Day 27 – Writing exercise
I was never the same
…
Making a plan, having certain expectations, taking that leap of faith that all of us are destined to do at least once, I found myself standing at the top of the Empire State Building, on the last day of the twelfth month, exactly five years after making a promise in exactly the same place, I would be there.
There was a 10 am in there, but that was flexible, because I always liked to be early.
It had been after high school graduation, after the prom, every bit the magical moment it was meant to be, with the girl of my dreams, Margaret Cates. We had spent those last years of high school together, studying hard, each helping the other achieve the grades needed to enter the best University.
There was no talk of romance, of a life together, or anything other than of being brought together, almost inseparable. We were voted the most likely to be married, and living contentedly in a house with a picket fence and three children.
Expectations were what parents had, and both of our parents were best friends, who simply chose to believe the inevitable would happen. Graduation, a combined family trip to New York to see the sights, culminating in New Year’s Eve at the top of the Empire State Building.
That was where we made the promise, no matter what, we would reconvene, that was Margaret’s word, at the same time. It was also the first time we kissed, and I think it took a week before my heart rate went back to normal.
Soon after that, Margaret left. She had been accepted into her university of choice. Her parents were surprised, mt parents were in shock.
I was not. It was the plan. Margaret had a plan for everything. There was no plan with me in it. Not in those first five years. I was sad, but not devastated.
I said to my parents, if we were meant to be, she would come back. I had to set her free.
…
My plan was there was no plan. I got the grades, and I got accepted into my University of choice.
At the end of the second year, I was in a what could only be described as a car crash, and was badly injured, to the extent that I had to put my life on hold.
I would recover, not one hundred per cent but enough to continue whatever path I’d chosen, but with some limitations. The doctor was upbeat, and my parents were upbeat.
I went home, not quite in the manner I’d intended. I was assured that life was like that, and I had to accept, accident or no accident, life was full of unexpected challenges.
…
Summer Atkins was probably the most irritating, aggravating, and ingratiating person on the planet.
She lived next door, one of five girls, the eldest, and coincidentally in my grade at high school. In fact, she was in all the grades from Elementary.
She was gawky, awkward, loud and clumsy. It was not her fault. She had a kind heart, always the first to volunteer for the worst jobs, and suffered a lot at the hands of the boys and the girls, too.
I was not pleased to say when I looked back at my time that I was one of them, and probably the only one who apologised after the prom for what had been, at times, unforgivable. The prank for the prom was probably her lowest point.
It took a week before she would come out of her room, and I came over every day to join the few who actually cared about her. After Margaret left and before I followed, we spent time together, where she asked me what she needed to do to just get to talk to a guy like me.
I thought it strange. She was talking to me, I was talking to her, we had coffee and cake at the diner, and hung out. She had no aspirations to go to college, just to help her parents look after her siblings and work on the diner. I had suggested she might want to do something for herself, and she looked at me strangely. I did not, she said, understand her.
We parted awkwardly, with this thing I had done, but what it was, I had no idea. It ended when she told me that if I was waiting for Margaret, I would be waiting a long time. How did she know anything about what my expectations were?
…
I came back home under the radar. I didn’t want anyone to know because I had set myself a high bar, and I was never going to reach it.
I felt that I had become a disappointment to my parents, and while they put on a brave face, and my siblings were polite, it was clear that they were happy for me to hide away, and my siblings were happy to see the high flyer crash and burn. Kid would be kids, I expected no less.
So when Summer unexpectedly knocked on the door, a certain element of panic went through the house. Upstairs, I heard that voice drift up the stairs with mixed emotions. I wanted to see her, but I didn’t want to see her.
Not like this. It was an odd feeling, and I couldn’t understand what fuelled it. It was Summer, she wouldn’t care, more likely revel in the fact. How the mighty had fallen.
My mother answered the door.
“Mrs Abercrombie, you look tired?” The grating tone had gone, her voice had softened, and there was genuine concern in it.
“It’s…”
She caught herself before mentioning my name. It had been a secret for about a month. I was surprised Summer had not called earlier.
My mother shifted the topic. She was good at that. “How is your father? That latest bout of chemotherapy cannot be helping the diner.”
“He’s responding to the treatment, and we’re managing. How are you faring without Allen? I’m sorry I should have come over more often.”
“It’s fine. We’re all coping with life as best we can.”
“How is Allen, if I may ask?”
That was Summer. Gets the bit between her teeth and doesn’t let go.
My mother was not one to lie. Obfuscate but not lie. Not outright. But confronted…”
“Something’s wrong,” she said in a hushed voice, so low I couldn’t barely hear her. I could virtually see my mother’s face. It had always been expressive. It’s why she could never play poker.
It went quiet for a minute or two, and I knew it was time to brace myself. Summer was the last person I wanted to see, perhaps the only one other than Margaret, not that I expected her to drop everything.
Again, I couldn’t explain why, other than showing vulnerability.
A few minutes passed while I was hoping my mother would explain that I didn’t want to see anyone, that I wanted to be better before facing the outside world. Whether Summer would accede to a request if leaving me alone was moot.
