A note to my readers: What follows is a story I wrote for my, now ex-, girlfriend a little over a year ago. It is loosely based on how we met and proceeded to fall in love, but the emotional theme of the story is depicted exactly as I experienced it. It was written over the course of two days under the trees at Ruff Park, a place in Thurston that has always had a special place in my heart. When I first wrote this story I was, and continue to be, proud of it both as an emotional expression and as a piece of creative writing. I am truly grateful to the girl who inspired this level of creativity in me, who inspired me to write something that I am so proud to have written. I’m honored that anyone who reads this has chosen to do so, but I ask one favor of you. The story is long (six pages on MS Word). Please do not start reading if you do not plan to finish in one sitting. It was meant to be read all at once. Thank you, and enjoy.
Is it Love?
The center of the page was blank, bordered by a tall oak on one side and a blooming rhododendron bush on the other. I need something beautiful to complete the picture, he thought. And then she walked into view.
Her long, dark hair shone with a hint of red when the sun hit it, and her blue cotton dress waved gently in the warm summer breeze as she gracefully walked across the grass, taking in every flower she passed. She was, quite literally, breathtakingly beautiful, as he had to gasp for air with every stolen glance. Her eyes sparkled the most beautiful green he had ever seen; they were mesmerizing.
She found a comfortable-looking spot in the grass near a patch of daisies and lay down on her stomach. Knees bent, bare feet in the air, she wiggled her toes playfully. She pulled out a book and opened to where she left off. He squinted: it was Romeo and Juliet. He stared dumbly for what seemed like hours. Every inch of her was immaculate, flawless like an impeccably-cut gem. Finally, he snapped out of his daze. This is the beauty I’ve been waiting for, he said to himself, putting his pencil back to the page.
A beauty this awe-inspiring deserved nothing less than the best representation, no shortcuts here. He took the very best care in recreating everything from the content smile on her face, to her bare shoulders and back, to the way her dress fell from the curve of her back down to her thighs and ending just above the knee, exposing the rest of her beautiful legs. He spent two hours sketching this goddess down to the last detail, erasing and re-sketching anything that looked even the tiniest bit off. She probably noticed him constantly looking up at her, but he didn’t care. With a smile he thought, at least she noticed me.
He’d been at the park for close to five hours now, and it was time to head home and get ready to go to dinner with friends. Naturally, he did not want to leave, but as the age-old saying goes, “Bros before hoes.” Though she could never be a ho.
He packed his things away in his satchel and slung it over his shoulder. He stood up from the bench, stretched like a bear fresh out of hibernation, and began the five-minute walk to his car. He would return to the park the next possible day with hopes of seeing her again, but until then, he was sure she would occupy his thoughts. As he rounded the bend away from the clearing, he stole one last glimpse. She was watching him.
A few days passed, consisting mostly of work, leaving a little time to go out at night with his friends. But as he vowed, on the next free day he had, he went to the park, satchel on his shoulder. He thought he would have to wait for her to show up again, but he was pleasantly surprised when he entered the clearing.
There she was, walking as gracefully as ever, looking at every individual flower with such a passion as if each and every one was her own newborn child. She was in short denim shorts and a white tank-top today. Every inch of her bare skin was soaking up the sunlight as if she were a rare flower, opening its petals to the sky. She took refuge on a blanket this time, under the shade of the giant oak that he had sketched on his last visit. Instead of a book, she took a pencil to a pad of paper. Excellent, he thought with a smile. She’s an artist.
He sat down on his bench, pulled out his supplies, and began to draw. She was lying at a different angle this time, propped up on one elbow, drawing with her other hand. He took as much care with this sketch as he had his last, not leaving out or botching a single detail.
He drew as she drew, and from the look on her face, she was just as detail-oriented as he was. He sat there for two and a half hours, perfecting every intricacy in his drawing. When he finished, he held it at arm’s length, both admiring it and checking for any imperfections. Satisfied, he slid the pad into his satchel and pulled out the book he was reading. He opened The Merchant of Venice to where he had left off, but despite his love of Shakespeare, he kept losing his place by constantly looking up at her.
