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Authors: Hayley Nelson

To meet You Again

BOOK: To meet You Again
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To Meet You Again

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This e-book published by
Hayley
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©
Copyright 2013 All Rights Reserved.

 

 

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1
. 3

Chapter 2
. 10

Chapter 3
. 20

Chapter 4
. 30

Chapter 5
. 38

 

 

Chapter 1

“Okay. Before you say anything, I think I have
the right to explain why everything is covered in chocolate.”

               
Well, if you want to know the whole story, we’re going to have to go all the
way back to about the time of the High Middle Ages. Now, nobody really knows
what happened exactly, but apparently there was this guy named
Valentinus
or something. For the sake of the story, I’ll
call him St. Valentine. There were many saints that had the same name, and
nobody really knows which one or ones we’re supposed to be crediting with the
creation of this absurd holiday, but for simplicity’s sake let’s say there was
one of them.

               
Also, let me just point out that it isn’t even a holiday because, if it were,
we would be allowed to skip out on work and school. But no, people have to
suffer the embarrassment of seeing all their classmates and co-workers getting
Valentines while you get zip.

               
Anyway, I digress. Apparently, at the time, soldiers were not allowed to marry.
St. Valentine disagreed and would marry them in secret. He got found out. He
got jailed. Then, before he was executed, he sent some kind of note to his
loved one saying, “Farewell from your Valentine”. And so, every February 14 we
celebrate that guy and his appreciation for romance by romancing each other or
some bullshit like that.

               
Valentine’s Day is ridiculous.

               
We kill thousands of rose bushes. We cut down about a thousand more trees than
we normally do. We make each other fatter with candies and chocolates.
And for what?
To show our love?
How
materialistic can we people be? Can’t you just say “I love you” or write a
sonnet or something? Something, anything that doesn’t involve uselessly wasting
our natural
resources.Well
, I guess if you were
writing a sonnet, you’d have to write it on something, and, in a sense, you
would be wasting paper, too, so… Forget that one.

               
Also, would it kill you to get a room or something? Why do you have to declare
your love in front of the entire population? Honestly, how do you think it
makes the rest of us feel? Why do you think there’s such a thing as “Singles
Awareness Day”? S. A. D. That’s right. It makes us… Well, me, not so much. But
it makes single girls feel sad. Why do you think they were even pretentious
enough to make up their own holiday? Singles Awareness Day – the day you become
even more aware of your crippling singularity. Granted guys could celebrate it,
too, I guess
,
if they were single, too. I don’t know
how these things are supposed to work.

               
In my experience, to see every girl around you get a valentine is
disheartening. I mean, I wouldn’t be sad and pathetic enough to make up some
holiday for myself and people like me. But, then again, if I did it would be a
“me party”. Yeah, in grade school, I wasn’t exactly “likeable”. I kept my nose
in the books. I didn’t like playing games, let alone sports. While other girls
drew hearts around boys’ names I scoffed at their stupidity. I was pretty much
a snob back then. So when everyone got their secret admirer notes and poorly
cut out hearts cards, I got nothing. I guess that was my fault, but that’s not
the point.

               
Personally if a guy sang to me in public, I’d murder him. Why?
Because, while the gesture is sweet and all, it’s embarrassing.
I HATE being the centre of attention, and whenever a guy publicly announces his
affection everyone stares at you. There’s so much pressure. I mean, what if I
don’t like him that way? Then I’m the bitch who sent another “brave warrior”
into the friend zone? Also, why does he have to do it publicly? Can’t he do it
in private? I mean something about publicizing your love feels, to me, fake.
And
guys,
save yourself the embarrassment you arrogant
lump heads. Have you ever considered the idea that
maybe,
just maybe, the girl might not like you back?

               
Gasp. Did I hurt your feelings? Well suck it up.

               
Wait, no. That’s a strategy isn’t it? Put pressure on the girl to say “yes”
because if she doesn’t... Yeah, if a girl is decent, she wouldn’t want to
embarrass you in front of all those people. And, if she’s not decent, she’ll at
least be thinking about her reputation. Oh, I see right through you, you sick
bastards. That’s mean! You try to make it seem as if we’re the bad guys here,
but it’s been you all along!
Cunning, manipulative bastards.

               
Oh, right.
About the mess of chocolate.

               
It all started in freshman year. High school was still this exciting adventure
I wanted to document every moment of. I wasn’t exactly a camera whore like my
female peers – sometimes male – but I liked to take pictures of things.

               
I would take pictures of field trips. I would take pictures of each classroom I
had a class in. I would take pictures of notes… Okay, so my picture-taking
wasn’t exactly for sentimental reasons. But there were a lot of instances where
I did take pictures for sentimental reasons.

               
For example, in the first few months of that year, I didn’t really have
friends. I would sit alone at lunch because during class I didn’t care for
small talk with my seatmates. I read books and took notes. So, to compensate, I
would take pictures of the surrounding lunch tables and make up stories about
the people. Then, one day, a boy named Angelo noticed me taking his picture,
and he accused me of having a crush on him. We’ve been best friends ever since,
and I would take pictures of all the different pastas he brought for lunch.

