This is my newest grouping of short stories. I call it the Ah Series because each one starts out with Ah, ... -- like a wise old person telling you all of his (or her) mistakes in life. I do like this series, and they're quite emotional.
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Ah,
how I so love the midnight hour.
The soft luminescence of the moon, the glow of a dim bulb, the
darkness of a house shuttered against the night, only to find itself enshrouded
in night’s dear companion. The cool, light breeze that chills the hot memory of
the sun. The silence that enfolds the house with everything asleep as if lulled
by sorcery.
Sleep.
The dark denizen of the night.
He hides his face from me, a ruthless
mockery of my daft clambering for its comfort. Forever evading me, I cling to
the silent languidness of dark, believing that sleep come to those ready to
receive it. And yet I prove not to be. It is the lack of such sleep that has
let me see the midnight hour and all of her charms.
Yet I would rather have sleep.
A word to the aspiring writer.
Write about what you know.
Don’t write when wet.
Paper dries easily,
But pens don’t.
Use ballpoint whenever possible.
Pens can be replaced,
But good ideas need to be legible.
Tell people what you write about.
They might know something
And possibly have advice.
But you never know.
Let people read what you wrote.
They’ll come to know your style.
And it helps your ego,
Which is never bad.
Make friends with important people.
Presidential commendations will always
Look good on a résumé.
Might even get you published.
Take chances.
Live life.
Ah,
how tragically we fall in love.
Listening to this song, over and over and over again, I am
reminded of one night, and one night only. Not the nights after, nor those
before.
It was the school’s Halloween social, or at least the one closest
to the date. I was a young seventh grader with no knowledge in the game that is
dating. The night was cool, but we were crammed into the school’s special
cordoned off portion, consisting of the gym, cafeteria, and halls surrounding
the two rooms. I was playing foosball in the cafeteria, where the people who
didn’t want to dance hung out.
Almost out of nowhere, a tall, lanky eighth grader I’d never seen
before asked me to dance. I told him I needed to find my friends, and boy, did
I. I was new to this, and he was an eighth grader!!!! I left him sulking
at one of the lunch tables.
I did indeed find my friends, who were outside the cafeteria’s
glass walls, examining the poor boy like a test subject. They gave their
approval, and assured that they’d be near should I need a lifeline.
And so we danced.
At first the songs played were goofy, spunky, pop –social faves,
played at every social, no matter the theme. My newfound dance partner had
quite and assortment of silly moves that made us all laugh. And I say ‘us’
because, like the self-conscious, self-absorbed, barely- teenage girls we were,
we were content and happy to dance in one fairly large group.
The night wore on, and soon the social was coming to a close. The
last song they played was one he’d requested. It was ‘Apologize’ by Timbaland
featuring
We danced close, I rested my head on his shoulder, and I was
content.
But It wasn’t to last.
We went on a couple of dates, none seeming to go very well. We
just didn’t really know each other.
By the time frost hit, we’d broken up.
The memory of him and what might’ve happened if I’d done this, or
not done that haunted me. Every time I got close to another guy, every time I
picked up the phone, he’d be there. I wanted to dial him up and apologize.
But I didn’t want our relationship to turn out like our song.
So I waited. He left, and a new guy came into the picture, again
around Halloween. I forgot about my former friend and only seemed to know my
new guy. Sadly, we broke up again by the time frost hit.
Only this time I’d been broken up with.
The night I learned of it, I cried and thought, for a long time,
if I should call him. My former him. However, I was still afraid, and so I
hesitated, long enough to say it was too late to call. The scene repeated
itself the next night, with the silent war raging between me and the phone.
And so here I am, going into high school with a limited knowledge
of dating, while others are exceedingly experienced.
Halloween’s coming soon.
Better get ready.
Ah, how easily the mind forgets.
How easily it replaces.
This is the first night I’ve cried since who knows when. It
helps, it heals, and it knows I cry for the faces, grown foggy over but a few
months time. I cry for the friends I’m leaving, the experiences I’m giving up.
I cry for the tears of my friends, shed on an unfeeling shoulder. I cry for my
regrets, and the regrets shared by my friends. I still think of them; of all of
them. From the ones I’ve known for years to those I saw once, in a passing
glace.
I almost vowed to come out of this summer scotch-free; able to
boast of how I never regretted going away, not even for a moment. What a
foolish notion. For to say that would mean declaring that they were not worth
it. That my friends were not worth the time, nor the energy.
Yet
I shall not forget.
I shall not forget the tears, cried over boys, grades, and
acceptance alike.
I shall not forget the fights, fought over boys, issues, and
acceptance alike.
I shall not forget the hate, shown to enemies, friends, and boys
alike.
Yet most of all I shall not forget
The Love.
The love given freely to friends,
the love given shrewdly to enemies.
The love given haphazardly to crushes,
the love given begrudgingly to teachers.
The love which united us, the love which kept us together, and the
love which now lets us go our separate ways.
The
love that didn’t know we were to separate so soon.
Yet, as one common experience bound us together, so now its end
shall break us apart. For now, we leave the comforts and security of a place we
once knew to go and seek the world.
Viva
l'amore!
