Writer: It has always intrigued me that
there are people and events that will affect us and our lives, for the better
or worse. But they come and they go, and that’s that. And yet they leave their
mark. My question is: What are we supposed to do with it?
Once the moment has passed, and the person
has gone, you’re left with the memory. Or worse, what of the things that never
happened? The stuff you never got to experience because you were too afraid, or
it wasn’t the right time, or you were too young. Then the moment passed and the
person moved on and you moved on, but you’re left with the memories and a ‘what
if’, or worse, half a memory. The memory of something that never happened – the
memory of an unrealized wish.
You ever wish for something so hard or picture
something happening so many times you begin to question yourself on its
existence? This is that kind of story.
Not exactly a “you regret the things you never did” kind of story. After all,
who knows what bad can come from what might have been?
Unfortunately, for us the protagonist of
this romance did not know how important it would be for her. So, there are
parts of the affair that are fuzzy, to say the least. If ever these gaps get
filled, you will be the first to know.
A requited romance is amazing, but it is
almost impossible for it to be reciprocated to an exact science. Someone who
makes you feel giddy may not feel the same way. Isn’t it frustrating that for
all you know, you’re acting like a moron, putting yourself out there, whilst
they are keeping their cool? For all you know, you are just their ego inflator.
Would it not be great to know exactly how the other person feels? I mean, you
know they like you, but how much? In what way? Friendly? Romantic? Do they want
to tear your pants off? Was that too much? Are you a little uncomfortable now?
Do you know this story’s writer and will you now not be able to look at them in
the eye for a little while? That’s ok. Just keep reading. As this is a short
story about a summer romance lived from one person’s point-of-view, like most.
||
Protagonist:
I do not know what to expect. It is not the first time in my life “adults” exaggerate
when describing a boy’s looks to me. Good looking. Aren’t they always? Blonde.
Like an Englishman, they say. Not sure how accurate a stereotype that is, but
when it comes to attractiveness it could go either way. Older man. That does
have potential. For me. For him I might just be a flat, whiny kid, barely out
of pigtails. And I mean that literally. I just let my hair down.
His aunt and uncle passed this description
down to my grandparents who, in turn, passed it down to me. So, I’m not sure
how reliable it is. I am equally not certain of what description he has heard
of me, if any. At least the potential for disappointment is mutual.
In any case, I am meeting him tonight. I
guess I will know then. My hopes are not very high, although there is a
definite sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. The kind of feeling you get
when a car speeds over a steep hill. Like your stomach is about to drop out of
your backside. You get it.
Not
knowing what to expect, I also do not know what to wear. Can’t go too slutty
(not that I would want to) because there will be grandparents and aunts and
uncles there (well, just one aunt and one uncle), as well as his niece. But I
also do not want to wear something of which my grandparents can be too proud.
You know, just in case. Just somewhere in between.
There he is. Blonde. Not perfect but, to
me, gorgeous! About medium height and an older man (by four years).
All the usual symptoms. Sweaty palms. Shaky
legs. Stomach churning. And, this one I am afraid might be unique to me, nigh
shouting when talking to people. I am attracted to him. Big time.
We are introduced. A kiss on each cheek.
Normally it is such an unremarkable thing, but right now the Earth has stopped
and its axis has shifted.
We sit and talk about anything and
everything. Getting to know each other, although if you ask me right now what
we have been speaking about, I have no idea. How am I supposed to concentrate? My
heart is beating a million times an hour. What? I am entitled to some exaggeration.
Playing, his little niece takes my hand and
his hand and puts them together. Making us hold hands. Holy ****. I might
implode. Explode? My pants just did. Too much information, again?
We go for a walk, not too far. Just far
enough to stay away from prying ears. We talk some more. What are we talking
about? Oh, sh** he’s talking to me. What is he saying? I can’t concentrate. Why
not? What is happening to me? His lips
touch my skin. My cheeks redden. What the hell was that? Did I just imagine
him kissing my shoulder? That was weird. My legs are shaking. Oh, good we’re
sitting down now. I don’t think I can stand any longer.
My eyes are like a camera lens. They only
seem to focus on his lips. But I can’t actually hear what he’s saying.
It’s been an hour, the sky is pitch black,
and there’s a chilly humidity in the air. We head back to our families, say
goodbye and go home, but not before exchanging phone numbers.
