Still A Spark

Part 1

All of those stories about the girl who meets the guy and they instantly have that spark and live happily ever after are lies. I was one of those girls who met the guy and we instantly had the spark, but I promise there is no happily ever after for us. A summer full of memories will have to do, I guess.

Like when Dylan picked me up in his daddy's mustang convertible, and we went off through the tall trees of Oregon's coastal range. It was a surprisingly hot day, and not a cloud in the sky. Perfect weather for a midweek outing. Dylan worked as a street performer and kept odd hours.

"Cherry, darling," Dylan said, with his slow timbered voice. "Grab me a bag of gummy bears, would you?"

I rolled my eyes. Dylan and his gummy bears. "Sure, my dear." I replied. I turned around in my seat, and searched through the plastic bag behind us. Once the golden package was firmly in my hands, I zipped the reusable bag again, and handed the sweet little creatures to him.

"Cherry, darling," Dylan said again, and I felt my body warm. I knew what was coming next. He was such a primadonna. "Could you be a dear and open them for me?"

"Sure, my dear." I replied again. I could barely contain my smirk. I ripped open the package, and held them out for him.

Dylan glanced down through his neon green framed sunglasses. He frowned. "Cherry, darling? Must we do this every time?"

A laugh burst forth from me. I couldn't contain it anymore. "Yes, my dear."

He shook his head. "Very well. Cherry, darling? I'm driving. Would you feed them to me? Reds ones first. Then the yellow, green, and lastly, the orange."

I pressed my lips firmly against his cheek, leaving a perfect red set against his lightly tanned skin. "Sure, my dear."

Drives to the coast were always like that- Dylan incapable of doing anything himself, and me, a willing accomplice to his invalidity. We pulled through the trees, and the blue horizon spread out before us. I vaguely pushed away the thoughts that might lead me to wonder why I was such a willing accomplice, and instead watched as the edge of the world spread out before us.

We always arrived at Lincoln City near lunchtime, and we always went to this sea shanty shack that over looked the rocky cliff side and the ocean with its relentless mission to pound the rocks into submission.

After we took our seats, Dylan reached across the table to brush his thumb across the back of my hand. "Cherry, darling?" He asked.

"Yes, my dear?"

"Let's play a game." He suggested.

After two months with Dylan, I was familiar with his games. I looked around the popular restaurant. Near the bar were two burly guys, truckers or bikers, maybe. One had a scraggly blond handlebar, and a plaid flannel shirt that was ripped in both elbows. I gestured to him with my eyebrows.

"That's your boyfriend." I said.

Dylan looked back at him, with a curious gaze. More than once when we played this game, I wondered what exactly was going through his head.

Dylan looked back at me, and licked his lips in a very slow and provocative move. "Yummy."

Then, an older couple walked in. The woman was dressed in a pink day suit, and her Sunday pearls. Her husband was leaned over a walker, with his balding head no longer covering his impressive liver spots.

Dylan gestured. "That's your boyfriend," he said.

I scrunched my nose. "You know me, totally into the sugar daddies. The older the better, I always say."

When our food was delivered by a relatively cute waiter with short strawberry blond hair, and sparkling chocolate eyes framed by endless dark eyelashes, Dylan and I nearly drooled. When he moved on to the next table, our eyes met.

"That's my boyfriend." We both said at the same time. Two weeks later and we were still laughing about it.

When August came around, I was certain we would be together forever. No one ever had as much fun as we did together. It was like all the pieces fell into place every time we hung out. Dylan loved going shopping with me. He even encouraged me to model all my outfits, and he played the judge, rating them one through ten. Going back to school loomed in the distance, but I was sure Dylan and I could take the distance.

The second weekend that August, we went to a friend's party at the lake house. Dylan picked out my dress; a little white number that hugged my breasts, and drooped low in the back.

"After Labor Day, no more white for you, Cherry darling. Best to wear it all now!" he insisted when I stepped out of the dressing room.

I felt so beautiful. I watched his eyes rake across the rises and valleys of my body, appreciating every nuance of my silhouette. His lips pressed against my temple, as we walked inside.

The world stopped around us, to take us in. Dylan wore his boot cut jeans and white tee shirt like it was a ten thousand dollar suit. When the music started again, I could have sworn the DJ picked out our new theme song.

In the next instant, he was gone. I went to mingle with friends, and tried not to worry about where he'd run off to.

After a couple of drinks, I forgot all about Dylan. Tiffany and I got into a debate about which was the better series: Pretty Little Liars or Gossip Girl.

"No, Tiffany! I'm not talking about the shows, I'm talking about the books! There is definitely a better craft in the Pretty Little Liar Series!"

Tiffany gestured wildly with her red solo cup. Some of the liquid spilled on the floor at our feet. "Wrong! It doesn't matter if the books are better. Gossip Girl is clearly superior. Admit it; you totally thought Payton was GG. No one saw it coming that it was a dude!"

"Ally's deranged sister killed her and then pretended to be her! How can you even-"

"hey, hey ladies! Let's calm down, and talk about what's really important for a second." Paul said, interrupting us. He was a high school friend, your typical jock, if any jocks are typical these days in Portland.

"What is really important?" I asked.

Paul grinned. "It's upstairs. I'll show you."

Tiffany rolled her eyes. "No thanks. I'm going over there now." She pointed towards the dining room area where several people were playing beer pong.

"Okay, I'll check it out." I followed Paul upstairs, knowing that whatever he had to say, I probably didn't want to hear.

He directed me to an empty bedroom, and I lay down on the bed. Paul lay down next to me.

"You're beautiful, you know." He said, stroking my hair.

I mumbled in reply. Suddenly I was very tired.

I felt his hot breath hovering over me, before his lips touched mine. His hand cupped my head. I felt restrained. His lips tasted like beer, and maybe something stronger like whiskey.

I sighed, and pushed him back. "I can't do this. I need to find Dylan."

Thankfully, Paul didn't argue, and just rolled onto his back.