What happens when you're just a story written under the moonlit sky? What happens when the only boy you love becomes a faded memory of just someone you used to know? What happens when you can't get your heart back, but that boy left you tattered and...
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Do you think all good love stories are destined to go up in smoke? Like ours went up in the fumes of his Harley, as he left this town in his tracks. Or maybe ours wasn't really a love story. Maybe I was just a bright-eyed fourteen-year-old girl, who saw stars as her gaze fell upon a sixteen-year-old boy. Maybe I was just caught up in him only ever being mine. That him being anything but, left me in a constant state of shambles.
The first time I saw Zachariah Taylor, I was sitting in my chair that sat in front of my bedroom window. I was watching as people went about their busy lives right outside.
I heard the rumble of his motorcycle long before I saw it. When it finally came into view, my breath caught in my throat. It was all black, and rustic. Just like the guy sitting atop of it. You see, he wasn't wearing your typical leather jacket. No, that wouldn't do. Zachariah wore a blue jean jacket, that fit him in a way that I had never seen a boy wear a jacket. When he got off of the massive machine, he caught me starring for the first time. His eyes that I had yet to learn the color of penetrated me in the chair I was stuck like glue to. This isn't where it began. No. But it would always be the start of a story destined to end. It was months later before we would officially meet.
It sounds cliche if I tell you, it all started on a warm summer day, doesn't it? Maybe that's why it started on a night when our power went out from a snowstorm. And maybe that was why our story was destined to fail. It was a rocky start at best.
It was mid-March, and spring may have been well on its way, but snow didn't wait around on anyone. They were saying it was the worst snow storm our little town of Jackson had seen in twenty years. With only the heat of our kerosene heater to keep us warm, I wrapped up in my cocoon of blankets. Searching for a warmth from the frigid twenty-degree weather outside.
That's when I heard it. At two a.m. hiding away from the cold. I heard it again a few second later. The sound of someone tapping their fingers against the glass of my window. Creeping across the old rickety hardwood, I made my way to the window. Standing in the freezing ice and snow, was the boy this love story is all about.
He had moved into the house next door over the summer, and I had caught quite a few glimpses of him getting on his motorcycle and peeling out of his gravel drive. Like he was in a hurry to get away. I didn't know his name though. I was fourteen and still rode the bus to school, after all.
I slowly pulled open my window. Scared my daddy would hear and come bust my tail for letting what little heat we had, fly right out the open window. He stood back a few feet. His hands tucked into the pockets of his worn blue jean jacket.
The first thing I noticed about him was the way his eyes radiated off the specks of the moonlight shining through my open window. His blue stare was pinned on the pink smiley face shirt I was wearing, and he wore a hint of a smile on his abundant lips.
"Mind if I come in?" He whispered into my room. His voice was a sweet melancholy that caused an ache to form in the bottom of my stomach. His blonde hair was slicked back, but he kept running his fingers through it.
I let out a breath as a chill raced over my trembling body. Stepping over to the side, I smiled at the boy whose name I still didn't know yet, even from all my time spent watching him out of my bedroom window. "Only if you tell me your name." I whispered back. Afraid if I was any louder, my parents would hear.
He put his hands on the frame of my window and penetrated me with his blue gaze. "Zachariah." Was his only reply, before he climbed into my room.
We stood there for a few seconds that felt like hours. His back to me. Harboring so many secrets and sad truths I was yet to learn from him. Maybe I should have felt intimidated. Here he was at least six feet, and I was barely pushing five foot two. I didn't though. There was something about being in Zachariah's presence that gave my life pause, and made my breathing come out ragged.
When he turned his stare back to me, I felt myself cower down in his strong-willed existence. Something I didn't see reflecting in the moonlight outside. Under his bright blue eyes, was a black bruise bubbling to the surface. It looked as if he had recently received it. I couldn't help but ponder. "What does the other guy look like?"
So, maybe those weren't the right words to say, but to me Zachariah seemed like such a force to be reckoned with. Why anyone would want to fight someone with such a burly frame just didn't make any logical sense to me.
He looked at me for a while. Like he was trying to figure out exactly what he could say. I never expected him to lie. So maybe that's why he gave me a half truth. "The other guy looks worse for wear. He's also my stepdad."
I lightly brushed my fingertips along the puffed up, angry skin. He forcibly retreated from me as if he had been hit again. At the time I wondered if I caused him even more pain. It would be later, when I found out that no one had ever touched him without wanting to hurt him in return. "How can I help?" Was the only thing I could bring myself to ask him.
He looked at my chair that set near my open window, and I hurriedly went to close it. I had let enough cold air into the house, it was a wonder we had any heat left. When I looked back into his bright eyes, that had seemed to dim in the light flickering into my room from the moon. He was staring at my bed. At that moment in time, I would have gave him all my allowance to hear his churning thoughts.
When his eyes fell upon my own once more, a sad smile splayed across his handsome face. "Mind if I just sit a while. I promise I won't bother you while you sleep."
So you see, that's how our story began. He sat in the chair, while I watched him from my spot perched on my bed. I watched as his gaze never left the outside world. I watched as he fell asleep. Then I woke up in the morning light, as if the night time was just a facade of my wildest dreams. As if he was never there.
The only reason I knew it wasn't a dream was because every time he got a black eye, a busted lip, or a broken nose. He always showed up at my window. We would talk for a while, and over time things began to change. At least for me. But that night was where our story began. Where it was all destined to end as well.
