Febreeze Wars

The first time was on my eleventh birthday. I was deciding what present to open first when I saw him eating with an older lady I learned to be his grandmother. He had dark hair and dark skin and eyes that twinkled when they met mine. I actually never knew their color until I was thirteen and that was when I saw him at the public pool talking to my older, much prettier sister. I cried in the changing room out of jealousy.

He found me there. He didn't know how to speak English but seeing him struggle just for me lifted my spirits like no one's ever done. I learned his name that day, when his grandmother called out for him because he was taking too long trying to talk to me. "Diego!" I thought it was hilarious because just last night my baby brother tried singing along with Go, Diego, Go and the thing he'd managed to do was cry out Diego every now and then. So I giggled.

Maybe my laugh startled him so much his brain cells jumbled together or just maybe Diego thought it was cute. Because under the stark lighting, freezing my butt off, he kissed me on the cheek and I vowed never to wash my face again until I got pimples. We had many other similar occurrences, but nothing was ever really accomplished.

It was October of grade ten that I had the guts to approach him and not the other way around. By then he could say hello and goodbye, and several other phrases but we kept on going like he couldn't say a word; it was our little game. I learned from other people he was from Spain not Mexico like I had so hoped and that he lived with his Grandmother because his mother was in the army.

I didn't really care about any of that though, because as soon as he smiled at me with his slight crooked teeth the world could've been ending and I would be singing and dancing in a field of flowers. I started to think that maybe my fixation on Diego was becoming a bit unhealthy. None the less, I walked up to him in the department store and tried to find my words. "Hi." He smiled that smile of his and I tried to calm my heart. Can you die from Hormones?

In a random occurrence, I spotted my favorite Febreze behind him. My little brother and I like to call it Febreeze because of the commercial; "it only makes sense!" he'd say, seeing as it was a 'fresh breeze' of air. In a moment's decision, I grabbed the green bottle and presented it to him. Diego looked confused and tilted his head. I sprayed it in his face, and he sneezed.

' I know it might make me a bad person but I laughed so hard at his nose scrunched up and his eyes squinted. I was too busy catching my breath to prepare myself for his own onslaught of scented air so when it hit I went down coughing; apples and cinnamon- the scent of revenge. So I grabbed the bottle of peaches and petals, the scent of playfulness. And it worked because next thing you know we're laughing and spraying all over the place. Within five minutes we were asked 'politely' to leave.

My parents were mad and I got grounded, but if I was being honest, I couldn't care less. Because now I had a shirt that forever smelled like Febreeze and would forever remind me of him.

That wasn't the last time it happened. It became a regular thing that when we saw each other in the store, and often it was living in a small town, we'd show the other what we were feeling that day with our chosen bottle of Febreeze. It somehow always ended in us coughing, sticky and squinting at the manager that couldn't ban us from the store because it was the only one opened on Saturdays when his grandmother and my father went shopping.

It was my fifteenth birthday and my mother forgot. She was always away on business trips but even then she would call regularly. I didn't want to believe it, but the day ended with my father holding me while I held back sobs. That night, at 11:04 pm exactly, the bell rang. My father was now fast asleep but I was still waiting for her, thinking maybe somehow she didn't forget and was held back.

I ran downstairs hoping it was my mother. I could imagine her honey blonde hair in her bun holding her arms wide open waiting for my embrace. And when I opened the door, I was no longer upset. Not because my mother was there, in fact I completely forgot about her, but because standing on my doorstep was a bottle of my favorite Febreeze.

I didn't see Diego for several months, I didn't see him during the day because he was homeschooled and I didn't see him at night because his mother had come to visit and his heart was occupied with the sweet smell of his mother's embrace- far too busy to be thinking about me. That February someone asked me on a date, and for the first time I said yes. He was a short blonde, with impeccable grades and my father approved of him.

I was dressing up in my nicest set of clothing; purple skinnies and a beige knitted sweater, when my sister called, she was in college. "I heard you're going on your first date." Mmhmm. I was brushing my hair with one hand and holding the phone with the other. "Is it the Spanish kid?"

My heart squeezed, I swear. "no." it was a whisper filled with longing. How stupid could I have been to be so fixated on a guy who last name I didn't even know. Of course he found his family so important that he'd forget to even leave me a bottle of Febreeze. Just like my mother whose work was so important she'd forget about me and hadn't called again.

"Then who?" I actually forgot his name. "Some guy from school." I could almost envision her nodding while clenching her teeth. I putting on my shoes when the doorbell rang, "Well, I have to go. He's here." She rushed to get out a reply. "But the Spanish boy," she doesn't even know is name, "loves you! How could you do this to him?"

"At one point or another you have to wake up and smell the roses. Life isn't a bottle of Febreeze, I barely know him. Now goodbye." I greeted Eric whose name just came to me with a small smile and I knew that with everything in my heart, I wished the words I had said were not true. Every step I took towards his car was another step away from everything I truly wanted.

He took me to a cheap diner where there were only two options on the menu: day old burger or greasy fries. I chose not to eat opting to stare at him instead. Is this what moving on feels like? Is it really worth it? Had I let my infatuation go too far?

Eric went on and on about how hard it was to ace his driver's test, as he had done. My stomach was quietly growling but every time I tried to lift the fry up to my face it recoiled. Suddenly his blue eyes didn't look so beautiful; suddenly his hair looked much less 'hygienically maintained', and all of a sudden I couldn't stop the melancholy from creeping into my smile. And the smile melted into a frown.

He didn't even notice. It was too much; I stood up from my seat and got out of there. All I wanted more than anything was Diego with his constant febreeze smelling shirts and his adorable smile and his genuineness. He always made me smile, always came after me if he saw me upset. We didn't even need to talk- just his presence was enough. And let's not forgot how many memories we've made with Febreeze.

"Hey where are you going?" Eric stood up. "Leaving you!" he stood agape with his burger clutched in his hands. I ran out of there, tears starting to leak out of my eyes. At that moment I didn't care about how dangerous it was to be alone this late at night. Or how I didn't even have my learners permit yet- something I had been putting off- so there was not even a tiny chance I could rent a car. I couldn't call a taxi.

Someone upstairs must love me. As I turned the corner, there stood, with a red rose febreeze bottle in his hand, Diego with the gentlest expression on his face. Everything stopped; all the noises on the street, the pounding in my head as he handed me a bottle and instead of attacking me as usual, he sprayed the area around us. The scent was romance and I forgot all about Eric. And then Diego pulled out a real red rose and placed it behind my ear, pulling me closer to him.

And there, under the stark light of the street lamps, he kissed me. His lips were soft, and my heart was beating far too fast. The world exploded in color and yet only one thought filled my mind. I should really get him on English lessons.

~ THE END ~

This story is based on the rebellion of the idea that you need to speak to conect. This story is about the idea that communication comes in many forms. All these ideas are mine- do not steal, copy, paste, or use without my permission. If you enjoyed this story please vote or comment below.

JoeyTheMusician