Never Been Kissed

- TWELVE -

                                                       -•TWELVE•-

I stared down at the open note-book in my lap.

Since when had the blank blue lines become so daunting?

There were times when I could simply write down the words that were swirling around in my head and I’d have a poem. But today, my mind was oddly blank. That was strange. My mind was never just... blank. Well, until...

Beck.

I’d been so caught up with hanging out with him every day, whether it be here or at the park as we waited for Opal to be finished with her swimming lesson, I feared that my creative streak had left me.

I reread the words I’d written on the previous page that, frowning. It was bad, so bad.

Get a hold of yourself Amber, I thought in my mind as I steeled myself to write a work of art. Something of pure genius that I’d look back and say, “well that one was most epic”.

Tick, tick, tick, went the clock.

Anytime now...

I threw down the note-book and expelled a frustrated groan. I tried to throw the pen at the garbage but it missed, dropping only a few feet away from the sticker covered plastic container. (Compliments of Opal and her scratch n’ sniff sticker book).

Great, I couldn’t even do that right.

Scowling, I got up and crossed the room, snatching the pen off the floor and stabbing it into the container that held all my pencils on my desk. Why couldn’t I just write out something decent? For the life of me, I didn’t know.

I smacked my forehead with my palm over and over, wondering if that stoke of creativity might ever return.

“Keep knocking your head like that and your brain might just come out through your ears.”

I turned to find my mother standing in the doorway, still wearing her business suit from work and a Cheshire grin on her smooth, tanned face.

I blushed and looked down, picking at the frays on my denim skirt. “You’re home really early mom,”

She shrugged, flicking her long brown curls over her shoulder, her hazel eyes glittering with a healthy sparkle. “I didn’t think I could stand anymore statistics and paper work.”

I grinned.

My mother was the head of sales at a well known supermarket chain, which I found rather strange, seeing as she’d be the first person to admit to you that she failed Math straight through college.

“What’s up?” she asked, coming into my room and flopping down on my bed (she had to clear all the strewn out papers and notebooks before she could settle down comfortably). She let her feet dangle off the side of the bed.

I breathed in a sigh and looked out the window. “Writer’s block.”

“Ah.”

She tapped her chin as if she knew what could remedy the situation. Then again, she was mom. She knew everything.

“It’s like everything remotely intelligent has decided to take a vacation out of Amber-ville.” I explained, kicking my rug. “This really sucks. A few weeks ago, my poetry was awesome. Metaphors, synonyms... all intact. Now? It’s like a permanent brain fart.”

My mother laughed. “I know why you’re having such a creative meltdown sweetie!”

I spun around and looked at her skeptically. “Seriously?”