Nobody knew who I was or where I was from, my name was a mystery and so were my stories. I could be whoever I wanted or I could simply continue from where I left off. I was the new girl on the block that spring and I offered peers to pry into my life. I wanted others to ask questions and I wanted to give fabricated answers. I was near the age of twelve yet I imagined I had seen the world. According to my mom this was the sixth major move in my life and just like the others moves it was a chance to continue my story.
Love, at which age is it ok to find love? It wasn’t the first time I had seen him but it was one of the first times we had spoken. I would always leave my left ear open just incase someone said his name. He was so quiet, observant, a mystery that I wanted to figure out. He was older than me which was the perfect fairytale for love. That is the way I had always imagined it, the boy would be older than I, there was never a word spoken between us yet the outside world could tell we were in love, communication wasn’t needed when you shared the universal body language and could become lost in each others souls. This was the love we shared, it was unspoken, unlabeled, I wasn't sure if he knew of this love we shared, but I felt it, with every fiber of my bones, I was in love with him and in my story he was in love with me.
Spring turned into summer and my personal romance novel followed the summer sun. I noticed he began to come around more, to the next door neighbors of course, but why was he coming around so often? We had shared a moment the last time he was over there, our hearts touched and we both smiled, our eyes met, we were connected to each others souls and love was the only thing that was bound to happen. I knew he felt this way, how could he not, this would have been the only explanation for his sudden frequent appearances.
That night the moon was our light and this was my opportunity to get close enough to feel his warmth. I remember feeling so strange, as if someone had planted my feet, each breath was quick and my air supply was short, my heart felt like a million popcorn kernels exploding inside my chest, I couldn’t breath, ‘Was that sweat forming on my upper lip?’ My mind and the summer sky were the only things clear at this moment. I could usually rely on my mind every so often to free me from difficult situations, but this situation was unfamiliar, my mind begin to get lost, why wasn’t it giving me the solutions to all my problems? “hi, I am Rachel.”
Of course he already knew my name, this wasn’t the first time we had met, that was stupid why did I say that? My mind had failed me. He smiled, the moonlight casted down on his beautiful face, he teeth were perfect bright squares, his lips a soft with a natural shade of rose, the moonlight gleamed into his eyes, during the day they were bright and that night they matched the moonlit sky, I was becoming more succumbed under his spell. Those were the lips that I was going to kiss one of these summer nights, he was my soul mate. “there coming, get close.” These were the words that brought our sweaty bodies together. He stood over me with his arms wrapped around the tree forcing my head to lay against his heart. The beats were fast and steady, the warmth of his body was comforting, the aroma of degree deodorant and mens cologne clouded all senses of reality, we were melting closer together we were becoming lost into each others arms.
I was out of breath, I couldn't swallow the dry lump in my throat, “Don't let them find us,” these words brought us closer together, the embrace of his arms around myself and the tree gave me a sense of security. It was a simple game of midnight hide-n-seek and we were hidden for what seemed like the entire game. Pinned against the tree, I could feel the warmth of his breath all the way down the back of my spine, we were falling in love, this is how happened in all the Sweet Valley High books, except I was a superior girl, I wasn’t even a teenager, he used deodorant and cologne, he was in high school, that was the night he had stolen my heart, I would forever be his.
He slipped his number into the back pocket of my jeans and told me to call him. A rush of heat came over my body, my face was probably as red as ripe cherry tomatoes, “Ok, I will.” My feelings of love and passion were confirmed, he desired me just as much as I desired him, there wasn’t a soul that could share or stand in between our moments of shared love. I didn’t call, in fear of bothering him, had I ever called a boy before, what would we talk about? He stopped coming around, did I smell funny that night, was he not attracted to me during the day, my soul mate was gone, gone before I ever was able to claim him mine.
Boom, boom, boom, the sound of bass traveled through speakers and I could hear the rhythm getting closer to my house. There was a smaller truck with dark windows parked at the top of my driveway, “Sis, I think there is someone here for you?” did she respond back, did she hear me, was she even home. I was alone and there was a strange car parked in front of my house. I rushed to my room through on last nights outfits and ran to the front door. I swung the door open. There he was, coming for me? I didn’t know he could drive, this only added to my fantasy.
He didn’t open the passenger door for me but he told me to sit in the middle and our destination was adolescent love. “Sorry I didn’t call, I didn’t want to bother you,” Im sure he replied with the perfect mixture of words, reassuring me that is was ok and that he wanted me to bother him. We had an unspoken mutual understanding, I was three years younger than him and he knew I was impressionable. I gave him permission to take me anywhere, I was willing to follow him anywhere, and he did, he would take me, leave me, and then bring me back. It was becoming a viscous cycle of love, more tears than smiles, more pain than pleasure, my fairytale was no longer mine.
My summer love turned into my childhood love that came and went every summer, and every fall, my fairytale story, my prince charming, my swelling heart only would swell to over flow with pain. My love, my story, my tragedy. I was a young impressionable child, infatuated with the story of love, desperately trying to create my own. Were we ever in love? Was it an over dramatized affection of my own fantasy, those moments we shared were only to be forgotten, the feelings of warmth that we shared were left to turn to ice, every child hood summer for the next five-years would be filled with summer days and nights of his memories only to be torn pages from my book. I gave myself to him and he gave himself away.
