me.
* * *
I don’t know if I woke from being rested or from the piercing scream that hurled up my throat. Something cool and wet was on my face. Tears. Tears? I don’t cry. The last time I cried I was eleven -years old and my grandfather had just passed away. Papaw and I were very close. His death had been very hard for me.
“ That dream was so real…” I sobbed, though to whom I was talking to I was not absolutely sure. I sat with my arms around myself until the tears seemed drained, and a few moments later I sighed, disgusted with myself.
I w a s a reasonable person, never one to believe in all the horror stories and fantasies so many people get lost in. I w a s above that nonsense. Yet, here I was, crying like a baby over some dream. I had to snap out of it. I wouldn’t think of the dream again. I was sure.
I got up and went to the bathroom to wash my face of the traitor tears that still lingered there. Looking at my face in the mirror brought the dream back, brought her back, brought me back. I shuddered. What time was it? 10 a.m. already? I was supposed to have lunch with Mom at 11:30. I glanced in the mirror one more time, afraid of what I might see.
I told the girl in the mirror, “Get a hold of yourself,” and with that one simple statement, I put the dream, and the girl (I refused to think of that red-eyed monster as myself again) behind me and started my day.
“ Shower first, and then I’ll call Mom,” I stated.
Out of the shower, I looked at the girl in the mirror and sighed. I still didn’t understand why at twenty two years of age I had yet to find my place in the world. I had done my fair share of “soul searching , ” as they call it and had a strong sense of who I was, but I never knew many people that understood me. Of course, that was until I met Alex.
Alex and I had been friends since I was about thirteen. We were friends instantly, which pleased me immensely. Some bully at school felt it was a good idea to make fun of my ears, and Alex decided to make fun of his nose…. after he punched him in it. We were pretty much inseparable after that.
Even as a child, he was the most beautiful person I’d ever met, inside and out. He still is. It wasn’t until I came back about a year ago though that he had revealed his feelings for me. Just the thought of it brought a smile to my face.
* * *
The day he told me his feelings started out just like any other day. He came over on my day off of work as he always did. I opened the door to the same short, light brown, spiky, wild hair. The same big green eyes with a yellow, golden sparkle that danced around the inner circle, and a smile on the face that was always there for me. Perfect full lips hugged immaculate straight white teeth all surrounded by light, smooth and beautiful skin. Small dimples pierced his symmetrical oval face supported by a p erfectly chiseled jaw .
He was wearing a button-up shirt under a tan sweater (that accented his skin so magnificently) and a faded pair of blue jeans. Leaning against my doorframe, he looked more like a model posing for a high-profile photo shoot than just one friend smiling at another. As it always did, my heart thudded at the mere sight of his angelic face.
“ Hey, Chris.”
“ Hey, Alexander,” I smiled.
I was the only one allowed to use his full name. Everyone else called him Alex. He rolled past me, whirling his scent throughout my mind. He always smelled of the same cologne I bought for him a few years earlier, and the scent made my head spin. He flopped down in his usual spot on my couch and flipped on the TV.
“ So, whatcha wanna do today, Alex?”
“ I don’t know. I thought we would just hang out here today.” His eyes darted once to my face, but stayed on the TV the rest of the time. I sighed. Another afternoon in my house with the perfect man.
I ran over and hopped on the couch next to him
* * *
I don’t know if I woke from being rested or from the piercing scream that hurled up my throat. Something cool and wet was on my face. Tears. Tears? I don’t cry. The last time I cried I was eleven -years old and my grandfather had just passed away. Papaw and I were very close. His death had been very hard for me.
“ That dream was so real…” I sobbed, though to whom I was talking to I was not absolutely sure. I sat with my arms around myself until the tears seemed drained, and a few moments later I sighed, disgusted with myself.
I w a s a reasonable person, never one to believe in all the horror stories and fantasies so many people get lost in. I w a s above that nonsense. Yet, here I was, crying like a baby over some dream. I had to snap out of it. I wouldn’t think of the dream again. I was sure.
I got up and went to the bathroom to wash my face of the traitor tears that still lingered there. Looking at my face in the mirror brought the dream back, brought her back, brought me back. I shuddered. What time was it? 10 a.m. already? I was supposed to have lunch with Mom at 11:30. I glanced in the mirror one more time, afraid of what I might see.
I told the girl in the mirror, “Get a hold of yourself,” and with that one simple statement, I put the dream, and the girl (I refused to think of that red-eyed monster as myself again) behind me and started my day.
“ Shower first, and then I’ll call Mom,” I stated.
Out of the shower, I looked at the girl in the mirror and sighed. I still didn’t understand why at twenty two years of age I had yet to find my place in the world. I had done my fair share of “soul searching , ” as they call it and had a strong sense of who I was, but I never knew many people that understood me. Of course, that was until I met Alex.
Alex and I had been friends since I was about thirteen. We were friends instantly, which pleased me immensely. Some bully at school felt it was a good idea to make fun of my ears, and Alex decided to make fun of his nose…. after he punched him in it. We were pretty much inseparable after that.
Even as a child, he was the most beautiful person I’d ever met, inside and out. He still is. It wasn’t until I came back about a year ago though that he had revealed his feelings for me. Just the thought of it brought a smile to my face.
* * *
The day he told me his feelings started out just like any other day. He came over on my day off of work as he always did. I opened the door to the same short, light brown, spiky, wild hair. The same big green eyes with a yellow, golden sparkle that danced around the inner circle, and a smile on the face that was always there for me. Perfect full lips hugged immaculate straight white teeth all surrounded by light, smooth and beautiful skin. Small dimples pierced his symmetrical oval face supported by a p erfectly chiseled jaw .
He was wearing a button-up shirt under a tan sweater (that accented his skin so magnificently) and a faded pair of blue jeans. Leaning against my doorframe, he looked more like a model posing for a high-profile photo shoot than just one friend smiling at another. As it always did, my heart thudded at the mere sight of his angelic face.
“ Hey, Chris.”
“ Hey, Alexander,” I smiled.
I was the only one allowed to use his full name. Everyone else called him Alex. He rolled past me, whirling his scent throughout my mind. He always smelled of the same cologne I bought for him a few years earlier, and the scent made my head spin. He flopped down in his usual spot on my couch and flipped on the TV.
“ So, whatcha wanna do today, Alex?”
“ I don’t know. I thought we would just hang out here today.” His eyes darted once to my face, but stayed on the TV the rest of the time. I sighed. Another afternoon in my house with the perfect man.
I ran over and hopped on the couch next to him
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