Everybody has their own personal definition of love. I am one of the few people that would be willing to sacrifice anything to be with the person of their dreams. In my opinion, love is the most important part of any person’s life.
If you find the right person, it is so wonderful. It’s like waking up and finding that your dream has come true. It’s like living a fairy tale page by page. There is no “harsh death”; it’s like one moment you fall asleep, and the next moment, you’re in heaven with the one you love; walking the streets of gold.
…or at least, that’s what I’ve been told…
I don’t have a boyfriend, but I’m pretty sure that I know the person I am destined to be with. I think it might be Jared. Every time I’m around him, I feel butterflies, and I get nervous. I’ve thought about it a million times, but I don’t know if I’m just crushing or if I’m really and truly in love. Jared has been my best friend for a few months now. I don't want to ruin our friendship, but maybe one day we can be something more. More than friends. That would be nice. But, not now. Not until I KNOW he won't be mad at me for asking. And, besides, I don't want to be the one to ask. I want him to ask me. That's the way it's supposed to be...
I closed my journal and just sat there, cross-legged on my bed, thinking. I glanced at the clock. It was 10 p.m. I decided to go to sleep. I laid there for what seemed like hours, expecting sleep to take me. It didn’t.
I sat up and looked at the clock, again. 2 A.M?! I screamed silently-to myself- because my grandma was in the next room asleep. I felt so groggy. I didn’t want to move; i didn't even feel like turning on my side and closing my already heavy lids- that would be too much work- but I managed to fall back onto my pillow. There was a silent thud.
Then, the tears started falling because I couldn’t get to sleep and I was ill. I noticed that, with every tear I cried, the thoughts started coming at me faster. Soon, I wasn’t able to keep up. The thoughts were spinning around and around, like a merry-go-round. But, it wasn’t like the normal kiddy-ride. This merry-go-round couldn’t be found at the fair or at Hollywood Connections. It could only be found in a horror movie. It was like the seat belts on the mechanical horses were too small-so you had to hold on with all your strength- and the merry-go-round wasn’t just turning ‘round and ‘round; it was flying. Yes, it was flying through time and space; through clouds of memories; through clouds of regrets. And the worst thing about this merry-go-round, was that it was almost impossible to stop. You must have great concentration, or you’ll end up lost; lost in the past, and what you did wrong; lost in time and space, with no one by your side and nothing to do but look; look for the door to reality; that is always locked; then, look again; look for the key; look for the key that unlocks the door which brings you back. I’ve been there before; I found the key; it brought me back, but not necessarily the way I went in; I went in, with shoulders held high; I came out trembling, and with less control over my balance. The ride was horrifying; I never thought I’d make it back alive.
And, that’s the thing about the human mind. It can trick you, and it can scare you, but in the end, everything is the same way it was before. Well, everything except for the time…
I glanced at the clock a third time. It was 5 a.m. I tried to fight my heavy lids; I didn’t want to be late for school. But, I fought, and I lost. I FINALLY fell asleep.
And as I slept, I dreamed. I dreamed that I was laying in a field of flowers holding some daisies, tearing off their petals, whispering, “He loves me, he loves me not” over and over again. Before I could say it a hundred times, the sky turned dark, the once clear sky was now black; not gray. And it started raining. Mysterious, spooky music started playing in the background. The once-beautiful dream was now a nightmare, and I couldn’t wake up. I started running, slowly, because I was barefoot, and the ground was covered with grass spurs. The little voice in the back of my head said, “RUN! DON’T LET THEM GET YOU! RUN!” I fell flat on my stomach and lay there, startled. The voice was TOO familiar. I KNEW that voice. It was…it was…JARED’S? And then they were there. Tall men with skin white as snow; their eyes glowing red with fury; scorching like a campfire; and their dark cloaks closing in the area; a circle around me; I could not see through. Then, the tallest one stepped forward and grasped my head in between his two, ice cold hands.I stared into his red eyes , that, now, were scorching even more. The flames licked rapidly at the edge of his eyes. And then I knew I was lost. Lost in his eyes. But still, to my dismay, I wasn't just lost. I was hypnotized. Now that I knew what was going on, I was able to make myself concentrate more. I made myself concentrate enough to look away from the horrific eyes that were his. I looked at his whole face now, and it took all I had to avoid his eyes. To pretend they weren't even there. Because, against his pale white skin, his red eyes stood out like a hot pink raincoat on a dark, rainy day. All of a sudden, the corners of his mouth pulled up ever so slightly into a smile. An evil smile. The kind of smile that makes your stomach turn. The kind of smile in a horror movie that lets you know someone is about to die. After about two seconds, his smile turned back into a frown. I exhaled, thinking that I was safe now. The air came out in a huge gush. How long had I been holding my breath? It hadn't been a long time. But it felt like forever. He smiled slightly again. I gasped. I was wrong about it being over. After hearing my sudden intake of breath, his smile got wider. He flashed his teeth. "Please!" I said; I had apparently found my voice. Nice timing I said to myself sarcastically. He apparently didn't hear me, or atleast didn't acknowledge me. He continued to smile evilly. All of a sudden I screamed, "Please don't hurt me!" He wasn't having that; he wasn't going to deal with the screaming. He proceeded with the killing of me, his new victim. It was like he pressed the fast forward button. He was proceeding quicker now. He smiled one more time, and now I knew this was the end. And he strangled me. And I screamed.
