January 17th

Posted: January 17, 2013 in Uncategorized

Dear journal,

I stepped out the front door of work to find Andrew sitting outside, holding a backpack and a baseball bat that had several smeared stains. He explained that he got all his stuff out of his hiding spot in the woods. The backpack was mostly empty, because he’d used it to bring food for his journey, and it was also filthy.

He had good news though – he had a lead on a job and would be going in for an interview in the next few days. I hugged him in congratulations, and then we were hurried back to my house by some angry-looking storm clouds.

He showered as I puzzled over the contents of the fridge, wondering what to make for dinner. While trying to speed-thaw some chicken in a sink of hot water, Andrew poked his head around the corner and asked if he could put his things through the laundry. I had no problem with that – the only thing was he needed something to wear in the meantime. I gathered that he was wearing a towel on his out-of-sight body, and trying not to blush, I directed him to a stack of Mother’s junk that I had seen some clothing in, making no promises as to style or sizes.

We ate. His clothing went through the washer and dryer, and I told him he could feel free to pick anything else that fit from Mother’s junk stacks, considering his clothing was getting pretty worn due to the extensive wear of the past two months. I made sure that he had blankets on the couch this time before I declared that I needed to sleep, as I opened the store in the morning. He pulled me close to him and that’s when it finally happened – no interruptions by zombies, recovery teams or sad memories.

That’s when he kissed me goodnight. I knew I couldn’t keep the dopey smile off my face, but I told him that I wanted to take things slow. He thanked me for the couch and blankets, and wished me sweet dreams.

When I got up at the crack of dawn, he’d already put the water on for tea. I could see a small stack of clothing had formed at the side of the couch, and asked if he had found some things that fit. It turns out that he had, and they weren’t half bad. I encouraged him to take whatever he needed as I stumbled through breakfast, finished my tea and grabbed my work keys.

I stopped at the front door, and turned to look back at Andrew. The weather was miserable, and I knew he had nowhere to be until his interview. I’d never given my house keys out to anyone before. Should I have left them with him, or was that a mistake? I guess I’ll find out in a few hours when I get home from work. I’m sure everything will be fine.

I’m just not used to having anyone else living in my house. How did this happen?

Always,
-Miriam

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