Playlists and Pens

Chapter One: A Street Corner

Little things meant a lot to me when I was little. I used to pick up little things off of the ground, a screw, a receipt, a piece of a wrapper, and make up a story with it. My parents once said I would be a great writer one day. They didn't know what they were setting me up for, saying that.

As I grew up, I took that one statement into my very soul and I ran with it. I let it consume my every thought, my every action.

Writers tend to discover things about places, people, things that no one else would ever look for. Things that don't seem important,could be a plot line,a mistake could be a twist of fate, a cup of coffee could be all it takes to change a life. Writers are a strange, rare breed. And most of the time, writers are sad. At least the good ones. Writers don't have to be sad, they just usually are. Usually, writers are also lonely. Mainly because no one can deal with the sporatic insanity that is being a writer and being around a writer. Our lives are made up of two am crying and 4 pm coffee cups. To sum up the life of a writer, it's like driving along an empty highway for a long time when suddenly a brick wall appears, and you hit it, disoriented, afraid,and yet strangely exhilarating.

It's funny. That's what meeting him was like.

Him...he is...hard to describe. And that's weird, for me. Anytime I try, I don't get it right.

But I'll start at the beginning.

I was drinking my normal coffee at Java Queen,our local indie paradise. I had lived at that coffee shop ever since I was 13, people watching and making up stories or their lives. There were the repeat characters of course, like the barista who was really an undercover cop, and the old man in the corner who was always doing the crossword, he was really looking for a secret message from his wife who had passed years ago. In the warmer months, and even sometime in the rain, I sat outside. Thats when I saw him.

I met him on a street corner. I'll never forget it. The corner of Walt and Tulip. Where my life, or at least 7 months of my life began. The most important seven months that is.

I didn't see him until he had almost ran into me. Usually people didn't notice me, I noticed them. Being invisible is my MO. That's why he was so interesting right off the bat. He noticed me when no one else did. He noticed me when I didn't notice him.

I had been having a bad day, in my defense. But then again, I was usually having a bad day. I was usually upset and bitter. The kind of mood that called for rain and coldplay and coffee, which was exactly what I was doing. I don't remember why I was angry, but I'm glad I was.

He literally ran into me. Crashed into me, is what I really should say.I heard him yelling before I even saw him.

"GET OUT OF THE WAY" He had startled me out of my thoughts, and I barely had time to grab my notebook and jump back before he ran into the table. My coffee flew through the air, along with him and his longboard.

The first thing I noticed about him was his eyelashes. They were...long.Very long, especially for a guy. I noticed his eyes next. A bright,deep, piercing green. I thought he could see through my very soul with those eyes. His hair, a dark brown, swept across his forehead and fell just below his ears. He didn't look like he belonged in upstate Pennsylvania,but he didn't look like he belonged anywhere else either. He looked like the kind of guy who would take you to concerts, write you melodies, arrange you mixtapes, and break your heart in record time. He was a cliché, you could just tell. But he turned out to be much more, much later.

But in that moment, I was more worried about my coffee than him.

"Who do you think you are?" I growled out, clutching my notebook to my chest protectively. He got up from the ground and bowed.

"Ah,let me formally introduce myself. I'm Peter Reed Kinsley. However, my friends call me Reed. But you can call me Prince Charming if you'd prefer." Then he winked. Actually. WINKED.

"Yeeeah,no thanks. I'd actually prefer for you to buy me a new coffee and I never have to call you anything at all." If he canted to be cheeky,I could give it right back.

But he didn't back down. He smirked. "You know if I buy you a coffee that would make this a date, would it not?"

"Oh,do you meet all of your girlfriends like this?"

"Oh,that's so cute you want to be my girlfriend already. I'll need a name first sweetheart."

I rolled my eyes. "Bertha."

He raised an eyebrow. "Bertha?"
I crossed my arms. "You said you needed A name, I gave you A name."

He had picked up the chairs and sat down in one, putting his foot upon the second. I scoffed.

"One of these chairs, if not both, are mine." I then attempted to pull the chair under his feet, to no avail.

He smirked and leaned back. "You want the chair, I want your real name, and your coffee preference. Then, and ONLY then, will you get your chair. Sound like a deal, Red?" He outstretched his hand for me to shake. I glared at him.

"Luna. Carmel Macchiato, extra caramel."

He raised an eyebrow again. "Luna? Like the Harry Potter character?"

"No, like the name of the moon in Espanol!"

"Okay, okay." He held up his hands and got up. I immediately sat down and watched him go inside. He had propped his longboard up on the table, and I studied the back of it. It looked almost hand painted, a wave in the colors of a sunset. It was beautiful and scuffed up at the same time. I shifted my eyes to Reed. He was obviously flirting with the barista and she was falling for every line. I quickly turned away, scanning the street for a new character to write. I opened my notebook and settled on a girl across the street. She was only a little older than me...

Lucy hadn't seen the Scottish moors in months. She missed them, but knew in her heart that this was more important. Now if only she could find something to paint, something to create...

"Are you writing in your diary? About how you've met 'the one'?"He looked at me, smirking of course. I had begun to think that that was his only expression.

"Did you bring me coffee?"

"Why yes of course Princess," he said in mock respect. He held out a cup for me.

"Hmph." I tasted it. "Well, it looks like you managed to get it right. Congratulations, Mortal. Now, be gone."

"You didn't answer my question. Were you writing about me?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Peter. Of course not."

"I told you, call me Reed." There was a twinge of annoyance in his voice.

"Actually you said your friends call you Reed. And we, Peter, we are not friends."

"Fine. If not me, what were you writing about?"

"That is classified information." I turned away from him and sipped more coffee.

I heard him stand. "Well, Bertha, I hate to cut our time short, however I really must be off. Hope to see you again soon." With that, he rode off.

"I HOPE YOU DON'T KINGSLEY!" I thought then that I meant that.

Obviously, I was very wrong.

The strangest part was that I couldn't remember why I had been angry anymore.