Chapter Nineteen

THE ANDERCHRONICLES

By Me, Ellee

[WARNING: The following story has been rated FNF*]
*Fiction NOT Fact

**What that means is: None of this stuff is true! Please don’t make any important life decisions based on these writings.

"Andy’s New Year’s Resolutions"

New Year’s Day, THE very first day of a brand new year is supposed to be a day full of new beginnings, resolve, expectations, promises, anticipation, optimism—in other words everything positive. No one has yet discovered that their New Year’s Resolutions just aren’t going to fly—that comes the next day. So, that very first day is a time of joy and hope. A time to take in a deep breath and march forward, confidently into a brand new experience with all the optimism and wonder of a young child.

But on this first day of this new year, I was not experiencing any of those things—I was experiencing something that had curiously enough started out in a positive nature on New Year’s Eve, but ended up very negatively. Oh, let me back up. I will tell you the whole story, but be forewarned—it is going to break your heart—it broke mine.

Although I was exhausted from the tree planting ceremonies and the other events of the day, I was unable to sleep. I kept sensing Andy’s lips on mine, which, of course, had not occurred at all. I was vigilant in reminding myself of this, but my senses wouldn’t listen, and to make matters worse, my mind insisted on repeating the sensation over and over, again and again. But, I also reminded myself, we had come soooo close to knowing that kiss—but dang! It never happened! Thanks to Sissy.

I did take comfort, however, in knowing that nineteen million tons of domestic plastic would not end up in a landfill somewhere this year, because of Christmas trees all over the civilized world, like the one we had planted in Andy’s Christmas tree forest the day before.

The next morning, New Year’s Eve Day, having completed a three-page list of New Year’s resolutions for Andy, AND knowing I couldn’t EVER let him read it, since most of them had to do with me, I was only seconds away from ripping them up when he walked into the kitchen.

"Good morning, Ellee."

"Good morning, Andy."

"Uh . . . Ellee, remember—it’s Anderson, not Andy."

"Of course," I responded, having no intention of ever calling him, Anderson, although I thought it was a good name.

As he sat down, his eyes skimmed my papers. "What’s that you’re writing?"

I quickly said, "Nothing, nothing at all!" and snatched the papers off the table, but he seized my wrist, turning the papers in his direction.

"I thought I saw my name on that first page." His eyes were now focused at the top of that page. "Ohhhh, I DO see my name: Andy’s New Year’s Resolutions, it says. How interesting. But I don’t remember writing any new year’s resolutions . . . Oh Ellee . . . how thoughtful you are! You’ve written them for me. What would I do without you?"

I was feeling the rush of blood to all the tiny capillaries in my cheeks as his eyes were studying my face.

"Is that right . . . you wrote . . . oh, let’s see . . ." he was counting the pages, "three pages of resolutions . . . all for me? You must think I have a lot to resolve."

Oh, I thought, how did I ever get myself into this? More importantly, how was I ever going to get myself OUT of this? I should never have written all that stuff down. I must have been nuts!

That’s when I swiftly grabbed them away from him, but just as quickly, he snatched them back. I wasted no time standing up, latching onto them once more and . . .well what can I say? The ensuing skirmish over Andy’s New Year’s Resolutions escalated, second by second, into an all-out struggle between the quickest and the strongest, and guess who won? But the only reason he won is because he was able to pin both my hands behind my back with his one hand, while grasping the papers with his other hand. I couldn’t move. His grip was tight. He began reading,

"Number one says . . ."

"NO, Andy!" I pleaded, "please DON’T read that. Pleeeeese!"

"Why not? It says, Andy’s New Year’s Resolutions. That’s moi, is it not? I can read my own New Year’s resolutions, can’t I?"

"Nooooooooo!" I continued begging, but he continued reading,

"‘ Number One: Take Ellee to work on New Year’s Eve.’ Ummm . . ." he mused, as his eyes went from the paper directly to my eyes "so you want to go to work with me tonight . . .?"

I didn’t respond, with words anyway, but I think my body language was speaking for me when my eye lashes fluttered out of control for a couple of nanoseconds—just enough to answer his question. He continued,

"Okay, I think I can arrange that—that is, if you don’t cause any problems. You know, like accidently destroying the cameras, or smashing the microphones, or even setting fire to the teleprompter. Your usual stuff."

"Andeeeeee," I was somewhat offended by his statement. "I don’t DO things like that!"

"Yeeees, you DO. You’re ALWAYS doing that sort of thing!"

"No, I’m NOT!"

"Yes, you are!"

"Well . . .okay, maybe that’s happened once or twice, but it was never my fault—really."

He was still staring at me, and I at him. His eyes were busy smirkling. That’s a cross between twinkling and smirking, by the way. We were locked in this embrace of sorts. Well, maybe not an actual embrace, but a close facsimile. At least I thought of it as an embrace. I wondered if Andy thought so too, BUT I certainly wasn’t going to ask him!

"Number two," he continued reading, "‘Eat oatmeal for breakfast each morning’"

My reasoning behind that one—I took it upon myself to be the keeper of his heart—I would protect it at all costs. I would start with OATMEAL!

"Now that’s one resolution I most definitely WILL NOT KEEP!"

"Annnndy, that’s one resolution you most definitely WILL KEEP!—Starting right now."

