Emma

Just spending time with my favorite imaginanry friends. Nothing special :)

       Emma yawned widely and studied her reflection in the mirror. “Good morning, Beautiful,” she said. “We gotta work on this oily skin thing.” Emma was never exactly content with her appearance. She loved her pale, sea foam green eyes, but that was about all she loved. Her waist-length flaxen hair simply hung there, limp and useless with a constant excess of oil. Her complexion was pale--fair, she preferred to say--but there were big red splotches, courtesy of her overactive teenage hormones.

       She turned away from the mirror with a sigh. She knew she was not beautiful, had always known, and it did not bother her…much. She went over to her closet and glared at the contents in disgust. A dozen identical school uniforms hung there, mocking her. She loathed them. Everything from the navy cardigan and white collared blouse to the matching navy tie and blue-and-green plaid skirt repulsed her. Right down to the plain white knee-highs and shiny black Mary Janes, she couldn’t stand it; it trampled out her vibrant personality, something she'd been trying to develop since birth. Every now and then she’d spice it up with a shocking pink belt or earrings made from old bottle caps. Anything to stand out. But of course, the administration dragged her right back into line, into the drab, mindless conformity she loathed. Adults. Honestly. She hoped she’d never become one.

       But she smiled with a side long glance at the calendar. It was Saturday. Weekends were her time. She pushed past the dreadful uniforms and pulled out a lime-green t-shirt and a worn-out, holey old pair of jeans. She coupled this with a weather-beaten, azure blazer and that shocking pink belt. She went back to the mirror. “Still missing something,” she mumbled to herself. She rummaged through her closet again, throwing things aside haphazardly and not caring, until she stumbled across electric blue high-tops. “Perfect,” she muttered. She pulled her hair into a side ponytail--ridiculously retro-- and turned for one final glance in the mirror. “Well,” she said, “As usual, this is as good as it’s gonna get.” And then she rushed out the door.

       There he stood, gorgeous as always. Edward was the epitome of perfection. He had a graceful, yet powerful frame. His jet black hair gleamed in the sun, and his topaz eyes smoldered, making Emma melt. And, of course, his features were perfectly proportioned. He could have been Adonis himself. More than that, he wasn’t all eye candy. He played piano and composed, he read, he loved nature, he was impossibly selfless…The list went on and on. His was a perfect lock-and-key match for Emma.

       Yet Emma always felt that she did not deserve him, that somehow Fate had lost something in translation and there was a tan, blond, blue-eyed cheerleader stuck with some awkward, geeky kid originally meant for Emma. She didn’t understand his fascination with her, but she knew what she felt, though he had told her time and again that comparing her love for him to his love for her was like comparing a drop of water to an ocean. Impossible, she’d always told him. It didn’t matter. She was his, and, for some unfathomable reason, he was hers. Every word he spoke, every gesture he made, reiterated that he loved her. It was enough to make her head spin.

       “Hi,” she said breathless. Would she ever get used to his perfection?

       “Hi,” he said, taking her hand in his, “How was your night?”

       “Good,” she breathed, smiling.

       “Good,” he echoed, pulling her into a close, warm embrace. “You are beautiful.”

       And she believed him. She would believe anything he said when he was holding like this. He leaned closer still and kissed her hair.

       “Do you mind if we take a walk?” Edward asked.

 

      Mind?! Of course not, you silly boy!

     “Sure,” Emma said.

       Edward resumed his position holding her hand and they walked toward the park in the early morning mist. Emma stared at him while they walked. She couldn’t help it. Despite all reason, all logic, she was with this beautiful creature. Reason had nothing to do with it, she realized. And, she thought seriously, I could die right now, holding his hand and I would still be content; just to hold his hand forever would be my kind of perfect eternity.

 

Reviews

[Fabian G. Franklin]

This was nice and had some really great descriptive qualities about it i.e., "sea foam green eyes...waist length..." I like the good descriptions you present throughout your writing, you possess a natural talent for language and music you should never take for granted. You are blessed and gifted. Blessings of peace and love.

[Leah Elisabeth]

This is really cute and a good reminder that it isn't all about appearances. Well done!

[JohnL]

What appeals to me about this and the other story I have reviewed you is the innocence of the main characters even though serious ongoing issues are being addressed - in this one, values, individuality, self-worth, what really is beauty?, adolescence, et al.
On the technical points, the quality of the writing and the impeccable setting out make it easy to read and the dialogue simple to follow. The use of the 'lock and key analogy' occurs in both. Although it is a good one, perhaps it's time to find another to describe similar situations.