Nerdfighters Gazette

Melia

My name is Melia Hawk.  Or, at least, that’s what they tell me.  I’ve always felt I was more of a Julie.  Or a Monica.  But whatever; my name is not up to me, and I guess I have to live with that.  Live.  Huh.  What a funny word.  But that’s for another day.

I find myself in this exact spot – in front of the Washington Monument, Washington D.C. – for a pretty stupid reason.  My boyfriend broke up with me.  Boo-hoo, wah-wah.  Get over it, right?  Except he wasn’t just my boyfriend; he was my cousin.

Okay, I see it all now.  You’re just sitting there reading this like, “What the hell?  You dated your own cousin?”  And sure, it is a little messed up when you put it like that.  But it’s completely legal (“What, in some hick town in southern Alabama or what?”).  He’s my second cousin.  Yeah, that makes it so much better, I’m sure.  But let me explain.

I met this boy, his name being Davis Montgomery, at a family reunion (“This just keeps getting sicker and sicker!”), right after my mother’s fourth wedding.  She was “in love” with some rich lawyer named John Jackson.  He was good at his job, and often got completely guilty rapists off of the hook.  Yeah, what a great guy.  But my mom loved him or something like that, so I went along with it.  I was her Maid of Honor, and I did what I was told (“Now I need you to pick out the bridesmaid dresses, and which one’s better, this, this, this, this, that, this, or this?”).  I should’ve been daughter of the year, now that I think about it.  So we were all gathered around my mother, basking in her glow of affection for her no-longer-fiancé.  That’s when I saw him.

“Hey, my name is So-and-so, what’s yours?” I pictured him saying politely.  “Would you like to go on a hot date with me?”
I had fallen head over heels with this boy before I even knew his name.

But right as I was about to ask my Aunt Marshalla what his name was, my mother shouted, “Oh!  Davis!  You made it!  Melia, this is your cousin, Davis Montgomery.”  I was instantly appalled with myself.  How could I like my cousin?  But the more I looked at this boy, the more I reasoned with myself that it was okay.

For example, Davis is completely yummy.  Soft black curls, relaxed brown eyes, muscles strong from doing something other than weight-lifting, I’m sure.  He was perfect.  And then he spoke.  His southern drawl caressed my ears like a warm down blanket.

“M-my name is Mel-l-lia,” I managed to get out through my dripping lips.

He responded politely and was ever-so-kind as we talked quietly in the corner by the punch.

It’s hard to remember how it all spiraled towards this.  The relationship.  The break-up.  It’s all so blurred.  But here I am, standing in front of the Washington Monument, hearing cars from behind me.

I turn around, take a deep breath, and take a step.

Susie
WHAM!

I remember dancing with one of Melia’s million cousins when the song came on. The song that I would forever connect with that day. It was a smooth song sung by the cheesy band that they had hired for the occasion, and though I have now heard it in many different version this is the one that will always be stuck on my mind. The cousin’s hand was riding lower and lower on my hip, and I thanked the kind gods when the song ended so I could make my excuses without it being too awkward.

I do hate feeling awkward.

Melia and I had lost each other long before the wedding started. She was off helping her demanding mother with whatever she asked for, and I had been dragged around by my father who introduced me to pretty much everyone in our state. As a former senator’s daughter I have to always be present on every chance of publicity.

To say I have grown tired of it, would be an extreme understatement.

I was really hoping that this wedding would be one that lasted, at least for Melia’s sake. If her mother was thrown to the wolves or not, I didn’t really care about, but Melia deserved some stability in her life after all that had happened.

When yet another cousin (where did they all come from?) appeared at my elbow, asking for a dance, I kindly replied that I was just a bit dizzy from the scorching sun. As the freckled boy ran away with a mumbled promise of water for me, I made my escape. Seeing Melia on the other side of the floor, I squeeze myself between to ladies I can only assume was two more aunts.

I had just evaded tripping over a running child, when I heard Margaret’s shrilling voice.

“Oh!  Davis!  You made it!  Melia, this is your cousin, Davis Montgomery.”

I suppose that he was a good-looking boy. Man. Kid. Whatever he was, I suppose you could call him attractive. He had that charm that is oh-so-fatal. But there was something in his eyes.

Maybe it’s just something I’ve made up. It’s all clear in hindsight you know, everything that happens. But I am sure I saw the glint. A little crack in his perfect appearance.  Just something lurking beneath the surface. He was a sight though.

I could see Melia’s face when she looked at him. It was simply radiant, and that is not a word that I usually describe her with. She’s a beautiful girl, but she’s sad. She’s always been sad.

Maybe if I had stepped in earlier it would all have been different. Maybe it had turned out a different way. Maybe if I had made her look for something else than stars in his eyes. Maybe it… Maybe.

Maybe is a dangerous word.