Secrets About Forever Excerpt
Secrets About Forever Excerpt
This is an excerpt from my novella Secrets About Forever, one of the free ebooks I published back in high school. You can find the full length version here.
(2022 Edit: If it looks familiar, it's because I've since turned this novella into a full length novel, the first draft of which I posted the first 10 chapters here )
When I get home, it is a half hour after four, almost dawn, but I’m not yet sleepy. My sleepiness doesn’t hit me until around six, five if it’s been a long night at work. Dorothy and I creep back into the house, locking it behind us again, and then go our separate ways to our rooms. Dorothy gets in the shower again. I can hear it running as I start up my laptop. My determination to find out if the guy at the bar is really Brad is fresh in my mind as I log on to Facebook. It takes several minutes for me to find him, but eventually I find his smiling face staring back at me from the screen. I view his profile.
He’s a part of the Catch the Hopping All Night’s Hawt Employeez Club, the Halo Gamers Group, and the Hopeless Romantics Group. He has hundreds of wall postings from needy girls all confessing their love for him, as well as hundreds more flirty banter from various girls. Very few guys posted anything on his wall. He has one picture, the one smiling back at me, and a posting on his own wall saying that he’s going to find his lost love tonight posted at ten o’clock exactly, the time I got up. Other than that, his profile tells me absolutely nothing, and definitely gives me no clues whether he is Brad or not. I put away my laptop, and slump back on the bed.
When I start thinking of the if’s and could-have’s of the summer when Brad died, I grab a journal off the bookshelf with a pen stuck in it, and walk out the door
******
When I had first met Anna, she struck me as the type of preppy girl who thought she was always right, and always tried to do everything perfectly, and if she failed at doing something perfectly, she would have a nervous breakdown, and I was right about her for the most part. The only thing different is that Anna doesn’t just think she’s always right, she is always right, and I learned to love that about her. If it hadn’t been for her, I would still be in bed driving myself to tears thinking of how it’s all my fault Brad is gone because I didn’t do this or that differently.
“Just write it all down, Sarah. I promise you, you’ll feel better.” She had said one day.
At first I had scoffed at her. What could writing anything down possibly do to help me? However, when I had tried it, I realized that she had been right, and now it’s what I always do when I start thinking like that. Of course, I learned that it isn’t easy getting over it (even after writing it down) if I am in the house. So now I conduct my “pity sessions” at the beach. It isn’t that far of a run from the house, so every time I need to write, I run the short distance to the beach, plop myself down on the sand, and let the words flow on the pages. The beach is usually empty at the time of the night I’m there with the occasional drunk passerby, too sloshed to notice me, so I get exactly what I need: quiet, peaceful alone-time.
This is where I am, journal in hand, pen scribbling furiously, as I finish writing down everything on my mind. I don’t look away from the page until my mind is empty, and I feel completely refreshed. That is when I notice the dark figure coming toward me, slowly. It is too dark for me to notice any features. The moon has disappeared behind a sheath of clouds, and there isn’t any light. All I can see is the dark figure moving slowly, getting closer and closer. I close my eyes, and then open them again. The figure is in front of me, and I recognize him as the Brad look-alike.
“I must be dreaming.” I murmur.
Two sightings of Brad in one night doesn’t seem very likely. I close my eyes again.
“I’m glad to know you’re dreaming of me.” The guy grins, and I open my eyes to glare at him.
“Who are you, really?” I ask, and my question seems to take him off-guard, but he composes himself quickly.
“Do you not remember me? We met earlier. You’re the bartender at Hopping All Night.”
“You’re not answering my question. I know who I am. Now, who are you?”
He takes a while to answer, as if he has to think about this. I wonder if maybe he is drunk, but I only remember giving him that one Budlight, and he had said it was for a friend. Then again, he could have been lying to me, or he could have ordered more drinks earlier in the night, from Kate, but I notice that he doesn’t have the drunken smell, speech, and appearance of a usual drunk. So what is taking him so long to answer me?
“I’m Matt. Matthew Allen Carnegie to be precise.” He finally answers.
“You have the same middle name…” I mumble, my thoughts trailing off, and again, he looks shocked, but composes himself.
“The same middle name as who?” he asks, but I don’t answer.
How can I tell him that he has the same middle name as Brad without having to explain who Brad is? I decide to change the subject.
“What are you doing here?” I question.
“I was just passing by. I thought I saw someone over here, so I decided to check it out. I didn’t know it was you.” I can tell he is lying, but I decide not to point this out.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
“Shouldn’t you?”
I flinch. His words bring back memories of those many nights I stayed up, under stars so different, but much the same as the ones above me now, crying so hard my eyeballs stayed red for weeks. He notices, and I am reminded of Brad. Brad always noticed when something hurt me.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” I cut him off.
“It’s fine. Really.” I say sharply. He closes his mouth.
“Do you want some help home? You look kind of tired. It’s the least I could do.”
“No. I’m fine.”
“Really.” It’s not a question, but his face is coated with disbelief.
I decide not to reply to that. I stand up, and dust the sand off my clothes. Then, I turn and begin to run back home.
“Hey! Wait!” Matt yells, but I don’t turn back.
It is only when I am snugly in bed, almost asleep, that I realize I forgot my journal.
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