I squirmed loose from his grip and sat him down at the table in his place. After filling his bowl to the top with the warm oatmeal, I placed it in front of him. He took one look at it and said,

"No way will I eat that dish-water-brown glob of . . . of . . . wallpaper paste!"

"Wallpaper paste?"

"Yeeeees . . . wallpaper paste! That’s what it looks like AND tastes like!"

"Andy, when have you ever tasted wallpaper paste?"

"Well . . . never."

"Then how do you know that’s what it tastes like?"

"All I have to do is look at it to know!"

"Annnnndy!" I said, stressing each letter sound of his name, my voice ascending on the last syllable. My tone was expecting compliance, as were my eyes; even my fingers, now tapping on the table, were demanding that he eat the oatmeal. He understood and replied,

"Ellee!!" His tone was DENYING compliance, as were his eyes.

Our eyes challenged each other for a few minutes and then he said,

"Ellleeeee . . ." His tone was now one of begging, as were his eyes. He was starting to acquiesce. Finally he conceded, "Alright, alright . . . I’ll eat it. You win."

So we both sat down and ate our oatmeal, Andy grimacing and gaging on each bite as he swallowed. The New Year’s Resolutions were clutched tightly in his left hand all the while, and he informed me we would be reading the full three pages as soon as we finished breakfast. I watched and waited for just the right moment when I could catch him off guard, and wrest the pages from his hands, but that opportunity never came. Finally, after spooning the last of the cereal into his mouth, he looked over at me smiling and said,

Mmmmmmmmm . . . good. Love that wallpaper paste!"

And then directing his attention to the resolutions he said, "Let’s see, where were we? Ah, yes number three. It says here I am to spend more time with Molly and Ellee—in the park. So . . . has Molly discussed this with you?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact she has—on several occasions. She wants to be with you more. She needs you."

"And what about Ellee . . . does she want to be with me more? Does she need me?"

His smiling, blue eyes were boring right through mine. I almost fell off my chair. He was reading a classified document, and I was regretting, more than I can say, having written that classified document. I didn’t know how to respond. I was speechless. So I responded the only way I could—I immediately started blushing.

"You seem to be blushing, Ellee. You know . . . like . . . I mean . . . you do that a lot."

"No, I don’t!"

"Yes, you do!"

"You just think I do."

"Ellee . . . I watch you do it. I watch while your cheeks and neck all turn a nice shade of red. You don’t see it, but I DO!"

"Oh for heaven’s sake, can we just move on to number four?" I was getting so flustered by that time, I just wanted to change the subject. Unfortunately, I had forgotten that resolution number four was far more embarrassing than resolution number three.

"Well, number four is even better than number three," he said, his voice teasing. "It says, ‘Take Ellee out for a romantic evening of sloooow dancing.’"

Why oh why did I ever write all that stuff on paper? I thought.

Closing my eyes to avoid contact with his, I put both my hands on top of my head at that point and started pulling my hair, and as I shook my head from side to side in disbelief said, "Andy, I didn’t write that one. That wasn’t me."

"No? Who did? Molly?"

"Yes," I snapped back, as humiliation engulfed my whole being. Then, as if it couldn’t get any worse—it did. He discovered resolution number twenty-eight as he was scanning ahead through the other pages!

"Ellee . . . Ellllllllllleeeeeee," he was exclaiming, as his eyes got suddenly wider, "I just saw number twenty-eight! Whaaaaat were yoooooou thinking????"

What I was thinking WAS: he would NEVER see ANY of those New Year’s resolutions!!! I was just passing idle time writing them down, in the first place. I was about to destroy them when he intercepted them. THOSE RESOLUTIONS WERE NOT MEANT FOR HIS EYES!

"Andy," I blurted out, " THESE RESOLUTIONS WERE NEVER MEANT FOR YOUR EYES!"

"Obviously." Came his response.

I was now so horrified, I was very close to tears, but I didn’t want to cry. I wanted to flee. I wanted to hide. I wanted to be anywhere, but there—under Andy’s probing eyes. I didn’t know what to do. I started shaking and felt like maybe I would lose consciousness . . . or . . . even throw up, but it occurred to me that my ‘human vomit’ would not carry the same value here in Andy’s kitchen as it had out in his Christmas tree forest, so I commenced hyperventilating to quell the regurgitation response gearing up at that moment.

For several minutes Andy just sat there, taking deep breaths, saying nothing; observing me. I think he sensed I was near the breaking point, and didn’t want that, so he reached up and gently cupped my cheek for a few seconds with his warm hand—like he was trying to calm the turmoil going on inside me at that moment.

"It’s okay Ellee, I won’t read anymore." His eyes were no longer teasing; they had become sensitive, understanding.

As he took his hand away, he brushed the back of his fingers across my lips, which automatically responded to each finger as it lingered. I heard the rush of air as it raced through his teeth with his sudden intake of breath. His eyes narrowed, and his countenance fell somber as the Andersquint developed.

Then, pushing his chair away from the table, he slowly got up, allowing the papers to slip from his hand, and began walking away. My gaze followed him to the doorway, where he turned around to look at me. He seemed to be struggling with something. His lips parted to speak, but the only word that came out was, "Ellee . . ."

I had the distinct feeling that something was about to change—that we were about to cross a threshold, that once crossed, there was no going back. I felt apprehensive, even a little frightened. I think Andy felt the same.

Bye for now,
Love,
Ellee