in which, selena amorim has never had an easy life, yet when she finds herself crossing paths with an old acquaintance, the first glimpses of hope shine through. as the seasons change, their lives take tumultuous turns and their feelings burn. will...
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Beads of sweat dripped down my back as I walked across the town. The sun was scorching, using all its might to punish those who dared step out. My body was weak; my legs trembled, and my shoulders fell with the weight of the paper bag that hung from my hands.
"Hey, Reds!" A familiar voice called out from a red Porsche. I furrowed my eyebrows while shielding my eyes from the sun. "Uris?!" He pulled over and waved. I leaned into his car window, and his eyes not-so-nonchalantly wandered off, which caused me to lower my torso, so my cleavage wasn't visible. "Need a ride ?" I nodded no, but before I could take off, his hand grabbed mine, "c'mon, I'll take you to the quarry." My heart leaped at the feeling of his skin on mine.
I shuffled through his tired tape collection. It was clear to me from his unorganized and dust-covered tapes he had no interest in music. It made me scratch my head for answers; how could someone dislike music? "Tell me, Red, what is your definition of real music?" he slumped in his seat as we stopped at a red light. I looked him in the eye for the very first time and instantly glanced away when I started to feel his eyes reaching into my soul. There was a feeling of panic growing deep within my heart. I couldn't describe it, but I had never felt that way about anyone before—especially not a day after meeting them. "Mariah Carey! Whitney Houston! Paula Abdul?! C'mon, there are millions of songs you're missing out on !" he rolled his eyes while switching on the radio. "So, diva music ? You like the high notes and all that?"
"Just because they're women and they're dominating the charts does not make them divas!" she rolled her eyes, and I could tell she was building hatred for me. That was what I was beginning to like about her. She was independent, and I was merely a diversion to her. She didn't need me at all. It's a miracle she hadn't punched me in the face when I took her by the waist last night. The question remained, who was she? I'd known her for a while now; we had shared a few glances and waves here and there but never anything more.
Her nameplate gleamed with the word Selena. Moon Goddess. I'd seen her reading a few astrology books during study hall while my friends teased about how unruly her hair was or how she would never honestly look anyone in the eye. The girl was a foreign expedition to us, and we happened to be the peace corps. She was approachable but not the friendliest. "Why are you so quiet? Picturing me in my bikini?" her comment made me giggle as the visual quickly appeared in my mind. I tried to shake it off, but inevitably her unforgettable image wouldn't escape me. "You wish." I teased as my palms sweat profusely.
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"Close your eyes." I pulled off my shirt as he dug his eyes into his hands. "I'm going to see you anyway?" I felt my eyes rolling back into my head. The truth was, I had never liked my image no matter how confident I sounded or acted; that was all it was—an act. My body wasn't exactly like Cindy Crawford's. Recently, I had felt that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop eating. It was challenging to cope with the world around me, and whenever my anxiety got to me, I would pick up the nearest thing. My sense of self-control was slipping, and it didn't make it any better that all my mother had to say was, "You need to stop putting on weight !" or "You're overeating." Her sly looks and judgmental remarks made me cave in even more profoundly. It was the most uncomfortable I'd ever felt within my skin. Some days I couldn't look in the mirror without breaking down. It was an inconsolable state of mind.
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"Alright, I'm getting tired of this pitch-black. Can I open them yet?" I took a deep breath, contemplating if I really should be here with a boy I barely know and a body I hate. Not to mention, I'd never jumped off a height like this. "Sure." My mind went blank as I leaped without thinking. With a shriek, I hit the water and instantly cooled off. He leaned over as I swam to the nearest rock. "Holy shit Lena!" A shocked expression grew on his face as I laughed. Guess he read my nameplate. So much for mystery. The water hit my face as he came tumbling down from above. "The best way to spend a July afternoon." He shook his curls off and smiled as he swam towards me. I could get used to this.
Selena's room was covered in countless artifacts of a modern woman with an enormous love for teenage film-flick heartthrobs. Yet through the plastered pinups of Keanu Reeves and River Pheonix, I could see the remnants of who she used to be. Her constant evolution from child to not a girl, not yet a woman. Her walls were a weird mix of grunge and riot grrrl feminism split with softer shades of teen pop and diva tunes. It was a reflection of the emotions that embodied her.
The moon's light side was the Whitney Houston and Mariah Carey posters with lyrics to their biggest love hits. Music boxes to the lovey-dovey tunes of forever and tomorrow that could give even the most desolate a drop of hope when it came to love. A sticky pop mess that made her heart soar with every airy whistle note.
The moon's not-so-dark side was the Bikini Kill records that sat next to her bed with images of Kathleen Hanna and shrines to Nirvana and Hole alike. That was the reflection of the pent-up angst she dealt with on a daily. She believed the world owed her for making her thoughts so sickening, so vile. The same world that had told her to stay inside the lines was pulling her every which way, and she wanted to kick her combat boots at anyone who tried to dictate where she belonged. Selena wanted to love and receive love; she set out to live freely and be understood in her way without being questioned. She despised that she tried to love and vice versa, which explained her fascination with the culture. It was a torn-up dream of being loved without being hurt and experiencing life outside of our sheltered, conservative town. She felt like an outsider, and she felt the same pain I felt. The same frustration, the same burning and yearn for more.
Her bed was stuffed into a corner with a small British flag hanging from her windowsill. The soft, blush curtains letting the sunlight wash over her. I was trying to get a better sense of what I was getting myself into because I had been thinking about her a whole lot after our last interaction. When Selena arrived in Derry back in kindergarten, she was almost instantly the black sheep. In eighth grade, she would often be the primary target of racial remarks from the . It was the town's primary gossip source. Everything she did would spark controversy, and word would get out almost instantly. Selena came to Derry in 1980, but it wasn't until the summer of 1988 that I took notice of her outside of the "tragic" life story that the women would tell whenever she strutted down the street with her sleek dark hair bouncing behind her and her tote bag beside her. Maybe it was her inevitable charm or the mystery of an outsider. Whatever it was, my attention was entirely hers, and when I laid in my bed just before the midnight hour, my only thoughts were filled with slanderous tales of the moon goddess herself and my remarks about how stupid the hate she received was.
"Don't judge me, fool. I, too, was once like you." She put on an old Hollywood accent as she neared me and grinned playfully. "Not judging, admiring." She anxiously tugged at the ends of her long sleeve, and I plopped on her bed. A sort of holy light surrounded Selena as the fading sunlight cast a shadow upon her. That signature side smile crept on her face as she sat beside me, "All the mix of things in here... You must think I'm crazy." My hand shifted towards hers but pulled away almost instantly, "On the contrary, I believe you are the most authentic person in this town." A sheepish grin appeared on my face as she smiled.
"Yeah, well, I can't say the same about you." My eyes died down as I pushed her shoulder back. That witty personality with all her sarcasm was attractive, significantly attractive. I couldn't deny my feelings were awakening, and I was ready to run from them. "So, Chris Hugens is throwing a party tonight...."