If she knew I was there, she would not hesitate to come up and remind me of the Allen of old, with the shoe now firmly on the other foot.
I tried hiding under the covers, but she had X-ray eyes. I knew she was in the room, I could feel her presence. And the scent she used was a hint of primrose. Once it was far stronger, but I suspect she had mastered the art of cosmetic use.
“You will suffocate long before I leave, Allen. I’m not the same girl you left behind. I don’t hate you. I did for a while, but then I realised you cared when all the rest didn’t. I’m sorry we parted angry.”
She sounded reasonable, far more reasonable than I expected. She should have still been angry, if not with me, but with the others.
“OK. If you don’t come out, I’ll get in there with you. You know me well enough to know I will.”
Did I know her well enough? I never took the opportunity. No one wanted to because she didn’t fit the other girls’ profile. It wasn’t like that at University, there it was simply a competition. There was dating, but it was more convenient than romance. There were not many hours left in a day for extracurricular activities.
When I peeled back the covers, it was like seeing an angel, the sun shining in the window, throwing a glow over her. Summer had changed, from the awkward, ugly diluting into a graceful Swan.
A look of concern crossed her face. Just lifting the covers was a difficult task, like most normal movements we all took for granted. It was getting easier and less painful, but it would take time.
“What happened to you?”
“A car and I had a disagreement. It won.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me. How long have you been here? What do you need? Tell me, and I’ll make it happen.”
…
Summer basically glued me back together. It was, she said, one of her projects, others minding the children of silly sisters, nursing her farther past cancer, keeping up her waitress job at the diner, and just being Summer, the girl who always pitched in.
Such was the value of her help that my mother said I should marry her before someone else snapped her up. Just before I was to go back to University, I did just that, but she rejected me.
There was someone else, and he was going to propose any day.
I could respect that. Whatever I thought she might think of me, I would forever be one of those boys who made her life hell. I didn’t deserve someone like her. I just got on the train and left.
But the truth was, I was never the same again.
How could I?
I had tried to tell Margaret, but the terms of the pact were clear. 5 years, do your thing, meet and discuss. If feelings were the same, who knew what might happen?
I was disappointed I hadn’t been able to find her, but I had a story to tell.
A year after returning, I gave it up. I didn’t have the same enthusiasm, and feeling like a failure, I didn’t go home. I simply pretended everything was fine, and moved to New York and found work in a rather offbeat bookshop in Queens.
It fuelled my love of literature, and after reading anything and everything, I started writing my version of the Great American Novel. Small-town boy makes it big in the big city. A bit like my life, really.
Which brings us back to the Empire State Building.
10am.
And Margaret.
I saw her, and thought she was coming to the spot. She looked different, older, smarter, and with a touch of elegance and sophistication.
Halfway, I saw her smile and then wrap her arms around this bear of a man whom I instantly recognised. I mean, you would have to live under a rock not to know him.
Her parents were there, and a bunch of media people. The oohs and ahhs told me it was the moment he went down on one knee; it was going to be a News At 6 moment.
I was but a distant memory, forgotten in her moment of agreeing to be Mrs Albert Johnstone Gerythorn III.
I guess the employee of an eclectic bookshop was hardly a match for a multi-billionaire, or one who was soon to be.
“Sucks to be you.”
It did. That voice, the one that had grated on my nerves nearly all of my school years, came from behind me.
I knew who it was. I didn’t turn around.
“I knew it was a mistake to tell you my innermost secrets.”
“Oh, I would not have missed this for the world.”
I felt her hand slip into mine and her body move closer.
“Five years is a long time. People change.”
“People like us change, Allen. People like her do not.”
“I thought you were getting married?”
“So did I. I guess we were both wrong. Found that cute little bookshop of yours. If I didn’t know you better, I’d be guessing you’ve started that great American novel. Am I right or am I right?”
“You know me too well. You want to stay, or shall we find another circus, something a little more our style?”
“Do we have one?”
“Of course. Everyone has style.”
Then I noticed Margaret was coming towards us, a rather serious expression on her face. Had she finally recognised me?
“Excuse me, but the photographers would like to get some photos of my fiancée and me by this corner. It would be most appreciated.”
No. No sign of recognition.
Summer instead smiled sweetly, ” Of course, Margery Mugmouth, the pleasure would be all ours.”
It was Margaret’s nickname among those girls she trashed, and she instantly recognised Summer, and then me.
“Five years, to the day. You came. Have a happy life, Margaret.”
With that, we left.
A reporter, or just someone with a notepad, was scribbling frantically and then tried to head us off at the elevator. Just too late. The doors closed.
“The nerve,” Summer said. “That was our corner. Or I hope it will be.”
“So do I. Would you like to marry me?” I asked.
The elevator went silent, except for the whishing sound of it going down.
“She made a face, quite amusing, and then said, “Yes.”
People outside the elevator when it arrived thought something bad had happened, given the roar and applause, which pulled out into the foyer after it arrived.
Five years, on the last day of the last month at 10am, something did happen. I proposed to the girl of my dreams. I just hadn’t realised it until then.
…
© Charles Heath 2026
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 