There’s one saying that my parents always wanted me to live by: “Have the courage to live a life true to yourself, not the life others expect of you.” The problem is, how am I supposed to stay true to myself when I don’t know who I am?
When people find out I like to write, but never know what to write about, they often say I should just go for it. Start writing, and don’t stop. So that’s what I’m doing.
I’m twenty-three years old, I graduated at seventeen, I’ve had a steady job for the last six years in a field that is the polar opposite of what I want to do, and I’ve had exactly one college class. This may seem to be some inspirational story about how I somehow got my shit together after barely making it through high school, but it’s not. You may think the boy I’m going to mention is the love of my life. He isn’t. We don’t end up together, and we don’t live happily ever after, so don’t get your hopes up. If this was turned into a movie, Michael Lehmann would be the director, I would be portrayed by the one and only Jessica Stroup, my best friend played by Lily Collins, our little shadow of a comedic relief done by Evan Peters, and a dark haired Sam Claflin would be the love interest that screws us all over, but changes in the end and we forgive him, Lily Collins and Evan Peters realise they’re in love, and the credits role with some uplifting song.
This is not a movie. This story sucks. It’s not even well written if you think about it. I mean, I just wasted a paragraph talking about celebrities, and now I’m telling you what you just read. Pathetic, right?
Well that’s who I was, who I am actually, just a pathetic little writer, with two friends, an obsession with piercings, and no college degree. The only difference between me now and me then is that I used to believe in and study love. I no longer wish to understand what it’s like, because I don’t believe it’s real. I think society made up the concept of love a long time ago, and people were just too oblivious to realize that it was all just one big lie.
You see, it all happened four years ago. I was nineteen and still living at home, but I had finally made it out of high school, and I thought I had my entire life ahead of me to just travel and write and take pictures with Bre. You know Lily Collins? She’s playing Bre. Bre is much smaller than me physically, but bigger than me in almost every other aspect. Her personality is huge, and she bubbles over like a champagne bottle that’s always being reopened. She’s fun and loud and has a great outlook on life. If it weren’t for the inch long, vertical scar on her cheek, she’d be a very cookie cutter girl. But that scar has given her spunk since she got it at age seven. Until you really get to know her you would never guess that she has absolutely no empathy. So there you go. My best friend is an extroverted, borderline psychopath, who was probably a warrior goddess in another life. We never got to travel together.
It may be a cliche’ to say it’s all because of a boy, but I definitely plame him. Jack Danyls. Also known as Sam Claflin. Yes, his name is pronounced like the liquor, and yes, it fits him perfectly. I don’t know if you’ve ever had the pleasure of partaking straight up whiskey, but that’s exactly what it’s like to taste Jack. The day I met him was just like any other work day, pretty normal for a bridal shop. Our store shared the building with several offices. One for aspiring models and actors/actresses, and the other just a start up business with a bunch of twenty to thirty year old men in suits, with giant chess sets and other pretentious decorations. Because we shared with the other spaces, people came to our door first all the time, because we were the most prominent, and when I first saw him I greeted him as any receptionist would, quickly assumed he was looking for the modeling agency, and directed him in that direction.
“That’s kind of you,” he acknowledged, “but I’m actually here for a wedding dress.” I just stared at him for an uncomfortably long time until, finally, he smiled his stupid, wide, pointy-canined, smile. “That was a joke.” He leaned both elbows on the front desk. “My sister works here, do you mind if I speak with her?” I snapped out of it. I was at work, and I was a professional.
“Who’s your sister?” I asked, putting on my customer service face.
“Maya. Maya Danyls.” he responded.
Maya was my best work friend. She was constantly one of our top three sales girls, and she had great work ethic. “I believe she’s with an appointment. If you want to have a seat,” I gestured to the couch near the door, “I’ll go find her.” I got up and started walking towards Maya’s area. The thing about working at a bridal shop for two years is you learn all the nooks and crannies, including what angle you need to be facing the mirror to see someone sitting on the couch around the corner, without them seeing you--which I did all the time--so you can just sit and stare without being caught. Now I’m not a creep, but I occasionally over appreciate beauty of other human beings and the way the carry themselves. When people walk you can see their confidence. When the sit, however, you can see their insecurities. From what I could tell, Jack didn’t have any. “Maya,” I said when I found her, “your brother is here.”
“Great!” she exclaimed. “Will you please tell him I’m finishing up, and I’ll just meet him at his car?”
I smiled. “Of course.” Pause to look in the mirror, take a deep breath, compose yourself, continue. “She’ll be done soon, and asked to meet you at your car.”
He stood and swiftly moved towards me. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”
I did my best retail smile, and said, “you’re welcome,” like my dad taught me, and sat down to continue my work. I expected him to leave, because that’s what normal people do. When you’re named after an alcoholic beverage, you’re bound to be anything but normal. Leaning on the desk again, he somehow got closer, to the point of only being twelve inches from my face, which is about one foot closer than I would usually like to be from a stranger. He made eye contact, and didn’t break it. He just studied my eyes, or rather, one of my eyes, because he never even shifted. He didn’t blink. He didn’t squint. He didn’t smile. Nothing. Just pure, awkward, eye contact. Only it wasn’t awkward. It was exciting.
Finally he gradually pulled away and stated, “It was nice meeting you,” he looked away for only a moment to glance at my hand before returning to my eyes, “Noah. Until next time.” He gave me a nod, turned leisurely, and walked away.
We hadn’t exchanged names.
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