was one. We just replied with,I hear you.I miss that. I miss being able to pour my heart out and have my worries and fears and disappointments in myself acknowledged in such a simple way. It was like it was our way of holding each other when we couldn’t actually hold each other. I break my promise to myself for the millionth time and pull out my phone. Search “confession” in my email account and start mindlessly scrolling through some of his confessions, skipping the most recent email in my inbox.

Confession: I sometimes don’t even care about football.

Confession: I lied to my friends tonight and said I had homework. I don’t have any homework. I just want to work on my new short story and email back and forth with you.

Confession: I actually love broccoli.

Confession: I now know every word to at least three Patsy Cline songs.

Reading through these makes me smile and laugh, but they also make me sad. Selfishly sad, because I lost the one person I could tell almost anything to. It was cathartic to share the confessions, and although I still share them in drafts, it’s not the same. Unsent emails don’t get responses. There’s noI hear youto ease my burdens.

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