Loser of Mine

March 12, 2010
By Anonymous

The word loser has become an over-used word in the English language. The word no one likes even if your best friend says it jokingly. In the English language the definition of a loser is “one that fails to win”. If one is called a loser, what did they lose at? I have found that the loser sign, the big “L” placed atop your forehead with your index finger and thumb, actually is the symbol for “love”.

I wake up to a bright yellow light growing over my body as it reaches my face and my eyes start to open. I start to squint as my mom starts yelling on how I need to wake up due to it being ten o’clock already. My dad has always told me that waking up after eight is a waste of a day, even in the summertime. I roll over to my enormous teddy bear that lays next to me and I hide my face in its armpit. I gradually wake up as my mom is singing and dancing out of my room in a bright bubble gum colored shirt barefoot. I wish I could be a joyous person in the morning like my mom and pretend the world is perfect. The day is left of surprise while I have plans with the man of my dreams, maybe we’re only nineteen but who cares, I can dream.

With a boyfriend an hour away, he won’t tell me anything about our day together, even if the surprise in watching a good movie sitting close to each other. We’ve been dating for six months now but we’ve known each other for four years. We still act like that corny little freshman couple, but I like corny. We try to hang out with each other when we don’t have anything but some weekends I just tell him I’m busy so he can go off with his friends and forget about me for a night. Those three words have already came out of my mouth after four months, but we say it way to much. I drive up by him all the time, which my mom thinks is a waste of gas, but I say it’s totally worth it.

I put on clean clothes and go downstairs for find something to make myself for breakfast. Opening cupboard after cupboard, I find crunchy peanut butter and rye bread and decide to have some toast. There’s a knock on the door, it’s really early for Ryan to be here but I run to go get it. An old, short man with black hair and a flower cap on top his head looks up at me as I snatch the bouquet of flowers from him. The flower man smirks at me and turns to leave, I close the door with a huge smile on my face. Running up the stairs I yell to my mom, “look what Ryan brought me!”

I can’t help smelling those beautiful tulips that sit on my granite countertop. I sit next to them and wait for my phone to start buzzing, saying “New Text from Ryan”. As I wait my phone buzzes and says he’s calling, I pick up and he says he’s outside waiting for me. I run outside as fast as I can without grabbing any shoes and leap on top of him. We both hold each other, I say thank him for the flowers and he lets go. Ryan goes into my house through the garage door and stares at the flowers that sit on the counter. I wonder what he’s thinking, if he wants to remember what a tulip looks like, or how many I got. I stand in the kitchen when he finally turns around to look at me. They aren’t from him.

Forgetting about what happened we go to the basement and watch a movie while holding each other after a long week without his body next to mine. I love seeing him smile at me and the way he positions his long, left arm around my body and sets his large hand on my left leg. We lay around all day until he tells me too put on something nice and we will leave.

I put on a slim black dress and go downstairs to find him in the kitchen door waiting for me. He scoops me up into his arms and I giggle as he takes me to his car. The whole way there he keeps his hand on my leg, we wind up at a fancy restaurant called Perfections. I order spaghetti and he gets steak, it was so romantic and the only thing I can think about is our time together.

Unfortunately, it’s time for him to get going. We hug for ten minutes out in the dark, cold night. He lightly kisses me and he gets into his car. I stand in the driveway as he slowly backs up putting his foot on the gas and rolling down my driveway. The days are always amazing and I only wait till the next time I see him. I walk back into the house. I spot the flowers sitting on the kitchen counter, like I am suppose to know who they are from. Like they are looking at me and I am to stupid to realize it.

The next day I have plans with my best friend, Carl. Carl and I have been friends ever since freshman year. He has a sexy, little, red car he lets me drive and a hot tub in his house. But the best part about being best friends with him is I can tell him anything. In school he’s the drama king, teachers pet, and loser. I can see it once in a while but around me he’s nothing but amazing.

We go to Starbucks for lunch and he orders my favorite drink. We laugh and talk the whole time with no silent moments. Slurping on the last little bits of my Skinny Cinnamon Dolce Latte, I ask if he wants to leave. He doesn’t say anything so I get up to go throw my drink away as he grabs my arm. I sit back down and he tells me he got me the flowers, he’s liked me for years and wants me to know before I leave for college. My heart sinks and I’m speechless.

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