Well, he seems nice… I wonder what he
thinks of me.
||
Writer: Ok, I have to stop here. I have to
be honest, the protagonist cannot for the life of her remember what on Earth
the conversations they were having above were about…I mean, I am not going to
lie, a lot of it she struggled to concentrate through…but also, completely
forgotten. So frustrating. Moving on!
||
Protagonist: I am at the beach. Shit! He’s
here! No. That’s cool, I get to show myself off a little.
We hang out and talk some more, but it’s
too hot (yeah, it is!). We go for a swim. I swim away from him. Trying not to
seem too clingy. Trying to seem cool.
He calls me over and we continue to talk
about ourselves.
A
wave comes in and pulls us closer. Suddenly his lips are on mine.
Shit, I missed what he said again. I’m
starting to think I’m being shallow, here. Do not remember a single word of the
lovely conversation we seem to be having.
It’s time to leave again. In fact, he’ll be
leaving the city soon, back to his hometown.
||
Writer: See how she tried to swerve through
that gap in the narrative with “Oh it was just because I was imagining
something in my head”? Lies! She just can’t remember a word that was said, or
you would have more detail of that conversation than you would care to have.
Seriousl-
Protagonist: ANYWAY…
||
Protagonist: Update! He will not be leaving.
He has texted me saying he will be staying with his aunt and uncle and niece. And me. Is he staying for me? Nah. Why would he? Maybe he
likes me. Nah.
Anyway, we are all going out for lunch tomorrow.
What am I going to wear? You know, not that I care.
||
Protagonist: We are sitting at the table,
him on one side, me on the other, but not directly opposite. A bunch of people
around and between us, but I can’t seem to take my eyes off him. And what’s
more, he seems to be suffering the same affliction. My goodness, every time I
glance at him my stomach jumps and the palms of my hands and the soles of my
feet get sweaty. I don’t really have proper boobs yet, but I’m sure if I did,
their underside would be sweaty too.
Amidst the glances he passes me a note…
||
Writer: Once again, not a single piece is
left of that note. Could have been the most romantic thing. Could have been a
proposal of marriage. Could have been a warning about some sort of greenery
being amid her dentation. No one will EVER know. YAY! Isn’t that just
fantastic?
Protagonist: Hey! Do you mind? Trying to
tell a story here!
Writer: One of the most romantic, heart
fluttering moments of m- YOUR life, and nothing to show for it. Note’s gone,
even memory is gone. Only half a memory now, of something that might have
potentially been really hot and romantic.
Protagonist: Yes. Alright. Great! Thank
you. You’re not exactly helping, are you? Writer/Protagonist: MOVING ON!
||
Protagonist: It is time to go home now, but
as they will be coming over to my grandparents’ house, I have been invited to
travel in their car. We spend the entire ride whispering little messages in his
niece’s ear for her to deliver to the other.
||
Writer: -
Protagonist: SHUT THE HELL UP!
||
Protagonist: After the lovely, half
romantic, car ride, we arrive at my grandparents. We spend the afternoon
talking until it’s been enough time after lunch to go swimming. We, and his
niece, go swimming, and we spend the afternoon playing in the pool and showing
off. Diving and tumbling around in the water.
||
Protagonist: Summer is over and it’s time
to say goodbye. But there’s no goodbye scene.
Writer: No goodbye kiss.
Protagonist: No big musical number.
Writer: He didn’t get in a taxi and ask the
driver to “Follow that car”.
Protagonist: We never ran into each other
years later…
Writer: …and sparks didn’t fly…
Protagonist: …and we didn’t go for a
coffee…
Writer: …and the rest is not history.
Because sometimes moments are just that. Moments. Once they are gone, that’s
it. Life moves on. There’s no neat ending, tied with a nice little bow. And
years later, despite being happy, you find yourself remembering and maybe even
hoping, for the sake of your younger self, that things had gone differently.
Wishing you could change your past on your younger self’s behalf. Like when you
finally earn your own salary, and you buy that one thing that you always told
yourself you would buy when you were older. Only this time, there is nothing
you can do, because it involves another human being.
Protagonist: And I don’t even know if he
was interested back then, let alone now. After all, nothing happened. And who
knows what might have happened had we kissed? He might have been arrested. Or
worse, I might have been grounded!
Writer: But to you it was everything. To
you it was your sexual awakening. To you it was a summer romance.