Another hour passed, and he had made little progress. He looked up, yet again, to see his subject packing up her own things and setting off across the field. His eyes locked on her, he did not notice the piece of paper on the ground where she had been laying. His eyes followed her until she disappeared around the bend in the path. He took a deep breath, filled with what can only be described as pure awe, and let it out slowly.
He put his book away, took up his satchel, and walked slowly across the grass toward his car. As he passed her spot, he noticed the paper on the ground and picked it up. Upon looking at it, his jaw dropped and a smile crept slowly across his face. There he was, sitting on his bench, pad and pencil in hand. The detail was even finer than his own; it was an amazing likeness. Staring at the drawing in his hand, he walked to his car. When he looked up, he stopped in his tracks. There she was, leaning against his car, smiling the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. He smiled back. “You dropped this,” he said as he walked toward her, holding out the drawing. “This is amazing. You’re quite the artist.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “You’re quite the subject,”—she winked—“I didn’t feel a single detail deserved to be shortchanged or left out.” She smiled that stunning smile again, causing his heart to beat rapidly.
“Can I take you out for coffee?” he asked, almost too quickly, and smiling sheepishly because he realized it.
She laughed. “You’re cute. I would love that.” He opened the car door for her and watched her get in, still astonished by her beauty. He shut the door and went around to the driver’s side, got in, started the car and drove off. He handed her the drawing, but she said, “You keep that. I drew it for you anyway.”
“Thank you,” he said grinning. He slid it into his satchel, and she caught a glimpse of his sketch.
“Oooh!” She grabbed the satchel and pulled out the drawing. “I love it,” she said. “You’re quite the artist yourself.”
“It’s yours,” he said with a smile. She thanked him. He reached over to turn the radio down so he could hear her better. Some country song was playing. Little did he know that this would one day be their song.
On the way to the nearest Starbucks with outdoor seating, they talked and laughed about the strange coincidence that led to their meeting.
“That’ll be a great one to tell the grandki…” He trailed off and bit his lip. “Sorry, it just kinda…I’m not…”
“Hey,” she said, putting her hand on his, “don’t worry about it. I know what you meant.” She smiled reassuringly. He was instantly more relaxed. God, she’s amazing, he said to himself.
Five minutes later, they arrived at Starbucks. They got out of the car, and he held the door open for her, following her into the coffee shop. “How did I get so lucky?” he said under his breath.
She looked back at him and asked, “What?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly. They ordered their drinks at the counter and sat down, moving outside when the drinks were ready.
For hours until Starbucks closed, they sat under an umbrella and talked about anything and everything from politics to religion and philosophy, music to good books and movies. It amazed him how much they had in common, and he loved every minute there with her. On top of being stunningly beautiful, she was smart, well-rounded and well-read, into all sorts of different music, quick-witted and had a great sense of humor. Not to mention the fact that every once in a while, she would completely catch him off-guard with some remark or another. She was so open and honest; she was incredible in every way and he could not get over it.
When they were finally kicked out by the barista on duty that night, he drove back to the park and walked her to her car, holding her hand the whole way. She unlocked it and he opened the door for her, closing it when she got in. She rolled down the window.
“Thank you so much,” she said. “I had a great time.” She smiled.
He smiled back. “Me too. We’ll have to do this again soon.”
“Well, of course. That’s non-negotiable,” she replied with a sly, beautiful grin.
He took her hand in his and kissed it softly. “Have a safe drive home.”
No sooner had he turned to walk away than he wheeled back around. “What’s your name?” he asked. She laughed and told him.
He smiled. “That’s beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she said softly. “What’s yours?”
He told her. “Hmmm,” she said. “I kinda pictured you more as a Steve or a David.” She smiled at him, winked, and drove off.
He watched her car drive off until it was out of sight. Then he looked to the sky and breathed, “Wow.” As he returned to his car, he hit himself in the head. He had forgotten to ask for her number. Oh well, he thought. I’m sure I’ll see her again soon. He got in the car and pulled out her drawing, admiring it once more.
She must have anticipated his social clumsiness because there, cleverly incorporated into the wooden slats of the bench he was sitting on, was written: 555-5459. With a smiley face next to it.
Over the next few weeks, they spent a lot of time together. They went to dinner, had coffee and ice cream, watched movies, and laid in the park reading and drawing together. She even got him to wake up at four in the morning to go on a hike. She must be special.
