anbwrites

Posts Tagged ‘personal

 

She was everything I had wanted to be, and more.  Her eyes shone with some sort of inner light and happiness.  The light she gave off was beautiful, for lack of a better word.  She was a captivating soul, and her gaze continued to hold me prisoner.  I did not mind, though.  And although I have credited myself with a wild imagination and a gift of exaggeration, I promise that all of these words are simply understatements.

Her name didn’t matter, nor did mine.

For the evening, we were simply two beings meshed into one with the sound of waves softly kissing the shore.  She didn’t say much, and rarely talked about herself, yet I still felt as if I understood her.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?”  She suggested as she lay back on the sand.

I could only nod as I struggled not to stare.

She seemed to know me well, though, and sensed that I wasn’t paying attention.  “Liar,” she mused and nudged my hip with her red-painted toes.

I smiled sheepishly.  “I’m sorry.  I find that I get easily caught up in the sound of your voice and I forget to pay attention to your words.”

“I guess that qualifies as a compliment.”

I shoved my hands into the pockets of my flannel hoodie, my mind fumbling for words while my fingertips tugged at loose thread.  “I would hope so; it was meant as one.”

“Aren’t you just a charmer?”  She flashed a knee-weakening smile, and I felt grateful to have been sitting down.  I shrugged and thought of lying down next to her, but my insecurities sank into my body and my mind like cement, which kept me still.

She’s a gorgeous creature, you dunce cap.  You hardly deserve to be in her presence.  Don’t be an idiot and try anything.  Just try to sound at least somewhat intelligent.

“So, your name is—“

“Look!”  She sat up and grabbed my upper arm as she pointed away from us with her free hand.

I looked around, trying to see what she saw.  “What is it?”

She scooted closer to me, our hips and shoulders touching.  I tried hard to ignore the shivers crawling up my spine, and told myself that I was just being extra sensitive, and that her body next to mine didn’t cause fireworks, or gastrointestinal butterflies like romantic films claim.

“Crabs are crawling out of the sand all over the place!  Look at them!”  She squealed, and a huge smile found its place on my lips.  “Aw, they are so cute!”

She was the cute one, in my humble opinion, not the crustaceans that inhabited the beach.  Regardless, I nodded in agreement.  “Yes, I suppose they are.”

“They look like they’re trying to find each other.  To reunite as friends, or lovers, or something.”  She sighed, and I could sense a feeling of longing radiate from her.  “What do you think?”

She looked up at me with her mesmerizing, doe-like hazel eyes, and I lost all ability to formulate coherent thoughts.  However, I made an attempt to not sound like an idiotic fool.

“You’re pretty,” I blurted out.

Damn it, you’re a lost cause.  Just go home and sink into your bed.  Yep, the one with the sheets that have the periodic table of elements on them.  Grab your towel and leave her alone.  Forget about your dignity; it’s too far buried beneath the sand to be retrieved.

Her giggling only helped to mortify me even more.  “You’re adorkable,” she whispered before brushing her lips against my cheek.

Her statement baffled me.  Not only because I wasn’t entirely sure what “adorkable” meant, but I also wasn’t sure whether or not it was a good thing.  “I’m sorry, what?”

“Adorkable.  You know, you’re an adorable dork.”

Not as bad as being told you’re a loser with impossible hopes of capturing her attention, I thought.

I chuckled nervously, my nails digging into the fabric of my pockets.  “Oh.  Well, thanks.”  I tried to play it off, and to be cool about it, although I was the polar opposite of cool at that point.  My heart felt as if it had been stung by an electric eel, and I could no longer deny the existence of butterflies in my stomach.

“You like me,” she said, and I froze.

“I-I’m sorry, what?”

She giggled again, and I could feel blood rushing to my cheeks.  “You like me.  It’s okay, and it’s not a bad thing.”  Before I could dispute her claim, she carried on.  “You’re a science buff, a math man, and probably a left-brainer.  I’m the opposite.  I’m a right-brained, artistic, free-flowing person that runs on emotion.  You’ve probably felt like kissing me this entire time, but haven’t because you’re stuck in your head and over-analyzing everything.”

I was baffled by this girl beside me.  She was open, raw, and rare.  While I, on the other hand, was reserved, skeptical, and critical.

“That’s highly presumptuous of you, don’t you think?”  I tried to sound confident, but my voice was weak and shook terribly.

She shook her head and turned to face me.  Her tiny hands took mine and held them gently.  “Look me in the eye, Logan, and tell me that you feel nothing.  Tell me, honestly, that you don’t have the urge to kiss me.”

My gaze dipped to her lips and lingered there for a few moments.  Her lips were full and rosy, and looked incredibly soft.  “I… I don’t,” I whispered as her hands reached to touch my cheeks.

“Liar,” she whispered back.  She moved her lips and began to speak, but I captured her words with my mouth, and all of my thoughts vanished.  I had kissed a handful of girls before her, yet the kisses lacked emotion and were completely robotic.

I wrapped my arms around her frame and my hands proceeded to get lost in her hair.  Rational thought and reason flew out the window as our lips moved together.  All I knew was that I was perfectly content with thought of spending the rest of my night kissing this intriguing and tempting girl named Faith.  In a way that no made sense, I no longer felt the weight of the world and its many puzzling questions tugging on my shoulders.

Faith had a way of making me feel free.

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     It all began with Bruce Coville.

     God bless that wonderful man. Bruce Coville, the fantastic author of The Unicorn Chronicles and many others, was the one who got the ball rolling, in my case. I originally read The Unicorn Chronicles when I was in 6th grade, yet that book stayed with me through the pain (and disbelief) of my dad being diagnosed with cancer for the first time when I was in 7th grade. I remember posting on his guestbook on his website (which I dug through earlier and found, and I’m horrified at my grammar and writing, dear heavens…), and also writing him a letter. Now, of course, I didn’t expect a response from this man. He, after all, was this incredible author and creator of amazing and wonderful worlds and characters, and I was just a girl in middle school with dreams of being an author. But, he did respond, and it wasn’t one of those automated responses that lacked personality or care. He was sincere in his response and in his answers to my questions (and there were several of them). The main thing I remember from his letter is that no matter what, I need to keep writing. I’m going to order The Unicorn Chronicles online today and re-read them all. I posted on his guestbook this morning (I really hope he doesn’t believe I’m some crazy stalker), and I’m hoping for another response. There are certain moments in life that can never be erased, both good and bad. Most of these moments either hold you back, or propel you forward. In this case, Bruce Coville’s wonderful works of fiction, and his caring replies to his fans, were the canon that launched me into the passion I now have for both reading and writing. I swear, and mark my words, please, if I ever become a published author, his name is going in the dedication section. I can see it now:

 

To Bruce Coville, the man who began my love of reading, which then transferred to writing. A man who took the time to respond to me when I was a mere 12 year-old dreamer, and told me that no matter what, I mustn’t stop writing.