Girl of my Dreams

F****n' dreams.

The smell of the salt in the wind entices my nose as I stare out over the water.  The sun is high in the sky, bright, powerful, and hot.  The water, near the shore, is a light green; further away, it changes to a deep blue.  It’s quite a sight, but what really has my attention is a blonde girl sitting on the shore’s edge.  The wind ruffles her hair, upon which the sun shines brilliantly.  She turns to look at me, and her eyes startle me, though I’ve seen them countless times before; that blue, a pigment I’ve never seen in anything natural or man-made, shocks me everytime with its utter beauty.

                “Whatcha lookin’ at, muffin?” she asks.  Her voice is raised above its normal pitch; the effect is it makes me adore her even more.

                “Well, I’m trying to enjoy the scenery,” I sit down next to her, smiling, “but this gorgeous girl makes everything else look bland” She blushes and coos, giggling as I wrap my arms around her.  I pull her close and kiss her slowly, softly.  My heart increases its pace, as it does each time she and I kiss; her lips are like jumper-cables, jolting me to life each time they meet mine.  Never before have I felt anything like this.  No other girl has ever had me so pathetically cheesy.

                I wake up, and almost immediately begin to cry.  These dreams taunt me relentlessly every night.  The girl I’ve not seen in months; she moved to New York.  We talk constantly on the phone, but though her voice makes me so very happy, it’s not what I need from her.  I need to see her; nothing in the world compares to her beauty.  I need to hold her; that warm, firm, loving embrace of hers makes me melt, makes time stand still.  I need to kiss her; I haven’t felt alive since our lips last brushed.

                I stare at my phone, willing her to call me, praying she wakes up, too, and misses me.  After a few minutes, I check the calendar on my phone.  She’ll be here in less than two weeks.  I’m too pessimistic to find any joy in that; instead, I groan about how long two weeks are when you need something.  I sigh, turn over, and steel myself for more tormenting dreams as I fall back asleep.  I feel like f*****g Tantalus.

                We sit on my couch, she and I, taking a breather from making out, and trying to figure out something else to do.  I grin goofily, stand up, and plug in my guitar.  She stays on the couch, looking up at me with those twinkling blue eyes, and giggles.  I motion for her to join me, my grin even goofier.

                “What are you doing?” she asks warily, but still giggles as she takes her place next to me.  I start playing.

                “Any way you want it!” I shout, my voice cracking and way off-key as I strum a quick G.  She knows what’s expected of her, and cracks up, shaking her head vigorously.  I try the puppy-eyes; she’s still adamant.  I then just keep strumming the same chord and caterwauling, the amp distortedly wailing along with me.  Finally, my obnoxious cacophony gets to her.

                “Okay!” she shouts, laughing hard.  I get ready to play as she takes a deep breath.  Her mouth opens, and releases a raucous buzzing noise.

                I jolt awake, groan at my alarm clock, smack “snooze”, and try to fall back asleep.  A knock on my door keeps me up.  I sleepily walk over to it, grumbling and cursing the whole way.  I open the door, and there she is, smiling wide, wearing her cute Darth Vader shirt and shorts.  She looks gorgeous, adorable, beautiful.

                “F**k you,” I mutter at the beaming apparition, whose smile is now a bewildered frown, and I slam my door.  I curse about my stupid dreams as I walk back to my dream-couch.

                “Muffin!” she calls behind me through the door.  Will I ever wake from this dream?  She keeps calling, growing more agitated.

                “All f*****g right! I’ll play along!” I scream.  When I open the door, her hand shoots out and smacks my face.  It stings.  Wait, it stings?!

                “Omigoshimsorryithoughtiwasdreamingand…!” Her hand stifles my mouth, muffling my frantic and rushed apology.

                “Stupid muffin” she smiles, lifts her hand from my mouth, and kisses me softly.

Author's Note

My girl was sad one day, so I wrote this for her, and she thought it was cute.

Reviews

[Chris]

Very well-written. I'm an editor for a student newspaper, so I'm a grammar hound when I read. (You passed with flying colors)

On a more important content-related note, the story's very good. I like the pacing, it keeps you a little off kilter as to whether or not he's dreaming, which is great for putting you in the speaker's shoes. Also, it's funny and you can't go wrong with that.

[Proletariat Uprising]

She giggles because I'm one of those cutesy, dorky guys that insanely beautiful women occasionally go for :D

[Shawn Pfister]

Third paragraph, period after bland. Other than that, it's very tight.

This is very beautiful. And a nice sense of humor. I love the well placed alarm clock and the lack of belief when she really is there.

She does giggle a lot when she's really there. Have they been drinking or is she just a little ditzy? Those are the only excuses why girls giggle so much. Maybe if she commented on something when she laughed....or was "still giggling, giddy from the rush of our long awaited meeting."

Anyway, I'm sure your girlfriend loved it, so it served its purpose.