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
There is this boy that I've been in love with since I was in seventh grade. If you are good at math, that
means that I was probably twelve years old. I had never even experienced teenage years,
never walked the halls of my local high school but at the moment,
I was convinced that he was the person I would be spending the rest of my life with.
We are best friends now, sixteen in age though we hate acting it. We drink like we're
twenty-one and dance around in the sprinklers like were six.
Today, we're driving around in his ugly 95 Honda. It's got rust spots on the hood,
a dent on the driver side door, a broken mirror, and a bumper sticker that said:
My Pride and Joy.
Usually I hated being inside the death trap that smells like rotting
Burger King and football pads. But today wasn't like any other day.
As I slammed the passenger door, I stared at the windshield. I couldn't look at
him right now. He touched my forearm.
"You want to talk about it?"
I turned and smiled at him. His usual, calm brown eyes were chocolate
fire, I swore tints of red were dying to peek through. His eyes always amazed me, they
could be any color to go with any of his emotions.
"Did he hurt you?"
The tears fell as I nodded my head. I rolled up the sleeve of my black Aerosmith teeshirt.
It was his, he loved them. There was a purple and yellow bruise developing on my shoulder.
This was nothing new. My now ex boyfriend was known for his abuse.
I'd been warned, countless times. But did I listen? Apparently not.
"I'm gonna give him a bruise to match."
He was on his way out, but I grabbed his hands, cold and dry from football
practice. There was no need to get violent.
"Just take me home, please."
The car tore for the driveway and the interior was silent. Why wasn't he talking?
I just needed to hear his voice.
"So how was practice?"
That got a smile out of him. Something must of gone right today.
He rambled on in football jargen that went in one ear and out the other,
and I stared out the window, watching the lights of our suburb go by.
He was truly happy, it was nice to hear his voice light and without a care.
His eyes were probably caramel again, but I didn't want to look for when
they changed again.
"She's cheating on you with him."
I pressed my forehead against the cold glass.
I wasn't exactly sure why I'd decided to tell him, but I thought it was time
for it to come out.
When I'd found out that his girlfriend had been with my boyfriend,
that's when I'd finally realized my feelings never went away.
And sitting with him in his car, I felt like I was in seventh grade again.
It felt good.
That was his only response.
Well he took that well. Maybe now he can move on.
With me? That'd be nice.
But it's only a dream that I dream everynight
and then I wake up, staring at his picture on my
nightstand and sigh, wishing I could live in my dreams forever.
Why was love so hard?
Why couldn't I just tell him?
Why was such an annoying question word.
His favorite song played on the radio, trying to tame
the silence. I smiled. He could play this on guitar,
but he'd only told me.
I bet his girlfriend, who would soon be ex,
didn't even know he'd owned a guitar,
let alone one covered in teenage mutant ninja turtle stickers.
I'd bought them for him when we were in eighth grade.
That's when he went through that faze where everything he owned had to be green.
The tense silence became comfortable and
I felt my pocket vibrate. Pulling out my cell phone,
I tried not to roll my eyes.
It was her.
'Just tell me one thing: do you love him?'
She was smarter than I'd thought. But she'd hate
me if she knew.
I glanced quickly over to him. His eyes were focused and
his knuckles were white against the steering wheel,
and yet he still looked as beautiful as ever.
My fingers quickly typed away and when I was finished,
I leaned my head back against the glass,
more tears fell.