               
But, anyway, one time while we were on a field trip, we were taking our rest
break on this beautiful hill up where you could see the beautiful plains below.
The sky was a great clear blue. Not a cloud in sight, and yet the sun seemed to
be hiding somewhere. It was a cool day. Both the grass and the leaves were such
a fantastic green colour it almost seemed unreal, but the bare shadows gave
them back their place in the real world. The view was void of any bodies of
water. It was just rolling fields as far as the eye could see. I took so many
pictures within that half hour. It was as if each photo was an attempt to
perfectly recreate the moment, of course futile, but an attempt nonetheless,
and it made me feel better.

               
Angelo was sick, so he couldn’t come. Since I didn’t have anyone to talk to, I
let myself be in my own world. I was perfectly satisfied falling asleep on the
bus and taking my pictures. Don Vernal had a different idea. He approached me
as I looked out onto the fields. He very silently walked beside me. He was so
quiet you would think that the sound of his voice would have made me jump. But
his voice was quiet, too.

               
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he remarked.

               
“Yeah,” I nodded, smiling.

               
I turned to face him. Don was tall and lean, but muscular. He had dark hair and
skin that was two shades darker than fair. His eyes were dark, but kind, and
his smile was asymmetrical, but perfect. I was flustered. He was gorgeous, and
was the only one since Angelo who actually came up and talked to me without
academic motivation. If it had been anyone else, I probably wouldn’t have paid
much attention. If it had been any other day, I probably would have brushed him
off. If he’d said anything else – if he hadn’t somehow been able to echo the
exact thought that lingered in my mind – I probably would have gotten annoyed
and walked away. But he approached me in the most peaceful and perfect way. He
did not disturb me. Rather, he joined me.
Matched my mood.
Matched the low tone of the wind.

               
“I don’t think we’ve officially met,” he extended a hand. “I’m Don.”

               
“Ruby,” I shook his hand, and I was sure that he could see me blush.

               
“May I?” he gestured to the camera. I handed it to him. He took a few steps
back and focused the camera on me. “Stand still,” he seemed to whisper. My
cheeks were probably opaquely rose pink by then. I didn’t move. I didn’t even
breathe.

               
Just then a great gust of wind passed, blowing all of my hair up. I squinted
slightly, but I also couldn’t help but smile. My hair tickled different parts
of my face.

               
“Perfect,” Don smiled and showed me the picture.

               
I didn’t know what was wrong with his sense of aesthetic. I personally thought
I looked like some sort of failed depiction of medusa. Or even
Sadako
. Maybe one of those people who touch those charged
spheres and all their hair stands up. Whatever it was I looked like, I looked
of not perfectly sound mind. But I smiled anyway, because the comment and his
smile were quite endearing.

              
“One more,” Don put his arm around me and pulled me closer. His touch sent
shivers all around, which was strange. I’d only just met this person. I knew
nothing about him. He held out the camera, “Smile.” He took the picture and
showed it to me. This one was better. My hair looked like I had just gotten out
of bed, but Don looked fantastic. He was incredibly photogenic. “Here you go,”
he held the camera out.

               
I stared at his hand for a while, not realizing at first what he meant. My
thoughts were all so scrambled. I finally took it from him, the touch of his
fingers burning. “Thanks,” I pressed my lips together and nodded.

               
“I should be thanking you,” he corrected. We stared at each other for a while,
smiling awkwardly at each other. I couldn’t hold his gaze. I would switch
between his eyes, the blades of grass, the faraway trees, and the cloudless
skies.

               
Just then, the teachers called us to the school bus, and that was the last time
I’d ever been alone with Don. I kept the picture of him and me in my drawer and
looked at it all the time. I never forgot that moment on the field trip. In
fact, I memorized every moment of that moment. He was the reason I’d stupidly
managed to cover the kitchen in chocolate. It was supposed to be my Valentine’s
Day gift to him. I should’ve known that nothing good could ever come from that
holiday, or anything related.

               
Ever since that field trip, I’d never gotten the chance to really talk to Don.
I could never work up the courage to do so. Instead, I would stare at him as he
hung out in the halls and Angelo would laugh at me. He thought it was pathetic,
especially since he got a girlfriend.

               
To this day, I never understood why Don didn’t come up and talk to me again.
That moment we had so much chemistry. He was such a sweetheart. I truly thought
that he liked me, or at least wanted to be friends with me. But when we came
back to school the around him was rather unfriendly. I didn’t even post the
pictures on Facebook. We weren’t even Facebook friends. It was weird. I really
didn’t understand. What, then, was that moment all about? Was it because he
knew nobody else was watching? Huh. Just as I thought; another insecure teen
too focused on self-image and reputation to follow through what he started. I’m
sure he’ll grow up to be a fine man…

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