My Regrets with Crystal, Part 2

I'm back. Everyone's gone. Now where was I.... Ah, yes...

Friday afternoon Crystal called, I'm not even sure why. Mom thought she sounded bored, understandable, there's not a lot to do at her house. So Mom looks over at me, whispers, "Do you mind if I invite her to spend the night?"

I sigh inwardly but shrug, "Sure, whatever." I stare at the book on the island in front of me. I'll sure never get it finished today now. But for Crystal, sigh, okay.

But that was just how it all started. I mean, I'm not so selfish that I can't get over not reading a book in the evening like I wanted to.

She comes. We have an enjoyable time. I send a sigh to the heavens. Okay, I get it. I need to socialize; this is good for me. That evening we're sitting on my bed talking. It's starting to get late; we really should go to sleep. But we keep talking. About everything, things neither of us have talked about for a very long time, or ever. I admit, she did more talking than I did, but it always works that way. And I sure did get to thinking.

We talked about her mom and dad. What we missed. Her new homelife. How she got along with her new "family". I still can't get used to her calling her aunt and uncle, mom and dad. It seems like they're to old to switch like that. I don't think I'll ever like it.

Then she decided she wanted to hear me talk more, I guess. She asked about my stories. "Tell me about one of them." I stutter around Ryn's childhood. Then I reach the part when she meets Caleb again, after all those years. And I just don't know how to explain. "Read it to me." And I did. I got out my notebook and read part of their meeting. When I couldn't stand to read any more out loud, I gave it to her to finish. I pray to God that there's a day when I won't regret that. But I don't think it'll be soon in coming.

The compliments and encouragement she gave me touched me deeply. Gosh it was only a rough first draft. But it hurt, still does.

Unfortunately, that's not the end.

Saturday. A new dawn, a clean slate, right? If only it were that easy. We slept in late, watched Scooby Doo. Twice. (For some reason she's addicted to commentaries.) Theresa called. "We're headed to Mansfield in a few minutes. Do you want us to pick you up on the way there or the way back?" The way back, of course. Fine with me. They'd be here to pick her up, what, two, three at latest? Sounds okay. I'll survive.

They didn't get there until 5:30. I didn't have a single minute to myself that day. That afternoon up in my room, she asked to borrow some books. How does one refuse? She took three. I don't mind. It's the ones she took that bothered. None I read before. That seems inconsequential, I know. And it wasn't actually that I hadn't read the books. I had. Just not these books. I'd read the copies from the library, but these were mine. Call me posessive, but if there was anything I could've done to have stopped her from taking those (outside the extremely dramatic) I would've. I prayed that God would let her forget, anything. Nothing. She left my house with three books I didn't own. Never would. Because reading a book is what makes it yours. Those books will never be mine. (I seriously hope I am being overly dramatic, I fear I'm not.) I hope the years will fade those first readings and make them mine again.

Saturday night I sat on my floor and cried, begged God to make it better. I hurt. I'd given something I feared wasn't mine. My story. I gave so much of myself. Add the books and I think I gave too much.

There's one other thing I regret about that friday night. Crystal asked me what I missed most about Aunt Carol and I never really answered. I know now.

....

Her laugh.