2017Ever since that day I met the Geordie guy, I tried to keep in touch with my family better. He reminded me what my life had been missing and somehow just speaking with my dad every once in a while, changed everything. I dealt with the media better and was able to find the time to write another book and make a sequel film. The past five years were better than the ones before, except Tom and me. We never spoke after I saw him with the slut, which in a way was a good thing, I could move on. However, as much I hated it, I was in love with Tom. I had been since he caught my eye on that first day of filming. Whenever I saw him on the film set, which happened to be every day, I reminded myself of the piece of paper I found the day of the accident in England. Those few sentences got me through hell.
“Hey!” I stopped jogging along the pavement and span around. In front of me…was the Geordie guy? Auburn hair a little darker; light green eyes with the same amount of hazel and what appeared to be some designer suit with the old brown satchel. Unable to stop myself, I grinned widely at him. Sweat trickled down my forehead and where my blond curls where tied in a loose bun they probably had gotten stuck to the back of my neck. “Well I have to say, you look…different.” We both howled at my jogging look and his business look, it was almost like we had swapped places. He was so smart and tidy, like how I probably looked when we met last time and I was stinking New York out with my short shorts and slack top.
“I’m not the only one. I take it you got what you wanted?” He had told me of his writing dreams and ambitions to write in the leading newspapers as well as going to a posh university in England.
“Not exactly. Oxford declined my application and so did Cambridge.” Vaguely, I remembered them from my boring years at school. “But I got a job at Metropolitan.” Smiling genuinely, I sat down on a bench nearby and he sat next to me. I was still panting from my run. There was another thing that was different, New Yorkers had gotten over their obsession with me and allowed me to roam the streets freely now. However, nothing seriously fascinating had happened lately. Well, nothing like Tom and I anyway.
“I’m glad. So tell me, what was your perfect story in the end?” What was it about him that made me more and more curious each time I saw him?
He looked down at his feet. That was when I noticed he still had the same odd tied Timberland boots on that completely clashed with his suit. I snickered to myself. “The girl in the park.” He muttered to the ground. That cigarette marked ground with gum and mud and graffiti and whatever you can name, still smothering it. Yet he seemed to prefer talking to all of that than to my face. Without noticing, he had turned to me completely and looked me in the eye. “Or you may call it, ‘The blond haired girl in the park.” I realised then. His perfect story was the day he met me.
Embarrassed, I had gotten up and started pacing back and forth. “What did you write about me?” I said after a few paces and this time, the ground gulped down my words too.
“Just stuff. Really it was something I had written a while ago and tried to recreate.” No longer mortified of his dreams, he stood up too and grabbed my upper arms to stop me from pacing past him. Timidly, I peered into his eyes and tried to repeat over and over in my head the piece of paper to calm my racing blood. It always seemed to work but not then. I don’t even know why I had been so anxious at the thought of him writing about me, it just had made me feel so self-conscious I guess.
“Thanks.” I murmured roughly when it was meant to be softly. My blood never did calm, it sped up. His face was so incredibly close but I didn’t want to kiss him or anything like that…I wanted to know what he was thinking.
“Are you okay? You seem…on edge?” The little crease in his forehead returned and my blood started whirling around my body.
“I’m good. It was just a shock.” I spluttered out. Letting go of my arms, he smiled and promised to keep in touch though I didn’t see how. “Wait!” He turned on his heel.
“I need your address.” He had taken the words from my mouth. We exchanged addresses and then he disappeared down the pavement.
Later that year, in November I received a letter from him. He told me about his trips to Paris and Rome as he continued to look for that perfect story seen as I hadn’t made the cut. Yeah, I had got him a job but this guy wanted much more that a job at Metropolitan. He wanted to the world in his palm. This guy had always been weird to me but he did the weirdest thing yet on the bottom the letter, he signed it, ‘The boy in the park.’ This meant that I couldn’t return the letter because I didn’t know what name to put on the top. Obviously, he’d figured out my name without asking so I got more letters throughout the year.
He went to Venice, Greece, Africa, Mexico, Canada and many that I hadn’t heard of until finally I got my tenth letter which was signed, Skye Turner. Immediately, I wrote back to his address and talked about everything I had done. My new film and publishing book along with my travels to Asia, more States of America and Australia for the movie premieres. I didn’t mention how Tom and I were back together; in fact I didn’t mention him at all. It seemed unnecessary, I guess.
“Miss Hall, are you ready?” May Finch of course, who else other than my wonderful agent, would’ve rung my apartment at such an inconvenient time? I told her I’d be down in a minute. Grabbing a piece of stray paper on my cluttered desk, I scrawled some stuff down and then shoved the paper into an envelope. I went down to May and posted the letter later that day.