Memory Makers

"Every time I see a pair of Chucks, it makes me smile. It reminds me of you, of holding hands and windblown cheeks blushing scarlet. Even then, you made my heart race, albeit with more innocence. I adored you, with your long hair and your long words. Words that led my little heart along as if on a string. I'd follow you anywhere, content to be at your side. What was it? Your frayed edges, the ragged breaths in which you'd whisper how much you liked kissing me. The stubble of your cheek against the softness of my own. The way you smelled of leather jackets and that old truck. Oh, the good times we had in that small space between the driver's seat and mine. We'll just call it mine because there were no others who fit there like I did, and once I set my heart on you, you were mine, too."

I wrote that today. I love being married to my high school sweetheart. It provides me with an ocean of memories in which I can dip my pen into and bring up all sorts of amazing examples from which to draw inspiration from. Give me a topic, and I can write you something. Give me the choice of topic, and I will always write about him.

He made me feel stupid, stumbling over my syllables with the grace of a sea cow in stilettos. He challenged me to find better words, to bring something up from my soul that wasn't pure intellectual vomit. He never once told me, "this is crap," but the lengths I'd go to revise until I impressed him were extraordinary. I never had an audience so important to me before, and when he reached out and took each note I passed, a piece of my heart would always go with him.

I was thinking about this today, about the power of words to conjure up memories. A few years ago, (I say this figuratively, but it was actually closer to ten years ago, OMIGAWD) I was what you could go so far as to call "a fan" (haha, more like obsessed fanatic) of one Avril Lavigne, "punk pop princess" of the early 2000's. I emulated her in dress, style, vocabulary, and garnered quite a collection of various ties I would match with my only button-down shirt, which happened to be quite sheer and drove certain boys insane. I'm pretty sure those outfits were half the reason I had as many male friends and followers as I had. Still, I managed to recreate the persona of Avril, royalty of rebellion herself. During this time, I really began getting into writing poetry and songs. I didn't have the level of anger required to really rock out like I wanted to, but through various high school love triangles and mishaps and the epic romance gone awry that ended up being my happily ever after, I wrote some pretty ridiculous stuff.

I am ashamed as an "Avid Avrilian" (I totally just made that up and I'm going to stick with it because I've never heard it before.) to say that I have long ago lost my copy of her first CD, "Let Go." However, this morning, I jammed her sophomore album "Under My Skin" quite loudly (I should be embarrassed, but I'm not) and was pleased to find out that I still knew every single word. I was even more pleased to find out that my daughters, sitting in the back seat, could sing along, too!

It got me thinking about all those things I'd written back and the day, and I thought about going back to exhume some of the old stuff. See how stupid it was. See how true it still is.

A short story with the what-looks-to-be-tentative title jotted on the top of the page: Just Friends?



She sat there, shivering, in the stands. The lights were bright, the rain drizzled down, the excitement was high. The varsity football team played in the field in front of her, but her mind was elsewhere. Instead, she thought of her best friend, dry, at home, probably playing his guitar. The game wasn't going in favor of her home team, as usual, and she wished she were sitting on his floor right now, listening to his fingers as they plucked each string. Or he was here, with her, making her laugh. Maybe then, she wouldn't be so cold.

A black hooded sweatshirt landed on the bleacher, right next to her. She looked up. "You're so dumb, why didn't you just stay home like all the other losers?" Alin asked.

"Because I was bored. I dunno. Care to join me?"

"No." But he sat down anyway. He shoved his sweatshirt at her. She shivered and wrapped it around her, breathing in the scent of it. It smelled good. It smelled like him. She liked that.

"What are you here for?" she asked.

"To laugh at cold, stupid people like you," he answered. He moved a little closer. "Wanna be cool like me and ditch it?"

"That's probably the smartest thing I've ever heard you say." she kidded. "Let's ditch this joint!" She jumped up and put the sweatshirt on. He walked to the edge of the bleachers and hopped to the ground. "I'll catch you!" he called. "Jump!" She jumped, landing in his arms, nearly bowling hi over. He caught her perfectly, just as he promised. For a moment, they just looked at each other, then he let her go.

