First Meeting, Dreams or Memories

First Meeting, Dreams or Memories

I've never really had memories of when I was a child. Now when I try tothink about my childhood, it almost seems like an impossible task. Not that itmakes me any different, being that most cannot remember but one thing inparticular has always been the main focus of my one memory and the countlessdreams. It's a pair of eyes. One of the most beautiful set of eyes I have everseen. What's most magical about them is the color. I've never seen a set ofeyes so blue. Bluer than the sky and oceans that match it. Pale blue eyes undera set of dark lashes, making them only more mesmerizing.

Looking back, I cannot decide whether I imagined them or not. The firsttime I saw them I was a small girl , playing outside my family's home. It was abeautiful spring day. Well, almost spring since the air was still chilly. I wasoutside simply admiring the scenery in front of me. The vast hills that seemedto never end, casting dark shadows over the horizon. A sky that was almostentirely blue with only a few traces of clouds here and there. The sun beamingdown on me, providing warmth to my cold skin.
I remember every instant of my dream or memory. Istill remember what I wore. I was in a lacy white dress that fell just abovethe knee. A trail of intricate stitching made its way up the entire right side,providing a pattern of what was meant to be vines. On top of that was a smalllilac sweater that fell open, exposing the sweetheart neckline of the delicatedress, paired with plain white flats while my hair flew down my back, justabove my waist line. I shivered as the wind blew continuous puffs of cold airthrough me.
I walked up to the smallest of the hills to situnder the grand cherry blossom tree that stood at the very top. And there theywere. Those eyes. Unlike anything I've ever seen before. To myknowledge, eyes like that were lost traits, something that hadn’t appearedgenetically in over hundreds years. But here they were, standing in front me.Staring at me. Their host was a boy. Maybe my age or a bit older. It was hardto tell.
I stayed where I was and examined him. He didn'tseem real. He was tall, with small freckles on his face, only visible on thespots where the sun hit; long, dark brown hair hung on his forehead. He was allin black. As I assessed him, he seemed to be doing the same to me, eyeing meever so closely with those mysterious eyes. I got closer and then I heard it. Asound so lovely it nearly brought tears to my eyes. It was sad sound, full ofagony and beauty all at once. It came from alongside the boy. I looked down tohis feet and there, delicately perched on the root of the tree was a small boxwhere the sound came from. It was a magical sound. It was perfect.

As I moved forward the boy was more taken aback. He seemed almost inshock that I approached him. He looked scared. I stood in front of him, only acouple steps away from his face and looked at him more thoroughly. He had alovely face. It looked soft and kind and yet full of sadness. Just like themusic.

“Hello” I said to him, almost coming out as a whisper.

“Why are you here?” he asked with definite fear in voice.

“I live here. My home is just below this hill. Over there” I pointeddown. “I’ve never seen you here. Who are you?”

“Someone you should not even be speaking to. I should leave” he lookeddown at his box, reaching for it and then quickly closed the lid. The beautifulsound disappeared instantly.

“Don’t do that. Don’t close it. Is that what’s making the sound?” Iasked, intrigued.

“You don’t find it disturbing? Repulsive even?” he asked shocked.

I was slightly taken aback by his question. How could anyone find itdisturbing?

“Of course not, why would it? That sound is probably one of the mostbeautiful things I’ve ever heard” My voice grew softer.

“I just always thought no one would like it. No one ever has” he lookeddown as he said those words

“Maybe you’ve shown the wrong types of people” I smiled at him. Thismade him gasp which in turn made me frown once again.

“Whats wrong? Is there something on my face?” I touched my cheeks.

“No, uh not at all. It’s just that, well your smile. I’ve never seenanything like it. I didn’t know people could have anything like that on theirfaces”

“Anything like what exactly? Is there something wrong with me?” I asked.

“No, no. Absolutely not. But when you smile, tiny holes appear aroundyour mouth. Kind of midway through your cheeks.”

“Really? I never noticed. Does it look awful?” I was suddenly very shy.

“No, they’re lovely” he whispered. I blushed at this. And then all tooquickly, it was over. A man in a dark suit was heading our way from the boy’sdirection. He had a cold presence about him even from a distance. Colder thananything I was used to. He was in an all-black suit and shiny shoes. Hair sodark it nearly appeared blue with the suns trace. He reached us sooner than I expectedand grabbed the boy by his hand without saying a word and began pulling himaway. The boy didn’t even seem surprised. He very easily let the dark strangertake him away. I stood there, almost in fear of the man and what he was doing tothe boy I’d only just met. He looked back and smiled at me for the last time ashe disappeared down the other half of the hill.

