floral print.A Story by Sav How do you know when you hit the line between a crush and full-blown love? I’m
still not sure, so I advise you don’t ask me. The closest I've ever
gotten to love was my junior year, and it all started in the school library.
Yes, the school library: hot from lack of air conditions, hard wood chairs,
scattered tables that always seem to be empty, and old librarian clerks who
yell at you when you open a book too wide.
It was late in the school year, third semester, just breaking winter, finally
moving into spring. The school floors were coated in mud (except for the
library which saw approximately four set of feet a day), the heat was
turned off, windows opened, teachers gave less homework; it was just the
perfect time of the year.
However, this story has nothing to do with the teachers or
the population of the school; it has to do with the library and her. I was in
and out of there every day fifth period due to a lack of friends and an
inability to find common ground among people my age. I usually didn't
read though; I would just sit there, do some homework, think too much, draw
feminine forms as boys do, and wish that someday, I would fall in love as
everyone around me had already done.
It was a Thursday, mid-March, the eighteenth to be exact, when I met her. The
windows were all open, and a breeze rolled in, making her shoulder length
auburn hair move in tornado funnel shapes. She was wearing a white shirt,
tucked into her floral skirt, which cut off an inch or two above her knees. She
had on her big framed brown glasses, which she kept pushing up on her face. She
sat with her ankles crossed, floral flats settled on the ground. I sat there at
the table next to her, examining her every move, every turn of a page, every
time she would lift up her thumb and chew lightly on its nail.
She looked up and saw me, smiled, and looked back to her book. I wanted to talk
to her, but I didn’t know what to say. When she closed her book and motioned me
over, I was more than thrilled; I was ecstatic. She had a crisp, clean
voice, quiet and just the right speed, as if she had all her words planned
beforehand.
“Hi, I’m
I wanted to pick up a rude, sarcastic tone in her voice, but I knew there
wasn’t one. I laughed and she looked panicked.
“I have something on my face, don’t I? Oh my, this is so embarrassing.”
I shook my head, “No, there’s nothing on your face. I just tend to stare when I
see someone beautiful.”
She blushed a bright red, redder than a tomato at its prime covered in vibrant
red paint. “Well, that’s very sweet of you, but everything changes with the
light you’re looking at it with.”
I tried to be funny, which never works well for me. “What’s that supposed to
mean? Are you really a hideous monster in the hallway lights? How’s sunlight?
God, I can only imagine.”
She smiled a sweet smile. “I’m sure you know what I’m trying to say. You seem
like a smart guy, considering you’re in the library every day instead of
elsewhere.”
“How do you know I’m in here every day?”
The bell rang; she smiled, stood up, said she’d see me tomorrow, and left me
utterly confused and alone. Even to this day, I have no idea what she meant;
she was beautiful in every single light I looked at her with.
I won’t bore you with every conversation, every word her beautiful mouth spoke.
That would waste too much time, time I don’t want to spend thinking about her.
Yes, I still love her. It’s just... it’s just complicated.
We met at the library every day; talked, read, shared ideas, dreams, stories.
Eventually, we decided we should probably take our friendship out of the hot
library, and we went to the park every day together after school. She had a
love for floral print, and I realized she incorporated some sort of flowered
pattern into her outfit everyday. She was a big dress wearer, which I loved
more than anything. She was so different from anyone else I’d ever met. She was
special.
She had a blanket in the back of her car, which she would spread out in the
middle of the park’s field and lay down on, while I sat cross-legged next to her.
We told each other every thing because, as I said, we were together all the
time. Though we did go other places, we always seemed to be at the park the
most. I never saw her house; she never saw mine.
To my knowledge, she hated her house. Not because it was ugly, and not because
she didn’t like her parents, but because it was too familiar, too worn out,
boring. I asked her why she liked to stay in the same park then, to which she
replied with a laugh, “The park is always different. Different sounds, people,
smells, grass footprints, conversations, emotions.”
Her mind was beautiful. She was nice to everyone, understanding of every thing,
brilliant book wise and streetwise. She was everything I always wished I could
find in a girl, and there she was, with me all the time I wasn’t at home.
People asked if we were together, and we both smiled and said no, but I always
wished I could say yes. She called me her best friend, and I called her mine,
because she was.
It rained the day it happened, the day I told her; the day she left. Spring
ended, school ended, it was mid-summer, early July. We were at the park, in her
car, backseat to be precise. She was wearing her white dress, with no floral to
be found. It worried me because it was so unusual for her.
We were quiet, and I slipped my hand into hers. She looked up at me with her big
doe eyes. I didn’t kiss her. She kissed me. I thought for sure she liked me
too. However, I knew I didn’t like her anymore: I loved her. We kissed and
kissed until she smiled big, grabbed my hand, dragged me into the rain, and
danced around in it.
Her white dress got soaked, revealing a floral bra and matching underwear. I
laughed, relieved, and teased her as she smiled, telling me she had an
uncanny obsession with flowers. I told her I loved her and she said she loved
me too. I was right. © 2011 Sav |
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2 Reviews Added on March 7, 2010 Last Updated on March 6, 2011 |