hated doorbells
as told by everest
•
I've always hated doorbells. I bet you think that's super weird, because what's to hate about them? I mean, its much easier and safer to just press a silly button outside someone's doorstep instead of of breaking in, right? Yes, that's true. In fact, sometimes when I go over my preferences and I realize how stupid some of them are, I think of those things that give these inventions purpose. Then I reconsider those vivid thoughts in my vivid head but always come right back to where I was, hating the thing. Doorbells, in this case.
My annoyance for doorbells isn't where I'm going with this, though. The day after you told me about the dilemma with your parents, about how you barely communicated, I decided during English class that I would stop by the outright flawless house that runs along my bus route to visit you and your family during dinner. The introverted half of me was one hundred percent against this, but the large majority of me that was too much in love with you couldn't turn the opportunity down. I needed to help you. Living isolated from your parents was an unacceptable way to live.
So, because my siblings had gone back to their far away homes and my parents were still away at work and my baby sister was at daycare, I drove our rickety car out to the dirt roads in the woods. I had my driver's permit in the passenger's compartment just in case (It wasn't necessary; I didn't see any police officers on the way, and I had thought of a good excuse, too, since I was driving illegally).
When I reached your house, I slowly walked to your door and stared at the wood material of it. It was deep red, almost purple. So perfect. But, despite my paranoia of like, breaking it or something, I knocked my knuckles against it because of my hatred of doorbells. I could hear the sound echo through the house, disturbing the natural silence. I felt like I had ruined something sacred, but maybe it was waiting to be that way.
It was you who opened the door, Charlotte Marie. Your eyes got really huge as you swung open the door and saw me standing there, red cheeked and anxious to see your beautiful face. For a few seconds you didn't know what to say. Then, a weak "Everest?" slipped from your tongue.
"Hello, Charlotte," I said with a closed smile, trying to look lively.
"Char," you muttered under your breath.
I rolled my eyes. "Oh shush, Charlotte Marie. We both know I will never call you that again."
You grinned. "What are you doing here?"
"Well, I know I came without warning, but I was hoping I could like, come in and meet your parents? It's kind of traditional in relationships, I think." I scratched my neck shyly.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
"Oh," you said, your cheeks rosy. "Um, yeah. Come in."
You held your arm out and stepped aside, suddenly seeming much more happy than before. That interior beauty that I loved more than the exterior was blossoming.
Because of that, the first feeling I had when I entered your home was love.
YOU ARE READING
Laughter Lines
Romance"Cross my heart and hope to die, I'll see you with your laughter lines." a boy. a girl. you know the rest. © Valarie Rae, two thousand and fifteen.
