All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
‘He seems—well, short.’
I can tell the thoughts going through my mother’s head, a sort of mother-daughter telepathy. “He” sits quietly to my left, holding my hand in the dark recesses of the under-table void.
‘And so quiet. I would have thought Kayla would fall for someone less reserved.’
I can see him through her eyes, too, this tacit boy sitting all-too-near her baby girl, who only opens his rosebud mouth when an utterance is unavoidable. This is the young philosopher I love, who, though pensive, I could never categorize as quiet. He seems now to be struck dumb. My parents can intimidate, even under normal circumstances, and this toe-curling, shift-in-your-seat situation won’t become normal for a good many months.
‘He’s cute, though. And he sure has gorgeous eyes.’
I love his eyes. To risk sounding cliché, they beg you to down in them, those eyes, twin pools of the warmest liquid brown rimmed with long, defining lashes. They’re expressive eyes, sparkling with his laughter and deepening in his pain. My mother just thinks they’re pretty.
The uncomfortable conversation shifts to music, and suddenly the sun comes out.
‘Man, this kid has a great smile.’
Great doesn’t even come close, mom. It’s not a light up the room smile, but rather one that lights up your life. You glow in its warmth, and when his lips close, when clouds again cover the sun, a dimple remains, to promise more sunny days to come. It’s a smile that can break my heart with its sweetness.
She’s realized its power, if not to its full magnitude. He’s soon seated at the piano, back slouched in its customary position and face reflecting in the shine of black lacquer, in the hopes of prompting another glowing affirmation of the beauty in life. As his fingers stroke down on imitation ivory, he gives an even more striking gift.
The world comes alive, melts, spins with sound. This isn’t music, its magic, and I can hear my mother thinking the same. We sit in a now-comfortable silence, while chords continue resonating in our minds.
Awe-struck is the only word.
I can see from her stricken expression that my mother just fell for this slender boy with magician’s fingers, which is okay, because I’ve fallen in love with him all over again, too.
“Your parents are so cool,” he whispers to me as we
This will certify that the above work is completely original.