Quick Panics

What is love?

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There wasn't a black Porsche parked in the middle of my driveway before I left for school but, yes, the wind was still blowing heavily shimmering everything except a thick branch extended from this naked tree that shadowed the front yard. There was no black Porsche either, dramatizing our yard,  making our house in this neighborhood appear more distant.

While pulling my cell phone out of the attachment to the auxiliary cord, I secretly prayed my mom hadn't brought a new car. "Fancy things", mama would say, "makes a mind happy". And I suppose it did as she laughed with great grit after a nasty breakup. That, or that Cristina wasn't home - both equally bad since Cristina opted out of family life in Meridian. Meridian was full of old money cars and tinted windows, where everybody seemed foreign to one another. This life was not appealing to those of who have one foot to somewhere else. Both constantly having my nose turn up when I think about it.

"Bea, I'm at work?" she answered the phone. I could hear the scramble of six inch heels and expensive loafers racing against the glass floor - she was at work. Mom is a surgeon, but besides the typical uniform of scrubs and black crocs she dressed in sleek black dresses which complimented her legs.

"Did you buy a new car?"

"No"

"Is Cris home?"

"She shouldn't be." I smiled. She answered that question scarily, and I was reminded again how much mom and I were alike as if being born from her womb made us any different, I thought.

I swung the door open of the car beside the curb, not even looking for incoming traffic. The tinted sports car was expensive and nice, my my sweat sculpted a spot in the passenger window after I passed. No, female rides around downtown in a tint-less car.

I inched more and more up the driveway, occasionally, glancing over my shoulder to see if the boy miraculously appeared back behind the wheel of his car, but nothing like that happened. It was the middle of Fall, here, and even though there were dried leaves carelessly thrown over our lawn, I wasn't stepping on any, so when I began to hear close leave cracklings I suddenly stopped in my tracks as if silence, and no movement could make me invisible to whoever was coming to attack me, from behind my house.

"Hey, Bea."

My heart began to thud, and I grew slightly angry when I heard the raspy, deep voice. A British accent. God, I hadn't heard it in months but I'd recognize it anywhere. The same voice that stood in this yard and said, "I'll see you tomorrow". "I'll call you, Beatrice, I promise". Long seconds after my name fell from the lips I thought I'd never hear from again, I couldn't fathom the courage to look up and see this guy.

This narcissistic asshole.
This beautiful human being who didn't even know it.
My first love.
I didn't want to. I didn't wanna look up.

"Bea?" I chuckled while slowing looking up from my white, slightly dirty converses that complimented this swing dress I was wearing.

Once our eyes met, flashbacks of our moments together flooded my mind, and I could feel my eyes getting a little wetter as his imagine got blurrier. Snippets of our short lived romance - his smile, the smile he gave me, the one we shared, our karaoke moments with Taylor Swift and One Direction while waiting in line at donuts, those restless late night conversations.

Him.

Me.

Him and me.

Beatrice and Miles.

The Miles I remembered never called me Bea.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

I was having a good day, school wasn't long and I got a day off of work. Standing here, staring at Miles, yet again there are so many things I wanna say. Do. Like punch him in the face,  but so eagerly wanting to hug him - wanting him to hold me while apologizing for disappearing. Apologizing for not showing up when I needed him to. Show up.

"What happened?" I absentmindedly chocked out, choking on backed up tears that got caught in my throat.

I spotted him moving closer through all the blurriness, he had his arms held out signaling me that he was about to pull me into a hug but I forced my feet to move backward.

"You approached me, Miles. At work, on the clock. And you kept coming back almost like you were wanting me to fall for you. You did this. You." My finger digging into his chest hopefully those words imprinting on his skin.

" And Then you up and vanish in thin air. You don't call me, text, send a letter. NOTHING -"

He's wide eyed, almost like he's surprised to see me raise my voice. "-say something!" I demanded.

"Is your name even Miles? Because I researched you and couldn't find anything." I threw my hands up in defeat.

     Love is like jumping off a cliff. Jumping and not knowing if the person who said they'd be there will be there. It's scary, yes, but oh we all will take  that leap one day. Fingers crossed someone will catch you.

    It took me 8 months to realize no one had actually caught me, that I had jumped into a endless pit of synthetic, foolish feelings where I thought Miles was the one.

     Handsome. Grey eyes.
     Tight jawline.
     Pretty money.

     Or maybe it was me. Maybe, I fooled myself into thinking he was the one because he was everything a teenage girl wanted. Good looking. Every girl who was something in Eastwood High wanted him especially when they found out he had an accent. Camden - made, we'd call him.

But why? why blindly jump without knowing if you'll be caught at the bottom? Plunging head first into the pavement? Sounds like suicide, but you ask anyone with sense enough to know that when in love something will hurt, and it'll probably be your heart.

   I gave my heart to a stranger so this is my fault. I'm the fool. I decided to fall. I jumped.
This one's on me.