Gage Cilleti has just begun his junior year of high school, and is becoming more and more involved in his school's activities, considering he'd been playing baseball since he was just seven-years-old.
Elijah McCay has just dropped out of school, du...
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The drive to Elijah's families restaurant was a little complicated, to say the very least. But, with the help of google maps and GPS, I finally arrived. I pull into the almost packed parking lot of the restaurant, nerves settling into my stomach. I had no idea what to expect once I opened the doors. But I also knew that Elijah would never put me in a situation that would make me feel uncomfortable.
I pull my key out of the ignition, and slide out of the drivers seat, shutting and locking the door behind me. I quickly fix my hair and clothes in the rear view mirror before making my way up to the large double doors of the restaurant.
I push the doors open, cautiously taking in the darkness of the usually well-lit building. The air is quiet, so quiet, that I can vividly hear the shuffling of my feet on the hardwood floors.
Just as I reach out switch on the lights, their abruptly turned on—and almost every single friend I've ever made stand to their feet and shout "Surprise!"
I'm in shock. So in shock that my hand comes to my chest, grasping at it as I try and catch my breath. There are streamers hanging from the ceiling, balloons tied up to booths and a banner hangs above me that reads, Happy 17th Birthday, Gage!
They don't don't give me much time to process all of it, Elijah almost instantly coming into view. My lips part to say something. Maybe thank him, maybe ask him how the hell he did all of this—but all of my words and questions fly out of the window when he smiles.
His smile renders me speechless.
I think that he can tell just how speechless I am, because he doesn't say anything, merely wrapping both arms around my waist in a tight hug. My arms instinctively wring themselves around his neck, allowing myself to be brought off the ground a few inches.
We hug tighter than we ever have before, and I cannot for the life of me stop smiling. When he finally puts me back down on the ground, and pulls back, I finally find it in myself to speak. "Elijah, how—when—I don't even—"
"Happy birthday, Gage." He says lowly, and I can't look away from his eyes. They're so welcoming, so green, so bright that I find all of the comfort and familiarity that I'll ever need inside of them. I've never loved a person so much—the feeling I get when I look at him now is so overwhelming. It's almost as if I can't breathe. Like if he were to ever look away from me my heart would stop.
I'm sure that he can feel the passion behind my stare, the intensity that radiates off of my body like a beam of light. Because he leans down close to my ear, tucking a piece of my hair behind it as he whispers. "We'll about it talk later."
When I'm swarmed by everyone who's come here to see me today, I realize that I hadn't even noticed them all while greeting Elijah. It takes me a moment to adjust.
