Late in the evening, Lance heard three knocks at the door and knew it was Cyan probably goofing off.
Cyan had good looks, but Lance had never seen him look like a celebrity heartthrob with his hair disheveled, shirt unbuttoned and abs exposed.
“Can I come in?” he asked. Lance moved aside, closing the door behind him.
Cyan sat on the bed, looking flustered. Lance raised an eyebrow. “You were with a girl, I presume?” Cyan nodded. “Jillian,” he said
Lance’s heart skipped a beat. Jillian was a sweet girl, he even had a little crush. But his friend was also a great guy.
“You guys didn’t… did you?” Lance asked. Cyan shook his head. “No, she’s not ready, but, I really, really want to, but I also don’t want to because I can’t commit. I don’t know what to do.”
Cyan let out a sigh putting his face into his hands. “I’ve never seen you so flustered before, especially over a girl.”
Cyan chuckled, “Tell me about it. It’s like I can’t get her out of my head. When I’m not with her, I think about her. When I see her, I just want to touch her, hold her, call her mine. What is wrong with me?”
“Sounds like you’re falling in love,” Lance laughed. Cyan groaned, “But Europe, in two weeks…”
“I haven’t seen you this happy with a girl, ever, not even when you were with Bri. You can walk away, protect your heart, or follow it, and see where it leads. Taking chances, living life, that’s your motto, right?”
Cyan looked up and met his eyes. “Yeah, you’re right.” He stood up, tapping Lance’s shoulder. “Thanks, bud. I gotta go.” “To see Jillian?” “Nah, I might scare her off with my raging hormones. I’m just gonna, uh… satisfy myself,” he winked. “TMI!” Lance joked, closing the door.
I’m taking a quick break from the Memory Poems of my characters to post one of my own this week. This was written during Poets at Play.
The Long Walk
She remembered hopping off the bus some sixteen years ago carrying her baby blue Jansport backpack filled to the rim with binders and books, something she bore on her shoulders 5 days a week, even in the rain.
It was raining then, water drops came crashing down. The wind pushed her left and right. It was as if Mother Storm slapped her in the face with spit.
She opened her portable umbrella, The useless flimsy thing was no match for the wind, being pulled inside out this way and that way, a broken fragile puppet of the wind.
She struggled to maintain control, so it wouldn’t fly away, while crossing the street looking like a helpless mess, as onlookers watched from the safety of their cars.
Raindrops streamed down her face. Rain pelted her clothes from slanted angles. Little drops of water on her jeans were like dark blue dots that grew into patches that eventually covered the leg.
Her once dried socks were wet and squishy. Her once bright mood became cloudy like the storm. She made it home, soaking wet.
It was one of the longest 10 minute walks she’s ever taken alone with her friend, El Nino during high school in the early millennium.
Flash forward – 2016/2017, the storm is coming, school is closed. Children deprived of experiencing these memories.
Jillian’s heart fluttered like a butterfly, listening to the ringtone as a million thoughts swirled into mind. She needed a soothing voice.
“Hello,” Jess said, “How’s the trip?” Jillian smiled, no longer flustered. “Great, I uh… think I fell in love.”
Jess raised an eyebrow, “At the beach house, while babysitting? Are you sure? Tell me more,” she sang, sitting upright.
“He’s Ted’s brothers close friend.” “How hot?” Jess teased.
Jillian blushed, remembering Cyan’s lips against hers, his rock hard body rocking against hers, his throbbing groin rubbing against hers, separated by cotton jeans.
She sighed… recalling the yearning sensation that burned through her and the self-control she mustered to suppress it.
Jess chuckled, “Fantasizing, are we?” Jillian turned red. “Yes, he’s hot…” “Well, what’s he like?”
“He’s got these deep blue eyes that make me melt into his arms, into his soul. Graceful at sports. Wisdom beyond his years, loves his bike, loves living life, and is adored by kids.
He’s smart and a smart ass. Bold enough to be goofy, bold enough to be sweet, bold enough to truly care, and I get lost in his eyes, in his heart, in his soul, as if I had known him for years instead of days.
I think I’ve fallen in love with a man I barely met, and I’m addicted to his touch.”
“Wow, soulful confession, but I sense a problem.” “He’s leaving in two weeks, back to Europe for school. I’m afraid to fall in love, especially for the first time.”
“Calling me late at night, gushing over a guy, this is a first and I know you’re not stupid. Jill, this is the guy you dreamt about, the one we thought didn’t exist.
You might regret falling in love and getting hurt, but you will definitely regret letting him go, letting go of something magical before it had a chance to start, to shine, to grow.
You’ve never felt like this before, if you let go now, would you want to look back and wonder what might have been?”
Last month, I attended Poets at Play for the first time at the Markham House in History Park, San Jose. It was nice to meet a small group of poets and spend a nice afternoon writing and discussing poetry. The theme for the month was “memory.” I was able to write two poems that afternoon and I will share one with you today, the one I didn’t read out loud. A poet suggested writing memory from someone else’s perspective, so I decided to write this. I hope you enjoy it.
Coming out of the trashcan, I felt my fur on end… a pair of eyes watching me. She was there, the human, looking at me, watching… my every move.
I jumped back in, I jumped back out. I poked my head around. She was still there watching me.
I scurried down the trashcan. I scurried up a tree, found a little nook that was comforting to me.
I lost sight of her. She lost sight of me, or so I thought, until I felt her eyes once again, watching me.
I pretended not to see. She pretended to let me be, walking away, so I could enjoy my day.