He finally got up the guts to ask her to be his girlfriend.
“You know how long I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that?” she said jokingly, and hugged him. He never wanted to let go; she fit perfectly in his arms.
Another month or so passed. Every second with her was amazing; he never got tired of her. They shared all the special moments that every relationship sees: a first kiss under the stars, meeting each other’s parents and closest friends, and really just enjoying being together. His feelings for her got stronger every day. He had never felt this close, this comfortable, this well-matched with someone before. He began to ask himself: dare he say it, is it love?
Generally speaking, he’d heard it all before. “You can’t love someone unless you’ve been with them for a long time,” or “Who’s to say the heart doesn’t feel what it feels when it feels it,” or even “Love is the presence of God in two people. Without God, there is no love.” He had nothing against those who made this final argument, but they were both agnostic; the last option didn’t apply to them.
He spent hours on end pondering the situation. If it is love, do I say it? Would she be freaked out and scared off? He didn’t want to risk losing her, but what could be wrong with telling her how he felt about her? So many questions, so many ways of looking at it, it was all just so confusing.
Then one day, it all became clear. He was at a garage sale rummaging in the toy boxes for any old Star Wars figurines. Yes, he was a nerd at heart. She thought it was cute. He had decided to look through the boxes of books for Star Wars Universe novels when a non-related title caught his eye: Love is, by Clinton Moody. Maybe this’ll answer my questions, he told himself jokingly. As he opened it and read through it, he realized that it did.
“Love is…the many times I’ve wanted to meet someone like you…the warmth that comes with the sight of you…knowing I can be just myself with you.” Eighty-one pages of perfect phrases, all but maybe two or three of which applied to him and his girl.
He had his answer now; he knew what it was. One question remained: should he tell her? The answer to that came from his good friend, Pistachio.
Pistachio was quite possibly the wisest, most level-headed person he knew. She seemed to have thoughts and advice on anything you asked her. She and her boyfriend, Ash, had been together for close to six months, and they were so head-over-heels for each other. About two months in, she had said, they shared those three little words for the first time.
“How did you know?” he asked her. “After such a short time, how did you know it was the right time to say it?”
“We’ve never discussed time frames in our relationship,” she told him. “We feel that things will happen when they happen. We fell in love. No one else can tell us it’s too soon. We know how we feel about each other.”
Pistachio was so wise, like Buddha. Or Confucius. Or Yoda. It was ridiculous. His talk with her gave him the comfort he needed. He put the book in a special place. It would be his gift to her when the time came.
He was able to take a weekend off from work, so they went camping by a quiet lake in the mountains. The drive up was beautiful, but it was nothing compared to his passenger. They got lucky, as the campground was deserted but for a few older couples in their RVs.
One night, they went for a walk along the lake’s edge, hand in hand. A blanket of stars covered the sky, sparkling in her eyes every time she looked at him. They walked out onto the dock where a lantern hung on a pole. They stopped and he put his arms around her as they looked across the lake, every star’s reflection shining in the water. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the book.
“What’s that?” she asked with a curious look on her face.
He handed it to her and said, “I want you to have this.”
She flipped through the pages, still smiling curiously. “Thank you,” she said, “but I’m confused.”
He took her hands in his. “Lily, I love you. I know it’s only been a couple months, but you make me happier than I ever thought possible. Every second I’m with you is pure bliss, and I never wanna say goodbye. If this weirds you out, I completely understand and I can avoid saying it again if it makes you uncomfortable. But you mean the world to me, and you deserve to know how I really feel about you.” He looked at her, hoping for anything but a long, awkward pause followed by a “Thank you.”
She put her hands on his cheeks and looked deep into his eyes. “Babe,” she said, “I hoped I wasn’t weird for feeling so strongly about you. I love you too!”
She smiled, and his heart melted. He took her in his arms and kissed her long and passionately. For once, when he asked it to, time went by slowly. They stood there, locked together in each other’s arms for what felt like an eternity. The happiest eternity he could ever imagine.
Finally, they pulled apart and smiled at each other. Without a word, each took the other’s hand, and they walked slowly back along the lakeside toward their campsite. He smiled to himself. It was love.
