Never Been Kissed

- FOUR -

                                                                       -•FOUR•-

I sat on the grassy mound under the shady serenity of the peach tree, just like every other day this week, with my note-book on my lap and my palms under my chin.

My pen tapped quickly against the tip of my freckled nose as I alternated between staring at the blank, blue-lined page of my note-book and my little sister, splashing and frolicking in the lake, enjoying her swimming lesson.

I noticed, as she raced proudly out of the water, the first of the many children who were swimming (or trying to swim) to the shoreline to stand beside Dorothea, their swimming instructor. By the way Opal was grinning like a pompous king, she was glad to have been first. I don’t know how exactly I knew that. But I knew my sister, and she owned the biggest ego on planet earth.

I watched my younger sibling with a smile on my face, watching her pride inflate increasingly as the other children ran to join the line she had started and she rubbed it in their faces.

A shadow fell across my feet and I looked up, grinning at Beck as he took a seat beside me. Today he was wearing a simple gray T-shirt and baggy gray board shorts. His hair was wet and messy and he grinned at me, showing me all of his teeth.

“What’s up?” Beck asked with a jovial look on his face.

I shrugged nonchalantly. “Watching Opal swim.”

He looked out on the shore, where Opal had gotten back into the glistening, sun kissed water, proceeding to glide her arms in front of her and her legs behind her in one large triangle, a breast stroke that rivaled Phelps’.

We were quiet for a while, watching without words.

“What are you writing?” Beck asked suddenly and with curiosity as he reached for the note-book.

I snatched it away and closed it before his hands could touch it, tucking it behind my back. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“Aw come on Amber; we’re all friends here,” he tried to joke and then his face grew very serious. “I’ve wanted to know what was in that note-book since the first day I saw you. Is it a diary? A memoir? Come on Amber, help me out here!”

“You only wanted me for my note-book,” I joked weakly, and he cast me a dark look.

I sighed.

“I really don’t want to show it to you, okay? It’s not that big of a deal.”

Beck dropped to the grass beside me. “The curiosity is killing me.”

“Really?”

I was shocked.

No one ever took an interest in my writings before. I mean, of course my mom and my dad knew about my literary interests, but they were busy people; they didn’t have time to sit around and read every single piece of my dreams that came to mind on blue lined paper.

And maybe that was a good thing.

My poetry became the one place where I didn’t have to be shy, my mind, blue lines and fragments of beautiful lyric infused words were my friends, the hum of rhyme, devices and symbols were my imprints on a world that was solely devoted to me. To have a finished piece of writing in my hands equated to a numbing sensation. Like swirls of color, my art came from the ink nib of a ball point pen, spewed words my line, my form, my design.

It was my magic.

And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to share my magic with Beck, the new friend in my life.