I met him in my junior year, when I was making a wild scramble for extra-curricular activities. Young, filled with vibrant artistic spirit and ready to fall in love, I fell into his gaze. I melted under his blue-gray eyes. Like steel, they cut through me; they sliced me open and lay me at his feet. Across a circle of young poets and novelists, songwriters and screenwriters, I met my first true love.
We were all part of the Neo-bohemian wave, a group of socially aware hedonistic artists, ready to change the world with our words. Our beautiful philosophies and idealistic dogmas would give rise to a new era. Surely. Oh, to be young and naive. It was there, across a circle of revolutionaries where I fell under the gaze of Nathaniel. With dark blond hair speckled with a soft rusty hue, Nathaniel was tall and fair, a strange contrast to my own low stature, dark hair and light Latino skin. I didn’t realize then how close I would be to him, how I would come to press my fingertips against him and give myself away…
My musings were blown softly away like thistle in a breeze as he stood. He’d been recognized by our leader and was preparing to speak. He smiled and my heart skipped a beat. Clutching the grass to keep myself from disintegrating, I watched him intently even as his eyes left mine.
His words were honest and calm and he told us of his plan, a grand motion picture. Love would be at the center of the film, and a plot of bittersweet seduction and betrayal would orbit, creating a masterful alignment. At once, his independent spirit captured our minds. His voice, his eyes, however, had captured my heart. As he sat, I found his eyes again drawn to mine. Breathless, I smiled and felt heat rise within my chest.
That evening, he walked me home.
Held tightly against my sides, his jacket smelled of smoke and deodorant. Each dark, coarse fold of the jacket held my increasing infatuation, and I couldn’t help gravitating towards him as we walked side by side down the dwindling street. We stopped at my house. Dark and gray, my house has always been foreboding, even to me. I can never help being awed by its tall windows and the two drooping oaks that grow on either side of the path to the front door.
“It’s a very nice home,