Memory Documentation

chapter twenty one | documenting two kids in love

I didn't expect it to. I was so thrown off from being thrown into the audience participation thing that I was grappling for something decent to draw and took too long to decide. My first and only thought was Darcy. I left her without warning and my phone was in her backpack, but it was too late to back out. I wasn't one to cower under the eyes of an audience – I even loved to volunteer for the school assembly activities and goof around in front of the whole grade. But this time, I stood on stage with dozens of strangers waiting to judge me on a skill – a hobby – I tended to keep to myself. The pencil in my hand was an unfortunate victim to my sweaty palms. Precious minutes were wasted on the time my focus kept flickering from the crowd scattered across the park's field and my blank sheet in front of me. More people trickled in from the festival than those who trickled out, filling the space with more and more curious eyes and judging minds.

Was Darcy among them?

Darcy... That's it!

The thought of Darcy and the expanse of the view brought back one of the most recent memories from before we left New York. After the weight of some exams off our chests and Richard's birthday coming up, we used our moment to breathe and started focusing on everything we wanted to do for the surprise. Darcy and I took one of our dance practices up to the room after a burnt pizza had stunk up the apartment and Richard vacated us. We found the space on the rooftop to be a better alternative to the cramped space of Darcy's bedroom and living room. The air, the privacy, and the space to move were perfect.

A bold orange sunset blazed the sky that day. I, admittedly, had a blast holding and twirling Darcy during practice. After practice, we sat with a shared Domino's pizza between us, talking until that striking orange turned into a calming navy blue.

This is the memory I tried – and failed - to create. The urge to crumple and destroy the thing spread intensely to my fingertips

"Maybe I should just throw it away," I muttered. I began to fold the sheet, ready to crumple and destroy it, when Reece snatched it from my hands.

"Woah, woah!" he cried out. He laid the paper on the bed and smoothed out the few crinkles I had created. "C'mon, little man. Yeah, okay, this picture didn't win some stupid contest. But can't you see that this picture won you something else?"

I didn't even need to look at him. I knew the exact face he'd be giving me. He's been pulling it often enough since I admitted my feelings for Darcy to him several weeks ago. Still, I reached out and pushed his face away.

"Yeah, I guess..."

"Man!" he whooped with a huge grin on his face and a pump of his fist. "I wasn't expecting you to really go for it on this trip – but nicely done. You fuckin' kissed her, yeah?"

He didn't need a response to know the answer. Warmth pulsed through my body in an electrifying rush at just the thought of her lips against mine.

It only happened the other day, but I've thought of that moment more times than I care to admit out loud. The memory was still so fresh, I could still feel the ghost of Darcy's touch on my entire body. Her legs wrapped around my waist. Her chest pressed against mine. Her fingers running through my hair, my jaw, my neck. Desire hummed through my veins, but I felt fondness for her in every heartbeat.

The night was amazing, but so was the entire day. It was reinvigorating to be somewhere new, somewhere exciting, somewhere with just me and her. Darcy could be so expressive – her face was like a diary if she didn't keep it locked up with a key. But during the fair, for just that one afternoon, I could see all the pages of her. I loved reading the expressions on her face, taking note of what made her feel what. She was elated by the food – we both were – but her eyes were extra wide with bakery and pastry booths. She was always awed by all the craftsmanship, but she was drawn more towards decorative household items and art pieces than jewelry or accessories. And when something slow and melodic came from the stage's speakers in the distance, like a cello solo or a children's choir, she'd turn her face toward the tune every time.