Hope

Prologue

Hope; she always leaves you wanting.

I should know this by now. I mean, my entire life’s been nothing but a downhill roll. And hope, well, hope only made things worse. I remember “hoping for the best” when my parents died, when I was bullied, and when I was all alone; it never helped. I know this isn’t really something you’d expect to hear from a 12-year old boy, but then again this isn’t just any love story, this is about Hope; how I met her, and how I lost her.

Exactly one week and three days ago, I saw this girl sitting underneath the old willow tree in the park. Nobody would talk to her since she was the new kid on the block; well that, and the fact that the kids from my school are a bunch of jerks. You see, I was always bullied. I guess to them, I’m nothing more than the “orphan down the block” and she was just the “weird kid across the street.” Do I think it’s fair? Well, no. It wasn’t; not for either of us. I didn’t really mind, but sometimes the pain builds up, and it gets to the point where the only thing I feel… is cheated. Cheated, because it sucked that other kids would play in the sun and get to have a normal childhood, while children like us, we had to grow up.

But I have to say, she was pretty. I wanted to talk to her so bad, but something in my gut told me not to. It told me to preserve the small amount of dignity I had left by not letting myself get rejected by her. I had a feeling that if I were to walk up to her and introduce myself, I’d be blatantly giving her the opportunity to be just like the 36 other girls who insulted and/or embarrassed me in public. So I waited.

1 day passed. I just sat there in the sandbox, watching her as she colored her coloring books. I watched her fiddle with her glasses and play with her long dark hair. I watched how her dimples would show every time she smiled that bright smile of hers. I just sat there, and watched her unfold.

2 days passed. This time she’s reading, and based on her expression, it’s probably her favorite book. I was perched outside my house watching her read Tolstoy’s War and Peace, thinking to myself, this girl’s got good taste in books. As each day passes, my desire to talk to her, and possibly make a fool out of myself, grew.

3 days passed. I swear I was so close to talking to her. She just walked right by me and threw me a glance, and then smiled at me. I have no idea what’s wrong with me, but I felt… lighter. Like the world could fall apart and everything would still be alright, just as long as I still get to see that smile.