As soon as the word was out of my mouth, I knew I had fucked up.
Mayra drove me home and saved me from the rain.
She brought me my book bag.
She gave me a haircut.
I hadn’t said thank you.
Shit, shit, shit.
I couldn’t let it go. I had to fix it.
Just when I thought the day was turning into a win, I blew it.
Lose—again.
Chapter 3—All the Reasons I’m a Disaster
The short, panting breaths coming out of my mouth were making me all dizzy and light-headed.
I sat in Bethany’s car in the driveway of Mayra Trevino’s house. I came here to thank her, but I couldn’t get out of the damn car. Every time I tried, my insides felt like they were going to pop right through my skin and splatter over the cement.
I didn’t understand myself at all. She had been in my house, and it hadn’t caused any reaction like this. She’d been close to me, touched me, cut my hair. Why couldn’t I walk up to her house and say thank you?
My hand grasped the handle of the car door, and I tried again. The result was the same. I dropped my elbows onto the steering wheel and put my face in my hands. I slowly shook my head back and forth while I growled and swore at myself.
Giving up on talking to her but still insisting on correcting my infraction, I turned the car back on and drove Uptown to the Hallmark store to look for a thank-you card. At least I could put it in her mailbox. I was pretty sure I could handle that. Thinking about it didn’t seem to upset me.
None of the cards said “Thanks for the ride” or “Thanks for the haircut.” I found some cards that just said “thank you” on them in gold script with the card all blank inside, so I bought one of those. Then I sat in the car for thirty minutes trying to figure out what to say. I wrote a few words, then tore the card up and went back inside for another card. The cashier gave me a weird look, but I ignored her.
I did that two more times before I settled on something that I didn’t think was too bad.
Dear Mayra,
Thank you for giving me a ride home and cutting my hair.
I’m sorry I forgot to say that before.
Sincerely,
Matthew Rohan
I took a deep breath and slid the little card into an envelope and sealed it. Then I flipped it over and wrote Mayra on the front. I looked at it for a bit and decided to add her last name—Trevino. I smiled as I drove back to her house and pulled up near the mailbox.
I realized I hadn’t put her address on the front of the card, so I added that as well. Of course, since I hadn’t planned to write that much on the card, it didn’t all fit with the same-sized letters. At least I had the extra envelopes from the other cards I had messed up, so I ripped the card out of the first one and put it into a blank envelope. I wrote her name and address again.
Just before I put it in the mailbox, it occurred to me that the mail carrier just might think they were mailing a letter out, not receiving one, and could collect it and take it back to the post office. It didn’t have a stamp or anything on it, so it could end up being lost completely. She would think I was insanely rude and might never speak to my again.
How would we get our project done?
I pulled the card back to my chest. Maybe if I wrote my return address on it, it would at least come back to me due to a lack of postage. How long would that take, though? Oxford mail wasn’t known for being overly fast even when there is the correct postage on a letter.
I considered taking it up to her front door, but the thought immediately started my heart pounding. Just looking at the little, covered porch and thinking of myself walking up there and ringing the bell made my stomach clench and threaten to expel dinner.
Bethany would be really pissed if I threw up in her car.
That idea started a whole other attack. I dropped the card onto the passenger seat and got out of the car altogether. The air outside the car smelled fresh and clean, which helped calm me a bit. I leaned against the driver’s side door and put my face back in my hands.