Gina Lawless Books

April 22, 2012

Excerpt for The Last Year and a Half

Filed under: Excerpts — Gina Lawless @ 2:04 am
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As I wash my face in ice cold water from the faucet in the bathroom upstairs nestled between our rooms, I can hear May shredding newspapers downstairs for the fireplace. Crumple, crumple, shred. I towel off and look at my face in the mirror and want to see my face as May first saw it a few hours ago. My face looks drawn. I suck in my cheeks, thinking it could be worse. The dark circles that rim my eyes could be covered and concealed, but what’s the point? The blue in my eyes doesn’t seem as blue as they used to be. My lips look too pale. My hair, now a couple inches long looks similar to an Annie Lennox hair style from the 80s. I do look different from when she last saw me. I had blond…dyed of course, hair that swept below my shoulders, a lovely tan, but not too tan. I weighed 128 then, and now I weigh in at a whopping 109. I am too skinny for my 5’6” height. Then my eyes go to my unbreasted chest. Even though there is foam padding in my bra, they look unnatural. I adjust the pads, but it doesn’t help. So I shrug and head downstairs. I’ve just got my socks on so I have sneaked up on May, who is watching the fire come to life, but tears have stained her cheeks, and are illuminated by the fire. I stand still watching her, almost embarrassed that I’ve intruded. She gently wipes the tears away with her hand and her nose with the back of her hand. Then fresh tears come. I’ve made her feel this way. It’s my fault. I feel my own tears burn the backs of my eyes.

“I’m sorry May.” I stand there, and she turns to me, her eyes reddened. “I didn’t know how to tell you…I didn’t want to…I just didn‘t know how.” She gets up from the floor and comes to me, and puts her warm arms around me as we both cry.

“You’re the most important person in my life, Olive Oil,” she says. “Please don’t ever do that again. I love you and I want to be there for you always and forever…for anything.” I sob and bury my face into her shoulder feeling if I had done this a year and a half ago, it may have been easier to bear. I let it out on her shoulder, so much so that I have drenched her shirt. She pushes me back with her hands on my frail shoulders. “Promise?”

“I promise,” I say as I use her sleeve to wipe my nose.

“Jerk!” Then she hugs me again. “I hate you!”

“I love you, Maybeline,” I also use a name that she hates.

“Fat jerk!” I am not insulted by her calling me a fat jerk, because I know I’m nowhere close to being fat. I smile in the knowledge that she loves me even though I am a jerk.

Available at Smashwords 

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