The drizzle had stopped, so she warmed up. She reached up and brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. He glanced down at her.

"Hey, you're gonna mess up my 'do."

"It's already destroyed. I'm fixing it."

"My hair rocks. Don't knock it."

"Yeah, it's you. Grungy."

"And...?"

"And I like it." she answered. She looked down. She was quiet for a moment. It felt strange, not having that ring on her finger. It was a relief, not to be held back by someone so restricting. That's what she'd always loved about Alin. He loved her for her.
"Hey, Alin?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you."
"Yeah, me too."
I'm glad we're just the way we are. You know. Just us."
"Best friends." he paused, "Most of the time. But we've got our moments."
"What do you mean?" she asked, looking up. He stopped walking. The streetlights were on, shining down on them like their own personal moon. He looked up for a moment, as if contemplating. He looked down at her. Why was everything about her so damn innocent? Yet he knew she was dangerous. She had the power to break him. He took the risk anyway. He slid his hand down her cheek as her eyes locked onto his. There was fear, but more than that, there was appreciation for a friendship that bound them.
"You're warm," she whispered.
"So are you," he answered.
"I am now."

He sighed and put his hands in his pockets. She looked away quickly and changed the subject.

"So you're still not going tomorrow night?" she asked.

"Why bother? I can't dance anyway."

"Anyone can dance. It's universal. Any time, anywhere." She had a look in her eyes and a mischievous grin crept onto her face.

"Why are you leering at me like that?"

"Any time, anywhere." She grabbed his hands and spun him around. "Dance with me, Alin!" she cried, throwing her head back and laughing. They spun around and around until they collapsed onto the grassy hill, laughing uncontrollably. She breathed in deep and stared at the stars. "What a romantic night for two people so against being in love," she thought.

"Yeah," Alin echoed.

"Yeah, what?"

"I know what you're thinking. I think so, too."

"Think what? What are you talking about?"

"Sometimes you wish we were in love. Just for the sake of living and being loved."

"Sometimes, maybe. Yeah. But I love you anyway." She looked at her shoes, now stained lime by the damp grass. Things were too hard to explain. All the feelings she felt for him, she almost wasn't allowed to feel. Rule #1 For Having The Perfect Best Friend: Do not fall in love with him. But rules were made to be broken. So.

"Do you ever hold it against me?" he asked quietly.

"You not returning the feelings? No." she replied. "But I can't say I don't wish."

"I know. But there are complications. You know."

"Yeah, I know. It's cool." she sighed again. She spread out on the hill and put her arms behind her head. She looked sideways at him.

"Do you ever think about it, though?" she asked.

"All the time. I'm not the only one with complications, though. You're fragile. How am I supposed to NOT break it? What if I do? I'm not really in the mood to break your heart more than I already have. Sorry."

"I'm not a child, Alin, I'm not a little girl. I know you can hurt me." She moved closer. She rolled on her side and propped her head in her hand.

"Why are you so afraid of me?" she questioned.

"Who said I was scared of you?"

"You would have kissed me by now."

"Well, who said I wasn't going to?" he pursued.

"You're too scared."

"No."

"Yes."

"No." He moved closer. She sat up, looking him in the eyes, intimidating him. Daring him to kiss her. They were face to face, inches apart. She could see he wanted to. He could feel her breath. It was warm and sweet. So sweet he could taste it. She reached up and tangled her fingers in his hair as he pulled her even closer and locked his lips on hers. She was soft, almost melted against him. She pulled him as close as she could get him. He wrapped his arms around her, and reveled in the feelings he was encountering. He was crazy, and he loved her. They parted ways and she snuggled her head in his shoulder.

"..."



I wrote this in 2004, during 10th grade. The year I can honestly refer to as the mushroom cloud of life-changing epic shit going down. I have no ending.


I have no ending. I need an ending, and I am personally reveling in the fountain of words I feel I've tapped into lately. I feel like an ending is going to show up soon, and I'm so excited for when it happens. Let's see what happens next week. :) xoxo