outerbanks imagines.

hidden in plain sight: pope.

i am hidden in plain sight.
there's no trick or ruse about this statement,
is not meant to make you think nor is it meant to have a deeper meaning,
i am just a girl hidden in plain sight.
i'm not entirely sure when this happened,
when the veil of the unobserved decided to rest itself on my unyielding shoulders,
but it happened.
and this is how i've been forced to live ever since.
standing in the eye of a crowded room,
and still i am overlooked.
i stand beside my family and perk up when i hear my name,
but they speak about me as though i am in passing;
not around to hear their words.
my friend leaves my texts on read for days at a time.
she doesn't know i know this,
but i watch the stillness of the receipt and watch the seconds tick by;
torturing myself with the proof of ignoring.
if it weren't for the flesh and bones i have that often bruise and ache,
i might fear myself a phantom.
but there is no supernatural ability in my mundane existence.
i am just easily forgotten.
i suppose i have myself to blame for the bigger part of it.
maybe if i had put myself out there more,
my name would be familiar on tongues instead of it coming across as an enigma for those unaware.
"y/n? who is that? never heard of her."
or maybe if i had branched out my friend group instead of making myself familiar with the same people,
i wouldn't be so alone.
but there is no point in rehashing the past,
begging my mind with "what if's,"
this is all that i have.
"oh, i didn't even know you left the house,"
says my mother with a hesitant smile now that i've arrived home.
i sometimes wonder if she forgets of my existence entirely.
as though she were not the one to bring me to life,
who held me skin to skin and whispered my name in astonishment.
as though i do not have her eyes or her chin.
"yeah. went to the library,"
i finally reply.
she nods.
"get some studying done?"
"yeah, i did. i worked on my math homework too, because you know we've got that test coming up?"
i wait for her to nod her head in reply,
to signal that she hears me,
but nothing comes.
i've used up my words for the hour so now i must take my voice and let it rust over for another time.
i find solace in my bed after this.
how comforting it is to be greeted by the mattress that has remember the shape of my being.
a ghost of a girl brought to peace.
i wish words brought justification to this feeling as i sink deeper and deeper in.
in the stories,
they say for every half,
there is a whole.
this is all that i have to keep me breathing;
the possibility of finding my whole.
***
i have an irrational fear of being erased.
i should be used to it by now,
i know,
but my mind still races.
what will become of my ashes?
will my footprints on this earth have meant anything?
will stories of my living be told in honor?
i know the answers to this,
and that is what makes my heart stutter.
how lonely a life it is.
to be brought from soil only to return to nothingness.
when my head gets too heavy with these thoughts,
i trail out to the one place anyone can find peace:
the beach.
the waves are the perfect amount of noise to steer me clear.
i can soak up the sun into my flourishing skin and i can inhale the salt air with my working lungs.
i find myself in my usual spot,
planted right upon shore where the waves wash up and kiss my feet.
though i'm often in the way of toddlers who decide to build sand castles right beside me or fishers who plant their poles next to me,
being front and center is exactly where i belong.
if not in life,
then on the beach.
luckily,
the hour is just right.
i have the beach practically to myself.
what a wonder it is.
"no way! deacon king kong? i love that book."
had it not been for the calling of this book title,
i might have never known this boy was speaking to me.
i'm surprised and i feel myself growing shy.
i am not used to this so please,
i beg of him,
bear with me.
"yeah! its..it's, uh, pretty good so far. yeah..."
i scratch the back of my now burning neck and feel the weight of my awkward words dry on my tongue.
"i just finished it, like, last week. definite top ten. are you into historical fiction?"
am i?
i don't even know.
i've never been asked many questions about myself.
i've never had to think about it,
only exist.
"uh, sure. i don't mind them."
the boy nods in his head in understanding.
"you?"
i ask,
hoping my overwhelming coyness isn't coming off as prissy.
"oh, absolutely. but there isn't much i won't read."
"yeah, same. i just like to read."
he gives me a wide smile that shows his perfect teeth.
"exactly."
i return the smile with cheeks of blush but if he notices,
he says nothing.
which i am grateful for.
"i'm pope heyward."
"y/n l/n."
our hands meet to shake cordially,
but i find myself rather stunned at the formality of it all.
i am a girl of invisibility,
yet i am being invited by calloused, gentle hands.
how foreign it is to be greeted this way.
