Before I go to sleep

Chapter 7

  I wanted to punch a hole in the ground, rip it open, and get swallowed out of this world and into a magical one. The only problem with that was that I didn't have the strength to accomplish it and secondly there is no such thing as magic. Yesterday's game did not go as planned, I was pretty sure I had it in the bag but my foot had to give out on me. Although, I could've sworn Michael had caused me to slip by pushing his right foot onto mine.

  "Earth to freakin' Anne, come in Anne," Olive was saying into my phone. My lack of social skills had yet to frighten her away.

"I'm sorry," I apologized quickly. "What were you saying?"

"I said, don't you think maybe Michael purposely made you lose so you could be around him?" Olive repeated with an edge to her voice. Olive, by all means wasn't a patient person and she especially hated to repeat things more than once.

"Uh, no. I'm positive I'm not his type. He's so...so...so," I paused trying to think of the adequate word to describe him.

"He's obviously cute. Wait cute isn't the right word, he's hot Anne... like really hot!" Olive was saying.  "If you are planning on having some fun, make sure it's with him."

The background noise of the TV filled the silence of my room. As I sat in one of the gray sofas I gently grabbed my camera and scrolled through the many pictures on it.

The camera was old, but it was my grandmother's and I refused to use anything else. I am proud that my pictures were one hundred percent my creations, and it showed in each and every  image I had captured. I've always loved photography. It was something my grandmother Elise had instilled in me, she had shown me the wonders a camera can do. Such as, when the shutter button is released, it immediately causes a chain reaction: the lens open and close in the span of microseconds, and, for a moment the whole world is still to allow genius or despair to be captured.

The memories we are able to capture thanks to the magnificence of a camera is really astounding. It's no wonder photography is bound so deeply to nostalgia, because it sends and allow us to go down memory lane to much more simpler times. She once told me that if you didn't have the talent or the heart, your pictures would turn out crappy  no matter the type of camera you had.

My grandmother Elise, was built of sweetness. I can't think of another way to describe her. The memories I held of her were always filled with love and joy. I had always been enamored of her hands as a small girl. I'd study them, turning them over and over again. I was enthralled by the green blue veins that ran like splintering map lines underneath her paper skin. My earliest memories are of sitting around the table in her small house, eating her homemade biscuits with globs of butter and strawberry jam while she stood with her back to me, a floral apron tied neatly around her waist, washing dishes.

I roll my eyes even though Olive couldn't see me.

 "He's attractive, but come on be realistic." I say placing the camera down.

I hear her frustrated sigh and can mentally see her giving me an 'are-you-serious' look. "Anne, that boy would be a fool not to notice a girl like you," she says.

I jumped at the sound of the doorbell. "Hold on a sec, Olive. Somebody's here."

I rushed downstairs and gazed through the peephole, I spotted a man who looked to be in his mid-twenties standing on my doorstep. Despite the small peephole I managed to do a once-over. He was fair and the dark hair gave him a striking look. I was startled at how attractive he appeared even through the distortion of the peephole glass. He wore a dark blue button down with a black tie and I briefly wondered  if he was a door-to-door salesman.