20
Kam
In the twoand a half days since Alana pretty much called me an obsessive creep, I still haven’t been able to get her words out of my head. Though she seems to have forgotten about the entire incident. I don’t know how she does it; she just moves on from things like that without real resolution.
It’s odd ground for me. I’m used to hard feelings being squashed after blowouts like that. Megan and I talk through things to the end, and the next day we make sure there aren’t any sour feelings left over. Even Katie and I make sure we’re on good terms after a fallout. I even got Blair into the habit of talking problems out.
I have a feeling Alana would laugh right in my face if I tried to do a check-in with her. I’m sure she feels nothing about that conversation except that she’s glad she said what she said and that she meant every word. It’d be a pointless waste of breath. I won’t try to push her, it would probably end up starting another argument, and we’ve been argument-free for the past two days.
Well, that’s because she hasn’t really said much of anything after the night I took her that new book. I put her clothes in the drawers as she ate seconds, but she sat there and started re-reading the book, letting me know I had made the right choice.
I’m counting that as my second victory.
The longer she’s here, the more I’m reminded she could possibly be a more permanent fixture in our lives. Spending time with her has made her as unpleasant as most of it has been as a reminder that she’s a very real person with her own likes and dislikes that are so far off from Megan that there’d be no confusing them. I don’t see how it’s possible that any of their interests will ever align.
I see that clearly now, and as much as I’m understanding that more and more, the thought is terrifying. Her voice runs through my head more than my own thoughts do some hours of the day. I find myself thinking about her at random times, and I’ve tried to block her out with TV, exercising, and reading, but I can’t get her voice to shut up. It overshadows Megan's soft, warm tone by a long shot.
This mysterious force that Alana is has me grasping at straws to figure her out, which is like a thousand-piece puzzle that I’m not close to solving. Still, I have picked up little things, like she drinks her coffee black and that she absolutely hates tea. She stays in the shower for a long time. The longest time so far has been an hour. She’s big on changing bed sheets frequently. If she doesn’t wash them before she goes to sleep, she’ll make me bring her more sheets. I asked why she does it so often, and she just said she liked sleeping on fresh sheets. I questioned if that went back to her time in foster care, and she said, with much more attitude than was needed, “does everything I do relate back to foster care?”
So, I took that as a “mind your own business” response. But I’ve also learned that her nostrils flair when I’m right about something she doesn’t want to confirm. I don’t know if I’m suffering from reverse Stockholm syndrome, but anytime I am right about something, I feel a little dose of euphoria. That’s why I’m standing outside of her door with a laptop and a few DVDs I found while I was out shopping the other day.
I knock on the door, but I don’t get an answer. She’s probably just in the shower, or she’s sleeping like the past few times.
I knock again a little louder and call out to her, but nothing. So I push the door open, and I hear the shower going. She likes midday showers, I’m learning. Still, I look around to see if she’s hiding somewhere before I go inside.
I set the tray, the movies, and the computer on the bed, not knowing how long it’s going to be until she comes out, but on my way to the door, the shower shuts off. I stop in my tracks, trying to decide if I want to be here when she gets back, but I’d like to know what she thinks about the movies.
It doesn't take her long; she opens the door and comes out in a steam cloud smelling like Megan's body wash, wrapped up in a towel. Megan’s scent overtakes my nose, and I make a mental note to get something different for Alana when I go out. I don’t want to miss Megan any more than I do while Alana is here.
She frowns before looking up at me.
“What are you doing?” She asks me.
I don’t answer her. I’m too busy taking her in. She’s dripping wet, leaving a trail of water behind her on the wood floor, her skin still has water droplets on it, and it doesn’t even look like she tried to dry her hair.
“Hey!” she says, snapping her fingers in annoyance. “Answer the question.”
“I was going to leave, but then the shower turned off,” I say as she scrutinizes me. I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to get used to her visible disdain and judgment. “I brought lunch and some movies,” I tell her, gesturing towards where everything sits on the bed. Her expression doesn’t change when she moves towards the bed, still glaring at me as she passes. “The wifi’s disconnected, by the way.”
She glances at me as she picks the movies up. “I didn’t think you’d be dumb enough to give me a computer with wifi connected,” she says, glancing down at the DVDs in her hands.
“Why didn’t you dry off?” I ask, choosing not to respond to her statement.
“Didn’t feel like lifting my arms after washing and conditioning my hair. This pregnancy shit takes an assload of energy.”
Just for a moment, I freeze. I wasn’t expecting a straight answer from her. I’m a little stunned.
She tosses the movies back on the bed, saying nothing about them.
“I’ll bring different ones if you don’t like those,” I tell her as I watch her wobble over to the dresser and put her hand flat against it.
She turns her gaze to me, that frown still in place.
“I didn’t say shit about them, did I?” she asks as she slowly crouches down, using the dresser to hold herself up.
I watch her, and a wave of pity washes over me, seeing her struggle to bend over, knowing she’s been doing everything in here by herself. I’m normally at Megan’s beck and call, helping her with daily tasks, some of which are reaching things that are too low for her to get on her own. For some reason, I didn’t think about how hard it’d be for her to get to her clothes when I put them in there. I didn’t even consider it. I guess since this is Alana, it didn’t cross my mind that she’d struggle like a normal person. But she’s been in here hobbling around for the past seven days now, getting by because she’s had to.
Damn. How am I just thinking about this? Don’t I feel like an ass now? I need to become more present.