Willa & Charlie & Hydrangeas

Chapter 1

"In case you ever foolishly forget: I am never not thinking of you."-Virginia Woolf

The girl, in her pale pink dress, stood across the sidewalk, she had both hands clasped behind her back and her left foot pressed the toe of her ballet flat into the dirt. The pink lace of her dress moved with the breeze every so often and a sky blue ribbon tied around her waist followed. She rubbed her toe again, then placed her foot beside the other. I wanted to go up to her and ask her what she was doing. She had been standing in front of a bush of periwinkle blue flowers for the better part of an hour. She hadn't moved and neither had I. When I first sat down on the rusted park bench this morning, I had only propped my sketch pad on my knee and struggled to find any kind of inspiration, it wasn't until the girl had walked down the cobblestone sidewalk and stopped at the flowers that I started to draw. It is now 2 o'clock in the evening and I am still trying to perfect her. I really want to know why she is standing there, why she has been there for so long. I haven't seen her face yet, but I am having a hard time picturing anything less than gorgeous. I study her sunset waves again, trying to find a way to capture their shine. The breeze swept it up, a long train of silky hair settling back on her shoulders. Her toe rubbed the dirt again then she whirled in a flurry of blue and pink and red. Her forest green eyes settled on my sketch pad, "Can I see,"her voice is like wind chimes and happiness and warm honey. I nod slowly, handing the pad to her. She unclasped her dainty hands and took it. Taking two graceful steps toward me, she sat down on the bench. She studied the page with awe, "I was getting tired of standing and I really wanted to see what the sketch looked like. Im very impressed." The girl looked up at me, her eyes shinning with mirth. "You knew I was sketching you?" I asked, slightly embarrassed.
"But of course, I noticed when you first started, so I thought maybe I could model for a bit before I left," she scanned my face thoughtfully then held out a hand. "My name is Willa, you?" My heart twisted a little in my chest as I shook her hand, her grip surprisingly firm. "Charlie."
She giggled lightly handing back the sketch pad. My heart backflipped into my ribs. Willa looked back over at the flowers, "they're french hydrangeas, if you were wondering. My favorite flower." She glanced at me again a sparkle in her eyes. "Want to talk for a while, Mr.Charlie?" I smiled back as the breeze once again picked up her hair and scattered it over her shoulders. "Sure." Willa smiled again, she smelled like honeysuckle and fresh air. Without a word she took one of my pencils and scooted closer, our knees touched. She bent over and wrote something on the drawing. I looked down unable to contain the goofy grin that forced itself over my lips. She had wrote in neat type writer quality letters, 'Charlie and Willa and Hydrageas.' Then underneath the date and location. My heart pitter pattered faster, and I stood up sliding the sketchpad into my messenger bag and turned toward her. She smiled lightly, "How bout some coffee, Willa?" Her grin widened and she stood up, she was much shorter than I had thought. Maybe 5'5 at most.
"Lets go then."
I followed her down the cobblestone path, her hands clasped behind her back as she took long graceful steps. Her hair whipped in the breeze in long waves the color of sunset. She turned slightly, a smile tilting her full lips. "You know Carly's Coffee?" I nodded, following her lead. She was breath taking, but not just because of her beauty. No, because of everything about her.
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Willa sat across from me, swirling her coffee with a spoon. She had gotten black coffee nothing in it but a pinch of sugar. Which, admittedly made my Cinnamon Spice latte seem girly in comparison. I leaned back in my chair. "So, tell me about yourself." Willa continued stirring her drink. I blanched, about myself? My mind is blank. I guess start at the basics, "I'm 20 and I go to the cali institute of the arts-" she giggled.
"I know where you go to school, I go there too. I saw you on campus the other day." I stared at her for a second. "I'm majoring in dance, I'm a bunhead." She seemed too wild, too free for the strictness of ballet. Expression I could see, but careful movements and tight buns? Not so much. I nodded anyway. "So,"she continued. "What do you like to do?"
"I like to draw, um, I like to go to the beach..." I shook my head. "I probably sound pretty boring, huh." She shook her head, and took a sip of her bitter coffee.
"No, what do you like to draw?"
I smiled lightly, "anything that peaks my interest." Willa clasped her hands and sat her chin on them, elbows on the table. A playful grin appeared on her face, her head tilting. "I interest you?"
"Very much.So what do you like to do?" She stirred the coffee again.
"Well I like to ice skate, it makes dancing so much more fun. I like to draw too, but I'm not that good at it. All I can draw are birds. Oh, and I love to read-" she stopped suddenly, a deep blush coloring her cheeks and nose.
"Im yammering again, I tend to do that. If I get too annoying just kick me." I smiled at her, she was very interesting.
"No, keep going. I like it."
She smiled again, pushing her strawberry blonde hair back.
She changed the subject instead,"Where are you from?"
"Brooklyn." Her eyes lit up, like a forest radiated by a thousand fireflies.
"I love New York!" She exclaimed. Willa began a story of going during her summer break one year and seeing The Black Swan at a theatre preformed by her favorite ballerina. She gestured wildly, nearly knocking her cup of the table. When a little of it spilled over the side, she stopped and blushed her full blush.  "Sorry. I have a hard time staying still. It was hard enough to stand by the flowers for so long. I nearly jumped out of my skin, I had to move my foot every once in a while to keep still." Her leg was bouncing under the table.
I chuckled, "How are you a ballerina? It's so strict and precise, I imagine you would take it into your own hands." She blushed again.
"The secret is," she tilted her head and smiled playfully again. "My teacher hates that I'm so jittery. But she loves the way I dance, she says there is so much passion she forgets I cant stay still." I smiled back at her, around this girl I couldn't stop smiling.