Finishing Intros

• Our mouths dropped and a blanket of anxiety wrapped around us. This was it. 

When our lips finally touched it wasn't what I expected; there were all sorts of things to dodge: noses, foreheads, teeth, tongues. After a brief interlude, a minor chuckle, and a deep look into my eyes, he came back for more. In retrospect, the second kiss should have been the first; It was the stuff of my childhood dreams. 

• I could tell it was coming. Anyone could. His cold and hallow glance said it all.

Why, when I was the one cheated on, was I the one dumped? What gave him the right to take my happiness, and my sanity in a few cold and callous words. The real issue with getting cheated on isn't the horror of the image, its what that action does to you. It robs you, innocent little you, of your peace of mind. From that point forward suspicion and doubt replaced tranquility and hope; a bargain I never signed up for. 

• I felt paralyzed. All I could do was stare out of the window for what seemed to be eternity.

 Unanswered prayers plant the seeds of disbelief.  I stared at a tree outside of that window, hoping, praying, for anything to explain itself. All I could think of is, why is God always so far away when I need him near?  

• The six a.m. phone calls stopped. Why was he doing this...

My father always used to wake me up, and now, the bleering ring of an alarm clock. I guess that's part of growing up, but if so, why did it have to leave me with the impression that he just didn't care. Does getting older mean your parents care less? I never wanted to be a Daddy's girl, but that doesn't mean I can't miss it. right? 

• Pieces of ripped up envelope covered the kitchen floor as the house phone rang off the hook.

Four years of work for nothing. No matter how many times my Mom called to console him, he wasn't picking up the damn phone. Four years of, "If you put your mind to it, you can accomplish it" 's down the drain. Watching my brother get rejected from the college of his dreams didn't encourage me, it crushed me. He wasn't smart, he was a genius. He did everything right: athletics, academics, volunteering, and leading. I decided, that moment, that the only way I could get into that school is if I got a brain transplant. Who the Hell wants to go to Harvard anyway?