“This is beautiful,” I took in the shallow brook and impossible green hues of the forest. The wildflowers playfully showing off their bright, delicate petals. The leaves swayed back in forth with an easy rhythm. But what was the most gorgeous thing in the clearing, were his misty, grey eyes. They were the color of an afternoon rainstorm and the seemed to pull me in like a magnet.
He held out his hand. I took it without a second thought. His hands were rough but warm, and they led me to the banks of the crystal-clear creek. I sat down on a flat rock the size of a couch cushion. Before he sat down, he brought he hand to his lips and kissed it. I felt my face get warm and tried not to giggle. But I couldn’t suppress the girly smile.
He sat close; so close our legs were touching. This moment was perfect, it didn’t need words. We just sat and watched the river run. We listened to the bluebird’s sweet songs as they scouted for worms. I put my hand down at my side, the one closet to him. He copied, placing his hand on top of mine.
“Anna Marie,” his eyes locked with mine in a look of pure love, “you’re the one who is beautiful. The stars wish they sparkled like your eyes. The birds wish their voices were as sweet as yours.”
I felt brave. “Kiss me.”
He leaned in, his face lined with total adoration. Our lips were about to touch, sparks were ready to fly. I was about to kiss the love of my “life”.
And I was interrupted by my God darned alarm clock. Screw it. I didn’t want to leave the bed. I wanted to enter the dream once again, to escape the reality of life.
My mother would come to drag me out of bed. My sister would say something mean. My brother would slug her in the arm but laugh along. Both my parents would try and figure out why I never laughed, never smiled.
They would never realize that I always wore sweatshirts and long sleeves that concealed my wrists. They would never know that I used the money I was supposed to buy my lunch with were used for other things. Things I wasn’t proud of. They would never now I kept a razor-sharp knife under my mattress.
No one would.
They would never know about the girls at school. The words they said, the things they did. The boys that pelted rocks and dirt at me. The things said to me by my old “friends”. When they felt nice, they limited it to saying I was too needy and pessimistic. They never talked to me anymore unless they were taunting me.
No one would.
Can’t someone past the black wall and into my heart of gold? Would anyone ever come up to me and ask me if I was okay? How I was feeling? Would they offer their friendship, their kind words? Will anyone ever tell me how much I meant to them? That they loved me?
No one ever would.