Falling in love happens when you don't realize it will happen. Falling in love doesn't happen all at once, like many people think. Infatuation, liking, admiring...those happen all at once, yes. But not love. Love is slow. It starts off as a little dusting and ends up dousing you completely until you're dripping with the remnants of it and people can see it on every part of your body. Love encases your whole body and leaves you a sniveling mess. Love is horrible and wonderful at the same time. Love takes a lot of work to undo.
I fell in love once.
Her name was Wendy.
She was younger than me, a little girl of fourteen, I the ripe old age of seventeen. Her hair curled in beautiful chocolate ringlets past her spiny shoulders. Her eyes were a bright, shimmering blue. Her skin dripped with a warm honey color, and her jaw was as soft as her round little nose. The first time I caught sight of her, I really didn't pay her much attention. Instead, I noted to myself, "Hm. Haven't seen her before," and rushed off to class.
The night I saw her for the first time was the night before the last day of school. I sat on the end of my bed and pulled off my chucks. My three roommates, two identical twins named Edward and Connor and a young boy called Lester, were already in their beds, sound asleep. Their snores drifted through the room and filled my ears, blocking out the ever-so-quiet noise of my foster father watching game shows on his television. I dropped my shoes quietly on the ground and slipped over to the window, which overlooked the dreary suburbs of Chicago. I couldn't see the stars because of the smog, but the twinkling lights gleaming from the city windows provided just enough light for my pale shadow to slink its way across the floor behind me. One of the twins rolled over in the top bed of one of the bunks and his snores hitched for the slightest moment. I paid it no heed and instead pressed my nose against the cool glass, watching as the fog from my breath spread its long fingers away from my mouth and across the pane. I searched the sky for any sort of star I could find, any sign of natural life outside the steel cage of the city. But to my dismay, I saw nothing.
"Peter."
I whirled around at the sound of the voice and saw Lester sitting up in the bed above mine, clutching hard at his stuffed crocodile. I grabbed onto the rough metal ladder attached to his bed and pulled myself up in one swift movement. Crawling over to him, I reached out and ruffled his long blonde hair. "What's up, buddy?"
"I had a nightmare," he squeaked, his emerald eyes welling up with tears.
I crossed my legs in front of him, hunching my shoulders so as not to scrape my head against the ceiling. I grabbed his stuffed animal from his arms and turned the crocodile's smile to face myself. I wrinkled my nose and cast my mouth into a disapproving frown and began chastising the little animal. "What did I tell you about Lester's nightmares? I told you to keep them away, you stupid thing!" With that, I smacked the crocodile on the nose and tossed it over the side of the bed. Lester pushed his hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter.
Sighing, I reached forward and settled my hands on his bony shoulders, feeling his thin skin move beneath my nimble fingers. "You know, Lester, I think you should just stop having nightmares and instead dream of your favorite things."
"But how do I do that?" he questioned, his eyes wide with wonder.
I smiled at him and touched his little nose. "Just think of a happy thought before going to bed every night."
Lester seemed startled. "What happy thought?"
"Any thought at all. You can think about Indians or pirates or spaceships or anything. Create a story in your head."
Lester pondered this for a second, turning my idea over in his brain. After a few seconds, he smiled. "I have a story!"
I dragged my thumb across the soft skin of his cheek. "Good job. Now, don't tell me what it is before you've developed it a bit more. Try to get some more sleep, and if you fall asleep thinking of that happy little thought, then that story will do all of your dreaming for you."
Apparently satisfied with that answer, Lester collapsed back onto his pillow. "Peter, I never ever want you to grow up."
I chuckled in response as I slid lithely down the ladder. "You know, I feel the exact same way."
My feet hit the cold wooden floor again, and I cast a glance at the old alarm clock by the window. The seconds were counted by little ticks as the hands glided their way around and around the little circle. My heart thumped in harmony with each tick, and I felt that somehow they were counting down, reminding me that I only had a few months left, that soon I would leave these boys, I would leave high school, and I would be on my own, no longer able to be cared for by the foster system. The clock's ticking was counting down until the second I turned eighteen.
I crawled under my threadbare blanket and sighed in contempt when my feet hit the end of the bed that was too small for my lanky figure. I turned to my side and watched the lifeless silhouette of the little stuffed crocodile still on the floor, while the clock incessantly ticked by my feet... ticking, ticking, ticking toward the day when I would have to grow up.