From then on, I never could accurately say whether this really happenedor it was a dream. After a while, I always assumed it to be dream since thosepale blue eyes would almost too frequently appear in my dreams. It was the samescene, over and over again. The cherry tree, the sound and the eyes.

And almost too suddenly, I awoke. It seemed too real, like it justhappened. I’m nearly blinded by the sun that’s directly hitting my face. It’swarm, which I know is a lie being that its mid-winter outside. This was myfavorite part of the day, just lying in bed. Feeling the warm softness of mysheets before heading out onto a day just like every other day I have lived orwill live. Every day had a routine. Which varied, depending on the day butalways rotated weekly. I got out of bed in a haze, almost too soon causingblood to rush to my head, temporarily making me dizzy. I stretched and headedfor the bathroom for my morning shower and toiletries. I can count exactly howlong it takes almost to an exact precision. By the time I finish in thebathroom it will be exactly 7:47. I walk out of the bathroom and look at thedigital clock resting on my nightstand and there, in blinking blue lights wasthe exact time. 7:47. By the time I put on my uniform, brush my hair, grab mybelongings and leave, it will be exactly 8:16. As I finish my morning routinealmost quicker than usual, I look down my watch and bam, it’s exactly 8:16.

Making my way to class is always a different experience, simply becausethere is always something new happening. Walking in the cold air today broughtsomething unexpected and yet completely normal. Someone jumped from the roofagain. I don’t even have to be too close to the scene to know it is just that.The signs are always the same. A team of paramedics stood in huddle in front ofa very tall building, with emergency vehicles not too far behind them. All ofthem silent as they try to assess the already deceased body of whoever jumpedthis time.  Someone coming from one ofthe large trucks with a black bag, ready to take the body away. And finally,the last telltale signs of someone jumping are the two adults standing awayfrom the paramedics, not saying anything. Just standing there as if alreadyknowing that this was coming. These two sets in particular, did not stand outfrom the many others I have seen in my life. Their faces are always the same.It’s the default expression that everyone else wears all the time. Which isalways the same, never changing even knowing that their offspring just died. Icannot exactly be judgmental, since everyone reacts the same way. I’ve neverexperienced loosing anyone, but I’m sure just like the others, I’ll also beunaffected be something so common.

I got closer to the scene, since the building was right next to mine andheard a name. Jeremy Lars, he was a boy in my class. There never seemed to beanything wrong with him, or so it appeared to me throughout the entire threeyears that we shared a classroom. The only thing that I can remember ever beingodd was that after classes, he always went to meet a girl all dressed in black.Now her, there was something very difficult to trace in.  I could never put my finger on it, but she wasodd. Mysterious, maybe even a bit dangerous, but definitely odd.

I passed through the paramedics, making my way into the class building.Passed the long corridors of the school building to my class and sat in thesame seat I have sat in for who knows how long. I put my books down and waitedthe five minutes it took everyone else to arrive and the extra two minutes formy professor to accommodate his belongings and begin the lesson.

Throughout the entire course, I was only half listening, still dazed by thismorning’s dream. Usually when it happens, it’s in only glimpses. The entiretyof it scattered into whatever fragments happen they to appear in, but this timeit was more vivid that I have ever experienced it to be. It was like I wasthere, really meeting the boy for the first time. My heart jumped from even thethought of it being possible. It was a strange sensation, somehow nostalgic. Iwas soon awakened from my daydream by the sound of the long bell, ending ourclass. I hastily made my way through a large group of students into my otherclasses. But as each class progressed, I still couldn’t shake the sensation thedream had left me with and I continued to daydream about it till the end of theday.

 


Comments:
 
PiperGreene   PiperGreene wrote
on 3/21/2014 9:03:52 AM
Yeah I've written more to it but I haven't edited much

JoAnnaQuist   JoAnnaQuist wrote
on 3/20/2014 11:55:54 AM
Is there more coming? Spooky store.

PiperGreene
Novel / Novella
Other
writing PiperGreene
Bookmark and Share

You must log in to rate.
Rating: 6.0/10

© 2014 WritingRoom.com, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WRITING | POETRY WRITING | CREATIVE WRITING | WRITE A BOOK | WRITING CONTESTS | WRITING TIPS