I woke up, gasping for air. The clock read 7 a.m. I jumped up off my bed and realized that that action wasn’t a good idea, but only after losing my balance and hitting my head on my bed frame.
After recovering, I shuffled, quickly, to my closet to find something to wear. To my surprise, i had only 1 shirt and 1 skirt in my closet. I forgot to get my clothes out of the washer before i went to bed, so i was stuck with my turquoise blouse and my black skirt that could pass for a tutu. I looked in my dresser drawer and pulled out my pair of blue leggings, a pair of underwear, and a black bra-shirt. I grabbed my brush and raced out my bedroom door. I walked swiftly down the hall and got a towel and a rag. I glanced at the huge antique clock on the wall to my right to find, to my dismay, that it was 7:30. Then, I sprinted to my bathroom with my arms full. I had my clothes draped over my left arm and my brush in my left hand. My towel and rag were draped over my right arm leaving my right hand free to open the bathroom door. I walked in my bathroom, locking the door behind me and throwing my clothes on the counter. I hung the towel on the rack and laid my rag on the fixture in the shower. I threw off my clothes in a split second and jumped in, carefully.
When I stepped out of the shower, I put on my clothes faster than I took them off. I went to the sink and brushed my teeth, quickly, but thoroughly; I didn't think I would have enough time to eat breakfast, so I decided to do without, no matter how hungry I was. I brushed my hair, letting my bangs fall over my forehead. For once, I was thankful for my hair.
I usually hated it because of the annoying, almost 2-inch long, bangs. And, ever since I became a fan of Taylor Swift, I dreamed of having naturally curly hair and SIDE bangs. She was my role model, my inspiration. And the longing for different hair, hair like hers, only became MORE troublesome for me AND my grandma after I met Taylor. She was EXTREMELY nice but that wasn't the ONLY thing that amazed me. When she hugged me as they snapped a picture, I could only concentrate on how soft her hair felt against the right side of my face. After that, all my grandma heard from me for about 2 weeks was, "I want a perm. Please, Memaw? Please?" She took me to Reflections and asked one of the stylists how a perm would look in my hair. The stylist said it might work if she could cut my bangs off. My grandma shook her head. "Well," the stylist had said, "With her bangs covering her forehead, a perm wouldn't work. I couldn't do it. Nobody could. The chemicals would just run down her bangs and get in her eyes. That would blind her." I thought about that for a second and shuddered at the thought of losing my eyesight. My grandma had driven me home, and neither of us spoke one word the whole 5 minute drive. I gave up on that dream but I still hated my hair; I still liked curly hair, but I figured that since I couldn't get my hair permed, it just wasn't meant for me.
