Chapter Twenty-two

THE ANDERCHRONICLES

By Me, Ellee

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

"Waterfall of Tears"

After consuming all the chocolate in Andy’s place, I was ready for ice cream. I found five partially eaten ice cream cartons in the pantry freezer, which I took to the table and immediately began consuming the remainder of each. The first one was Double Fudge Chocolate Ripple with Chocolate Chips. I had that down in 3.2 minutes, and then opened the container of Tutti Frutti Nutty Gummy Worms, which, although definitely NOT my favorite, was gone in 1.75 minutes. Next in line was the Very Berry White Chocolate Mousse. Then came the Confession Obsession Better-Than-You-Know-What Orange-Chocolate Creme. That was my favorite! And finally, just plain old vanilla, which I ate anyway despite its boring nature.

Once I had finished eating all that, I was wanting something else. It was then I noticed a bag of potato chips. So with that and a can of Diet Coke which I grabbed from the refrigerator, I now had my next coarse—the entree in this sumptuous meal I was in the process of devouring. I finished the chips and drank the soda without much problem, and was then ready for dessert. Going back to the pantry, I scanned the shelves for something I had missed the first time around and found a package of Ding Dongs and some Twinkies, both of which didn’t stand a fighting chance against my voracious appetite.

As I grabbed both packages, I heard whisperings, little stabbing reminders, going on somewhere in my mind . . . It was a mistake; it never should have happened! I knew all too well what was a mistake and never should have happened, and I didn’t need any reminders. However, as I tried pushing those thoughts back to the place where they came from, I felt the now familiar tears spreading their warm and wet sadness all over my cheeks once again, and I couldn’t stop them.

As I tore the crackling cellophane from the Twinkies, I slumped down to the cold pantry floor and sobbed uncontrollably, smashing the small cream-filled cakes into my mouth whole, as if that would somehow ease the pain. The salt from my tears and the sweet from the Twinkies made the perfect mix of sweet and salty as the two rendezvoused in my mouth, like the Kettle Korn I had noticed up on the third shelf. But my eating binge was finished. It hadn’t helped at all, and now I was sick of food. And not only that, I needed Molly—where was she?

I didn’t see Andy at all during this time. When I tip-toed softly past his room and accidently put my ear against his door, I could hear him snoring soundly. I went back to my room to see if I could do that, too. And I guess I did, because I don’t remember anything until . . .

"WHAT IN TARNATION ARE YOU STILL DOING HERE? I THOUGHT YOU LEFT A WEEK AGO!"

It was beloved Harriet, Henna-Happy-Harriet. And she had come to give me a nice wake-up call—free of charge, I might add. It was just part of the excellent room service here in the Anderhotel. As she ripped open the window coverings, exposing the dazzling morning sun, which fell across my eyes, causing morning blindness and confusion, I realized it was Monday morning and Harriet’s Christmas vacation was over! And apparently, so was mine.

"WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE," she roared?

I bolted upright, clapping my hands over my eyes to save what little eyesight I had left. Before I could establish any kind of coherence—like my exact whereabouts, she had clamped her industrial-sized hands onto my petite and delicate wrists like hand-cuffs, and was pulling me from the bed. She stood me at attention, facing her massive frame, the bulk of which was like a refrigerator box, her henna-dyed mound of hair perched high on top of her head, and had managed to synchronize both her eyes to track together for once.


"Henna," I gasped in surprise, "I mean Harriet, you had corrective eye surgery over the holidays! How wonderful for you!"

"WHAT?" she bellowed. "Don’t change the subject! WHY are you still here? Answer that question!!!" Her words were crisp and sharp and demanded an answer.

"Well," I said, taking great pleasure that I was indeed still there, since she wanted more than anything else for me to be gone, "I guess Andy didn’t want to take his Christmas present back after all." And I smiled so sweetly, her eyes stopped tracking and started spinning in opposite directions.

"Well, little Miss Smart-mouth . . ." (that wasn’t exactly the word she used), "we will SEE what Anderson has to say about THAT! NOW! GET DRESSED. YOU have lots and lots of work to do!"

And she wasn’t kidding. You can’t even begin to image what she put me through. By the end of the day I was so exhausted I went to bed a 6:00p.m. and slept until dawn! I didn’t even know if Andy had come and gone, or if he was still gone and hadn’t come back, however, he wasn’t home when I woke up on Tuesday. And he wasn’t home on Wednesday or Thursday. The only time I saw him during the week was on the huge wall-screen TV, where he appeared each night, bigger than life.

Finally, on Friday I heard him come in at midnight, but he went straight to his room and I didn’t get to see him. I hadn’t actually seen him in person since that Monday, and . . . well . . . I just needed to see him . . . if only for a minute. So I went to his room with the idea of knocking on the door, but once there, I realized I didn’t really have a plan . . . I mean . . . what was I going to say when he opened the door, Hi, I just needed to see you. Thanks. I'll go back to my room now?

So right at the very last second, just before my knuckles made contact with his door, I withdrew my hand and lost my nerve, but as I did so, I heard music coming from inside. When I put my ear to the door I heard Silver Lake’s Vic Chestnutt singing,

Forget everything I ever told you,
I’m sure I lied way more than twice,

Vic had lied! Had Andy lied? But how? He hadn’t told me ANYTHING at all—which, for my situation, was actually worse than lying. That’s when it hit me hard: I didn’t have any of his words OR even his lies—I HAD NOTHING. Not even THAT kiss! It was a mistake! Tears once again welled up and overflowed like the Namibian waterfalls of Epupa, as Vic wailed on,

I’m through, through, through . . . .

Was Andy through, too . . . through, through, through . . . just like Vic? But how could he be "through" when there was nothing to be through with? We didn’t have ANYTHING AT ALL——NOT EVEN THE KISS THAT NEVER SHOULD HAVE HAPPENED!

Unlike Epupa, there was no damming my waterfall of tears at that point, so I rushed back to my room and just let them cascade over the edge and into the river.

Bye for now,
Love,
Ellee