The Real Reed

Chapter 2

Guess sometimes spoken words don't always do their job, so we rather confide in the words dancing around the instruments of visuality.....action they say speaks louder than voices but can you?
Decipher the words behind the movement of my eyes?
I thought so....

-PreshyKenna

Reed's POV

I like to think the stares are all in my head. Maybe I'm just being paranoid. But the moment a mother literally has to uproot her son who has been blatantly staring at me with his jaw slack, eyes bulging out of his head( I'm pretty sure I didn't see him blink the entire time) and ice cream sandwich long forgotten, I realize that this isn't just my imagination playing tricks on me; not this time.

I could downplay their reason for staring, maybe they're just overreacting.

I don't think there's anything abnormal about an eighteen-year-old dressed in a white vanhalen T-shirt and white skinny jeans paired with white combalt boots and a white bumper jacket strapped to her waist and a white back pack practically glued to her back with three white suitcases on the side.

The world we live in now sees nudity as a form of self expression and liberation. Yet, somehow, I still get the attention of any room I enter.

This is clearly not just a fashion statement, and I am definitely not having my own legally blonde moment.
The stares are always a price I have to pay; a sacrifice for a bit of sanity within the insanity. It's kind of like a double-edged sword.

I could yell out that I also own the cool guitar beside all my luggage, but that wouldn't help my cause at all or change the fact that I look like a member of the Nigerian cult called the white angels.

It is in the midst of all this internal conflict that I spot him, and I freeze like a deer caught in headlights, unable to stop the sweaty feeling in my palms and sudden dryness of my tongue.

I've always dreamt of this moment since I was about eleven years old. One direction was one of the only things that kept me sane after my dad passed; or at least, my version of sane.

I always thought that the way I'd meet harry would be the same way his future girlfriend and the love of his life met him in the thousands of harry fan fictions I read.

It happened almost in slow motion. It was like time stopped and they were the only ones in the entire world. She looked up and was met with the most piercing and intriguing set of green eyes and in that moment she knew she was hooked.....

I never thought I'd see the guy I've mentally married countless times and one of my idols simply blending into the crowd of an airport in a grey oversized sweater, black skinky jeans, black chelsea boots and a grey beanie with a black sweat-jacket in hand, a red duffel bag on his shoulder and a black luggage in tow.

I guess the only thing stopping us from having our romantic eyelock is the tinted glasses he has on and his fixed gaze on the ground.

I can't believe this. One of the biggest stars in the history of the world is walking in the midst of a crowd; about 90% of them are probably his fans. Yet, nothing. He's almost invisible.

I watch him with utmost concentration as he comes to a halt at a vending machine a few feet away from me and takes out his wallet. This is unbelievable. It's at this time I realize that there's no difference between me and every other clueless person in this airport.

Maybe I'm starstruck or probably just dumb; either way, my brain and the rest of my body don't seem to be functioning at this moment.

His unsuspicious clothing couldn't deceive me as well, but I'm just staring. I probably look like a freak (well, MORE of a freak), simply gaping at a supposedly "normal" passerby. My brain's telling me to move, go, get up, run up to him, ask for an autograph, ask for a picture, do something, do anything.