By: Little Ms. Jerk Muffin

Lingering With You

Ch.2: Get Excited

Jacqueline POV

My hand ventured blindly over to the buzzing alarm clock next to my head. My fingers felt around for some kind of button that would shut the awful noise off, but to no avail. The obnoxious buzz seemed to grow louder and more ragged. Getting irritated, without lifting my head off my pillow, I began slamming my hand on the alarm clock until a quiet satisfaction surrounded me.

Peace. The buzz had been slain by the hand of a person who hated mornings. Or at least that’s what I thought until five minutes later when it began screaming again. This time in a fit of annoyance I shot up and picked up the alarm clock, turned it over and turned it off. The snooze button had nothing on me now.

I lay back down and closed my eyes, allowing my mind to venture until it tired and melted away into sleep. That’s what weekends were good for right? Sleeping in and staying up late.

As the minutes passed, I realized that sleep wasn’t going to come back to me. The noise of the alarm clock has riled me up and my eyes wanted to snap open. I groaned and gracefully rolled out of bed onto my feet. Stretching I contemplated what I should do first. Take a shower? Get dressed? Eat? Eating sounded like a good first step to a good day.

Trotting down the stairs, I realized that breakfast was long over. The stale smell of eggs drifted lazily out of the kitchen and into the hallway. Mom had already put the eggs in a plastic container and was washing the dishes by the time I got into the kitchen. She looked up from her chore as I walked into the kitchen, “Well good afternoon, Jacqueline. I’m guessing you slept well?” her voice was dripping with that motherly sarcasm that irritated me so. But I let it slide without complaint and decided to go with it.

“Yep.” I walked over to the container of eggs and popped the lid open. I grabbed a fork out of the drawer and was about to start eating.

“Jacqueline Candice Shaw, you don’t eat out of a container. Get a plate.” Mom didn’t even have to turn her head to know what I was doing. Then again seventeen years of parenting the one-and-only ‘me’ would teach someone a lot.

“Why?!” I groaned, “It’s not like anyone else eats the leftovers in this house!”

“Jacqueline,” Mom was about to start a scolding spree.

“Alright, alright; Geez.” I opened a cabinet and pulled out a plate. I dumped a majority of the eggs onto the plate and started eating. They were cold; I considered getting up and nuking them in the microwave, but I felt too lazy to get up and do it; not to mention it didn’t seem like a big deal to my taste buds.

I finished my eggs and put the plate down next to the sink. I was about to leave and go back upstairs to get ready for the rest of the day, but Mom quickly stopped me, “Come back and wash your plate.”

If there was one thing in the world I hated it was washing dishes. There had to be someway of getting out of it without causing a mess with Mom. She wouldn’t let me go if I said that I was going to get dressed or take a shower. She would only let it slide if it was another house chore; or something like a house chore.

I looked around and then saw the front door, “What’s there to do outside that could possibly stall my dish-washing?” Then it hit me, “The mail, I’ll go get the mail!”

“Jacqueline,” but before Mom could get her protest out, I was already out the door.

I walked out into my yard, displaying my bed clothes- it didn’t matter to me though. The neighborhood had seen me in so many different outfits over the years that no one really cared what I wore.

I reached the mailbox and opened up the little door. From what I could tell there were shopping advertisements, bills, and maybe a credit card offer from the bank. It was the same old mail that I’d grown used to. Nothing was ever addressed to me, unless it was my birthday. It was always for Mom or Dad. I was just the person who lived with them who happened to share the same DNA. I just wasn’t important enough –yet- in the bank’s eyes, or for any desperate salesperson’s eyes for that matter.

I pulled the mail out of the box and nonchalantly began flipping through the paper mess, trying to stall my trip back to the house.

“Bill, bill, bill, coupon from a desperate book store- might have to go check that out.” But then my eyes stopped on the next piece of mail. It looked like the rest of the mail- sealed in a white envelope and addressed to my father; however in the center of the envelope in someone’s handwriting it said, “Jacque”.

It took be by surprise. I was just thinking about how I never got mail; and low and behold I got mail. But who would send it too me I wonder?

My mind then processed something else, “Jacque?” I hadn’t been called Jacque in years. My parents always called my Jacqueline, as well as the rest of my family. The people at school called me by my full name as well. I wasn’t even called that during elementary or middle school when nicknames were cute. In fact the only person who really called me that was…

My heart stopped and then slowly came back to a quickening beat. My mouth opened slightly, “…Kay?”

I looked up for a moment to see if the world around me had changed. It felt like my state of mind had suddenly spun out of control and a sour hopefulness had filled my chest. It was like a poison that I knew all too well. I had become immune to it over the years and the hope of receiving a letter from Kay had been pushed to the back of my mind and locked in a safe with all my other crushed hopes.

“Don’t get so excited. It’s probably nothing. A lot of people named Jacqueline are called Jacque, maybe someone is just trying to get friendly with you and trying to offer you something.” Sure it made sense. Sometimes companies or salespeople caught your first name and twisted it to make it sound so friendly- like they had known you for years. But what would someone want to offer me? I had started my Junior year of High School only a month ago. No one would want to offer me anything. Not to mention that handwriting looked so familiar.

“Open it and find out, but don’t expect much.” I did as my mind commanded. I tried my best to retain my hopes inside that safe in the back of my mind. But it was chewing at the metal like a rabid dog.

I took the stationary paper out of the envelope and unfolded it. The handwriting on the paper was the same as the handwriting on the envelope, so familiar.

Remember me? It’s Kay. I’m comin’ home.

The rabid dog in the metal safe lunged out of the gigantic hole it had chewed and made a break for the front of my mind. My hopes had been answered. No, more than answered. Kay didn’t just send me a letter he sent me his word that he was coming home. He was actually coming back to our silly home town where nothing ever happened.

I stared at the letter for a while longer. I began to wonder if this was real. I looked up to see that the yard was the same, only it seemed to be brighter. “Oh my gosh…” I leaned against the mail box. Smiling lightly I brought my hand up to my forehead, “Kay’s moving back to Shineford.”

Well this took longer to write than expected. But I’m determined to see this story through. So now you know who Kay was talking about in the last chapter: Jacqueline Candice Shaw. Kay is moving back to Shineford. Lame town name. I sort of cheated a little and looked up town names. The name Iceford was generated at a site. So I decided, ‘I want my town to have –ford at the end of it.’ So the word shine came to mind.

Please R&R. The button below this A/N is lonely.

Oh and Happy Birthday to me~ =)