"Wanna go for a ride?" he asks, smiling. Then taking my hand he places me onto the boat, one not that large. He unties the rope, and uses the oar to move us. In a few moments, we had already reached across the lake.
I stare into the sky, the colour a dark hue of indego mixed with black splashes and the ever so often clouds. The moon and stars reflecting against the almost still water, collected in my eyes,"It's so, peaceful."
He stops paddling, and pauses to look above to the direction I was, "You're right. It reminds me of when I'm at home on a Sunday, laying on the front porch swing,' reading this book I bought about two people..." he trails off, imagining-- remembering.
He's always been so detailed, so divine in his choices of words. Sometimes, I convince myself to believe he forgets his life and leaves it behind in his wonders.
"How do you do it? Juggle school, work, and doing this every weekend?"
I glance at him, and he glances back. My embarrasment makes me stare down, blushing furiously. "At times, I don't know. I assume it's because I can not get enough of this place, it being calm versus my regular life," he frowns, and begins paddling once more. When we make it back to the dock, we sit on the edge, our shoes off and our feet dangling; probably disrupting the fish below.
I lean on his shoulder, him first startled, but then relaxed quickly. I catch a gaze at his face; normal, but with a slight glimmer in his eyes and a crooked end to his mouth-- he sees me, and grins. Boy, he doesn't know what he does to me, making my heart skip a beat, and giving me butterflies at his entrance to any room I am in.
"Well, we better get going before your dad makes ruckus," he says, slowly standing up, me following after. "Not really," I sigh, "He never has really much interest in me, or my mom."
My dad could care less about the family, all he ever did care about would be the wish for my mom to have a male baby. So he could raise him, and teach him sports; such as football or baseball, I always assumed anyway. Plus, he has never even been the dad he was supposed to be, always harsh and cruel. Compared to my friend's fathers, their's would always be at the top; mine barely comprehending I existed.
"Oh, I am so sorry," he hugs me, and I do not let that chance pass by me; holding him tight. "It is okay," by now I am used to it. "Why don't you just come on back to my place?" He offers, now letting go. "Uh," I hesitate, "Okie-dokie." We get into his truck, and in a matter of minutes we have already arrived.
I get out, walking down the small pathway to get to his front porch. It is lined with lights, probably bright enough for me to go to on my own, but he takes my hand and leads us. He takes out his keys, unlocks the door, then holds it open for me. "Whoa," I practically gasp in shock, it looked amazing. There was detail, all the way from the intricate designs on the fireplace mantle, to the slightest indentations on the table's legs.
"Lucas, it is, beautiful," I turn around hastily, smiling humongously.
