floral print.

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 Audrey. Can I help you with something, or do I just have something on my face?”

          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.
            We got into her car, drove back to my road, and as I stepped out, she told me she wouldn’t see me tomorrow. I asked her why, yet she just smiled and drove away. I stood there in the rain, water droplets crashed from every part of my face, but maybe they were just tears. I knew her well enough to know I would never see her again, and of course,

I was right.

© 2011 Sav


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Great little piece here. You articulate yourself with words really eloquently. Don't have much criticism for this one, exceptfor a few grammar errors...

Posted 13 Years Ago


oh my god the end )':
savannah this is beautiful.
truly.

Posted 14 Years Ago



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Added on March 7, 2010
Last Updated on March 6, 2011

Author

Sav
Sav

NY



Writing
To K, From D To K, From D

A Story by Sav


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A Story by Sav