Rainy Days and Mondays Revised Version part one

So I finally stopped procrastinating and started my editting/rewriting, whatever you want to call it. :] I was inspired by Stranger Than Fiction. So here is what I have so far!


It was a typical Monday morning.

Rain was falling softly against the flat roof of the decrepit school building and dripping down like tears against the dusty windows of the cafeteria. A bus pulled up behind the windows, and from my position I could watch as the students scrambled in with books and half opened umbrellas hovering over their heads to block out the cold droplets.

I was sitting at one of the long, chronically dirty tables that filled the vast emptiness that was the cafeteria. The masses of students that surrounded my tiny, personal bubble were all chattering amongst themselves over the latest break up or other such trivial drama that mean everything in high school. Ten years later I wouldn’t remember the words that were floating through that thin atmosphere. It wouldn’t matter that the book I was reading to keep myself from feeling awkward without someone to talk to was A Separate Peace by John Knowles. What I would always remember about that seemingly normal Monday morning, was the soft tap of his shoes as he walked toward me and the abrupt and casual way that he said my name.

My eyes drifted from the pages of my book just as Phineas was about to jump into the water, and I blinked as I stared at the boy in front of me. He was tall and lanky; and his messy, light brown hair was swept back from his eyes. His eyes were hazel, and they peered at me in obvious familiarity. My hand nervously lifted to toy with a lock of my blonde hair.

“Hi?” I replied vaguely, wondering who he was and why he had decided to grace me with his presence.

“Don’t you remember me?” He lifted a hand and ran his long fingers through his hair.

My mind went to work, processing his features and his movements as quickly as possible to try to match him up with the handful of people I knew. I had been home schooled until tenth grade and had been blessed with a strict Christian family that drastically limited my social life. I was sure I had no idea who the handsome boy sitting in front of me was.

“No, I’m sorry,” I finally admitted with a shrug of my shoulders. “I don’t.”

“Robert. Its me Robert.” He replied absently as he looked down at his lap and fumbled with an mp3 player. I was very glad he wasn’t looking at me when he said this. My mouth dropped open, and I began to remember his eyes and his voice. He had changed so much since the last time I saw him, which was when I was eleven. He had lived in the house across from mine, and on my eleventh birthday, he had picked up and left without as much as a goodbye. Back then he had been a little on the heavy side and very awkward with his long arms and big feet.

“Robert, I don’t believe it. You look so different.”

“Is that a good thing?” he looked up again at me, raising one of his brows.

“Oh, of course!” I stammered nervously, feeling a blush creeping into my cheeks.

The bell rang, and I cursed its terrible timing as I stood up and leaned down to grab the straps of my abnormally heavy book bag. He continued to talk while I wrestled my hair from the straps of my bag.

“… so I can call sometime.”

I slung my purse over my shoulder and turned back to him in confusion. “What?”

“Your number?” he repeated patiently, glancing over his shoulder to look out of the windows toward the buses.

“Oh, yes!” I fumbled into my purse for a pen as he held out his hand to me. For a moment I was unsure as to what he wanted me to do, but all of those teenage romance movies saved me. I found myself scribbling down the numbers awkwardly onto his palm before pushing the pen back down into my purse. Once he had gotten the string of numbers, he drifted away from the table where I still stood, dumbfounded.


It turned out that I didn’t have to wait very long for that first phone call, and before I could catch my breath, I was his girlfriend.

Our first date, he was thirty minutes late.

We had planned on going to the movies then out to eat afterwards, but he was hungry so we changed our plans and went to eat before hand. The restaurant was a quite pizza parlor on a street corner right across from the little theatre. There were small booths around the edges of the restaurant and round tables in the middle. He chose one of the booths by a window, and we sat down on opposite sides of the table. The waitress took our order then left us alone in silence.
As sad as it may seem, this was my first date ever. Up until this point, I was not allowed to even speak of the opposite sex, and if I did slip up and mention them, my father would quickly end the conversation with one of his trademark glares. Plus, it was hard to meet people when you spend most of your time at home.