After the flashback, which had apparently lasted no more than a few seconds, I grabbed my towel and rag and threw them in the hamper. I unlocked the door and sprinted headlong out into the hallway, forcing myself to not look at the clock. 'If you look at the clock, you're gonna get sidetracked and be very late,' I told myself, silently. When I made it to the living room, I grabbed my converse that were laying on the couch. I was back in my room in a split second. I snatched some random socks out of my drawer and sat down on the unmade bed. I put on my socks, then my shoes, and stood up. I made the bed so fast I figured I could've broke the world record, if there was one for bed-making. I laughed silently to myself at the thought of there being a competition for THAT. I shook the thought out of my head almost as soon as it got there, well, actually, as soon as I could put together a picture of it in my mind. Making beds in a race to win money and get your picture in a world record book. Hmm. I tried to laugh again but I couldn't. The thought was already gone and the joke was getting pretty old.
I grabbed a jacket, and ran out the front door to find my grandma sitting on the porch, waiting for me.
"You ready to go, kiddo?" she said.
"Yeah, sure. Let's go." I replied without much expression.
Memaw was 53 years old with some strands of gray hair here and there already. She said they were that color because I gave her so much stress, but I didn't think that was it.
I got in the passenger seat and closed the door carefully. My grandma started the car and eased out of the driveway. She didn't speak the whole trip. I guessed she was waiting for ME to say something. That was just the way she was.
But, I was too busy worrying about how my day was going to be since I didn't sleep much. I CERTAINLY didn't have time to listen to her drone on and on about what she was going to do while I was at school. I knew what would happen if I said anything- it didn't matter WHAT I said, she'd still find a way to bring up that topic. If I let her get away with that, I would probably be so bored that I'd fall asleep during her 'speech' about how bad the yard was and what she had to do to make it look better. Well, better was actually HER word for it---I used the word "perfect"---because she couldn't settle for 'better'. She was determined to make everything look brand-new, or as good as it could. I, on the other hand, could not STAND it when she made me help her with things like that. If she asked me to wipe my bathroom mirror off with Windex, when I was done, she'd say, "You missed a spot." She'd always say that. I could use a whole bottle and she'd still 'see' a smudge. Actually, 'imagine' would describe it better. She'd imagine a fingerprint being on the mirror, right smack-dab in the middle saying, "Don't forget about me!" She was basically a clean-freak, but she didn't like it when I called her that. Obviously.
I didn't want to fall asleep, even though I was EXTREMELY tired; it would be impossible for her to wake me up when we arrived at school. So, I kept my mouth shut.
When we arrived at school, I kissed Memaw goodbye and jumped out of the car onto the pavement. I ran up the breezeway, nearly tripping over some pencils that were strewn across the concrete due to the litterbug-students that were unappreciative of the planet and this school. I pushed open the double doors and walked into the hallway.
The hallway was unusually quiet. No students. No teachers. No nothing--Nothing but the sound of someone's hidden, illegal mp3 player and the sound of water dripping from the leaking ceiling. Drip, drip, dum, dum. Drip, drip, BUM. I shook my head, trying to clear the weird combination of rain and music from my mind. It didn't work. I continued to listen as I walked, slowly, but surely, to my class. As soon as I was inches from the door, my eyes zeroed in on the handle. I don't know how long I meaninglessly stared at that door handle before I walked in. I don't even know why, but I'm pretty sure it was because I was silently deliberating what I was going to say when Mrs. James asked me why I was late. I didn't want to lie, but I felt I had to.
I stepped into the classroom with my eyes on the floor; I didn't want to make a fool of myself by tripping over the air, and my confidence was quickly fading away. It was like the 'music' I had heard out in the hallway. The drips represented it as it faded little by little. The dums represented it as it started fading faster. The loud BUM represented the last of it as it faded away. The ending note.
When I finally looked up, I was confused. I deliberated where I stood for a moment and turned around. I sprinted out the door.
I ran as fast as I could down the hallway. I made it out the heavy double doors in a split second. To my dismay, Mrs. Jamison, the principal, was standing about halfway down the walk, and Max Donovan, one of the hall monitors, was coming through the double doors ahead- the ones behind Mrs. Jamison. I skidded to a stop about 3 feet in front of her- the school's second most influenced rule was Rule No. 5: No Running in the hallways, or ANYWHERE on campus; and I was violating it!
To be honest, skidding is not one of my strengths. I skid- I fall. No doubt about it. Skidding is one of my biggest weaknesses. So, as I skidded, my foot got caught in a crack in the sidewalk. And, due to friction--stupid friction--, I lunged forward and fell face first onto the concrete.