"you'll have to let me know how you like the book when i see you again."
"oh, y-yeah, definitely."
i don't have the strength to remember that the next time he sees me,
my name will be something vague in his mouth and he'll struggle to recognize mediocre me.
i'm riding this high until i can no longer.
"i'll see you around, y/n."
"see you, pope."
and with that,
i watch him jog away down this empty beach to wherever he is destined to go.
i hope destiny plays in my favor this time.
***
it is not on purpose that i see pope heyward a week after our first encounter.
i merely stumbled into a store to find refuge from the rain i was caught in and there he was.
of course now,
my lips have solidified to hardly open and greet him.
my limbs are wishing i could rush over and say,
"i finished the book! you were right, it was amazing."
but instead i lumber through the shop with my head low.
it would take the caress from a god to his skull for him to remember simple y/n.
and i am not a religious woman.
but if by some chance,
a god decides to grant me some grace,
if pope heyward would remember me,
then i might fall to my knees in praise.
at first,
i am defeated.
i feel his eyes on me but the seconds passing grow too long.
he doesn't remember.
and why would he?
until the words of sweet relief fill the air,
"y/n?"
the curse of my inconspicuous existence has lifted.
i have been freed.
thank you, god, thank you.
"pope, hey!"
"it's good to see you. the weather sucks today though, doesn't it? rather juxtaposed to our last meeting."
i exhale a laugh that feels rather light on my diaphragm.
"it is pretty bad out there. good thing rain doesn't last in the obx."
"a definite plus of this island."
we laugh alongside one another and i can't help but take note of our symphony.
"by the way, did you ever finish that book?"
"i did,"
i say with a nod.
"you were right! top ten, for sure."
"right? it was a great read."
i smile into the bend of my hand before asking,
"are you reading anything new?"
"not yet, no. haven't found anything good yet. how about you?"
i reach into my bag to reveal the book i'm currently reading.
his hands of grace take this book and examines it.
his fingers trace the title of the book,
slides down the spine,
thumbs through the pages.
look at how gentle.
watch how he cares.
i have never seen such diligence in anyones hands but my own.
"you've got taste, y/n,"
he says with another smile reserved for me.
i return it with ease.
"i don't know if you're, like, interested in it or anything but...you know...there's, um, a bookstore up the way that has copies. if-if you ever wanted."
"oh, absolutely. do you...do you want to go?"
his reserved look,
mirroring the very same shyness in my eyes,
makes this constriction around my nervous heart lessen some.
"n-now?"
"if you're okay with that."
pope exhales a laugh that's tight with timidness.
i watch as he rubs the nape of his neck,
a nervous habit,
the very same one i've picked up.
i can't help but to laugh then answer with,
"i'd love to go."
with nervous laughter,
pope and i exit this store to brave the rain.
our travel is rewarded by a bookstore smelling of pastries and offering warmth.
it's scarce of customers,
per usual,
but that is why i love it so much.
empty, alone, unfulfilled.
i feel a twinge of empathy for the things left abandoned.
"wow...i've never been in here before,"
pope says with wondrous eyes glossing over this hidden secret of mine.
"it's pretty small, easy to miss."
"all the best things in life are hidden."
"you think so?"
he brings his eyes down to mine and i'm left to revel in their sparkle.
how beautiful.
"i do."
i wonder if he understands.
if i might reach up,
allow the tips of my fingers to trace his temple,
i will see what he cannot verbalize.
instead,
i stare and admire;
the sunspots kissing the bridge of his nose,
the scar above his lip,
the constellation of life resting in those brown eyes.
i see him.
i wonder if he sees me.
"come on,"
i say when i've finally snapped out of my trance.
he follows me to the very shelf that our sought out book rests on.
he grabs one copy from the middle and barely opens it so that the spine doesn't crease.
i can't but to smile when i notice this.
"hey, y/n?"
my name ringing to my ears,
brought forth by someone so heavenly,
i shiver in response.
though i blame it on the coldness of the rain settling into my skin. 
"yes?"
"should we uncover the best kept secrets of this town together?"
a smile breaks across my lips at this.
the coyness in his eyes suddenly vanishes and he, too, smiles as wide as i do.
"i think we absolutely should, pope."
he purchases the book that, now as i look a little closer, seems to describe this very moment here.
"a little hope by ethan joella."
because for once in my life,
i do have a little hope.