I'll Take Two

Chapter Four

"The tragedy is not that love doesn't last. The tragedy is the love that lasts." -Shirley Hazzard 

     "Where have you been?" Reilly asked me after I walk through the door. I smiled and a said, "are you the mothering type, because that doesn't work for me." She laughed, then proceeded to text Justin and give me a commentary on his replies. Though I really didn't know Reilly, I think this would be a long time friendship. 

  "Justin is having his first party of the the year tonight, he asked me to ask you to go." Reilly looked at me expectantly, then I smile, trying not to show my excitement, and of course said yes. Then, for some reason I thought about Devin, the boy from the river bridge. "I wander if I really will see him tomorrow?.." 

  The time was then 8:45am, and i decided to head to the dinning hall for breakfast. Reilly curled up and read something on her phone.  I thought about asking her to come to breakfast, then I remembered I only met her the day before. The day before, and already, so much seems to have happened. I heard the many voices of girls chatting in the bathroom that all of us share. Gossip, plans for the upcoming semester, and lots, I mean lots, of boy talk. 

  The dinning hall was awake and moving. Probably 150 students roaming around. There are about 100 rooms in our building, and each room had two students. Though all the rooms are filled, not everyone is here, and not all those who are here are awake, but still the mass of sweaty post pubescent college kids, was over whelming.  

  I grabbed some breakfast and sat down close to the door. I wouldn't say I'm antisocial to be sure, but I certainly don't love a big crowed. My mind began to think about the party. Justin's party. I wondered if college parties are much different from high school ones, and figured the only difference was that most of the people could legally drink the alcohol.

  I thought about what I would wear, then I realized I was getting way to "typical high school" into it. "Just be yourself," I heard my dad saying. Myself, I thought, was a kinda nerdy kinda cute eighteen year old, who liked fun but not to much fun. I guess that doesn't leave much room for being cool. But maybe it didn't matter so much here. Maybe, no, truly these were adults, though young they were adults. Why judge me for the silly things right?

  After I ate, I went back to the room, stopping to wash my face in the bathroom. I said hi to a few girls I didn't know, then decided I wanted to go do some writing. I had been working on a story the past few months, that was finally taking some shape. Though I hadn't met my Fictional Writing teacher, I thought they may like to read at least some of it, to get familiar with my writing style. If not, it was at least good practice.

I was majoring in English writing, particularly fictional novels. I always wrote in made up times or worlds with un explainable events. I could start a story a hundred times, or a hundred stories all in different worlds, but in my entire life, I had never finished a single story (unless you could count a three paged children's book about the life and death of a tuna fish, which I do not). 

  I had always wanted to be a writer, ever since I learned to read at the age of five. It was the greatest day of my life when I looked at the page of a book and was able to see the words and the worlds written there.  My dad had always said "Sandy, one day I want you to become famous off of your stories." I had told him that was a silly idea, but after my mother died, I thought about telling stories with only sad endings, because stories with happy ending were all lies. Now I have found a happy medium that is more then sad endings with out hope, but less than "they lived happily ever after."  My stories all start well, but their endings escape me.

     I sat down on my bed, and pulled out my old 2006 Mac laptop. It was old, but i had worked on it for years. My dad had bought it new for me on my eighth birthday, when I started writing for real. Before that, everything I wrote was in a collection of old red notebooks. Always red, and spiral bound.

     Rose was sixteen, left alone by her parents as a child. Found by a mariner in a basket, floating along the Irish coast. "Maybe? I couldn't decide if it was the Irish coast or the south of France..."   That was a bit of the plot line of a new book called "Rose of the Sea."  I'm not sure what I think of it so far. As of now, the infant child named Rose, because her basket was filled with red rose petals, was found by Janick, a young mariner working with the English navy. Not my best work, but it would dew.

  My hands banged at the key board for what seemed like hours, until my wrists cramped and my eyes hurt from starring at the screen. I looked at my alarm clock, 2:45 pm. I noticed Reilly had left the room, and I wondered where she went, though out was none of my business. I never asked what time Justine's party was, but it didn't really matter, I was going to go with Reilly anyway. 

   I passed some time listening to music, and scrolling through my Facebook, then my Pinterest feed. At around four, Reilly came back, and it looked like she had been running. "Where have you been?" I mocked, like she had done to me that morning. She smiled, and said, "would't you like to know?" We both smiled, then Reilly asked if I would like to join her for lunch, at a little pizza joint in town.