Is It Too Early To Say "I Love You"?

first.

I pulled myself off of my bed and away from my computer. Blinking hard, I reached out a shaky arm and steadied myself on my dresser. The furniture was painted by Amy. It was a simple black gloss on the front, but the left side of the dresser shone with silver paint. The moon, with great welcoming eyes and a big smile, was sitting on a chair. A cup of tea was by the celestial being, and she was surrounded by green bushes and tall trees. The right side showed a sun, but his eyes were cast down, and a frown settled on his face. If you brushed away the junk on the top of the dresser, the words "Pretty. Odd." would glitter up at you.

I remembered when we first came up with that idea. I had recently moved into the apartment with Amy and I'd been mildly complaining about my lack of decor. She had painted nearly every piece of furniture she owned, down to her little plastic chair that she never used. I used to think that her hands were permanently stained with multicolored paint. 

She's taken one glance at the ugly yellow dresser I'd had since I was 14 and said: "C'mon, let's get this done."

I watched as she covered the yellow with smooth, long strokes. She was sitting cross-legged, a pair of stained leggings and a large t-shirt on. Her long wavy hair was tamed back into a ponytail. She had 10 different colors of paint. I'd even watched in awe as she dotted each bud on the bushes around the moon.

I looked away from the dresser and snapped back to reality. My closet door was completely shut. I'm still somehow terrified of the boogeyman, even though I'm well past 6 years old.

I pushed the closet door open and ran my hands across my limited choices. I hadn't done laundry in a while, and the only things that were still hanging up was a pink tank top, a gray long sleeved shirt and a cardigan.

Sighing, I pulled the black cardigan off its hanger and slipped it on over the shirt I had slept in. I kicked off my pajama pants one leg at a time and nearly tripped over myself trying to get to my laundry hamper. I shoved the clothing into the basket and grabbed a random pair  of jeans. I held it to my face, sniffed it, and deemed it wearable.

The new outfit felt stiff and cold compared to my comfortable pj's. I curled my freezing toes and fled to the sock drawer. I slipped on a random pair of socks and felt proud when I discovered they were matching. I snatched the perfume off of the dresser. The dresser doubled as a vanity; a few months ago I had balanced a new mirror with a bunch of books on top of it. The rest of the top was littered with makeup and various papers. I wondered for a second if any of them were important, but was too lazy to address them anyway.

I shifted through the crap on my dresser and grasped the brush. I yanked it through my thick hair, attempting to tame the giant mess. I managed it into a loose braid across my left shoulder and started to apply my makeup.

I walked out of my room, shutting the door softly behind me. I looked down the white hallway. It was filled with various paintings that Amy had proudly hung up after deciding that they were fit enough to show anyone. She often went on these 'breaks', where she would lock herself in her room, hardly leaving except to eat maybe once. I never even saw her go to the bathroom. She would maintain this schedule for a couple of days, before emerging and resuming her daily life. I would find a new canvas on the wall to show for it.

Most of her paintings were pretty dark. She hardly painted with color, other than using it for accents or if I requested a certain one. When she did use colors, they were soft pastels. One of her colored ones showed a soft sun shining down on a dark land, spreading it's light across the sky but unable to penetrate the border of a dark outline of trees. The rest of the painting, untouched by the suns glow, remained dark and dreary.

That one was my favorite one.

As I walked down the hallway I ran my first three fingers along the wall, directly below the paintings. The dragging noise it made stopped as the hallway ended and opened up to our living room/dining room on the left and our kitchen on the right. I swerved to the right and grabbed my black coat off of the brown chair. I continued through the kitchen to the back corner, where my front door was at. 

- - -

I walked into the warmth of the cafe and sighed heavily. I carefully removed my hand from the depths of my pockets and looked up, my eyes meeting the smiling face of one of the employees, whom I immediately recognized as Greg.

"Hello!" he chirped, pausing his wiping down of the counters. He set the rag down, walked over and leaned casually over the counter. He had olive skin and gleaming brown eyes. I smiled back at him. "What can I do for you?"

"I'll just have a black coffee," I replied, walking over to have a seat. He nodded and moved to the back of the store.

I sunk into one of the brown, wooden, vintage looking chairs and looked up at the store ceiling. Since I'd moved to Madeira, a small town in Ohio, this place had become my refuge. I did homework here, I came here to escape during the rare times Amy and I fought, I came just to drink coffee before school; I came to this place for everything. I knew every inch of the stained walls, as I often looked at them while daydreaming. I knew every marking on the table, after years of sitting at the same one and staring at it. I knew the employees by name, because--

"Order 1!" Greg shouted, smiling as I jumped from my thoughts. I shook my head and pretended to be upset, but I couldn't help smiling back.

"Shut up," I replied to his giggling. I snatched the cup away from him and stormed off to my table.

I pulled out my phone and was scrolling through Twitter when the door behind me opened and the bell attached to it jangled.

My heart stopped and my breath caught in my throat. I felt my entire body go rigid as I observed the girl that walked in.

She was around my age, with shimmering chestnut hair and matching eyes. She wore simple jeans and a long sleeved, pink shirt that was wrinkled on the ends as if she pulled on them often. Sure enough, as she took tender steps forward, she tugged at her left sleeve with her right hand. She spoke in a quiet voice that made me want to run up and hug her around the waist--

What are you doing?

I took in a deep breath, sucking in much-needed air. My heart resumed beating, only a million miles per hour now. I couldn't rip my eyes off of the girl.

She and Greg both talked, but I couldn't understand what they were saying. I was too busy drinking up everything about the girl like sweet lemonade. 

She had a small, upturned nose with freckles dotted across it, and thin red lips. It didn't look like she was wearing any makeup, which made her beauty someone more profound.

I snapped back into reality as the girl leaned back, awkwardly standing off to the side while Greg got her coffee, or whatever it was she got. I wanted to walk up to her and introduce myself, to get to know her and--

Woah there, Jen. It's just a minor crush. Not even. What is this, some love-at-first-sight crap?

Besides, she's probably from out of town. No need to get your panties in a bunch over some girl you'll never see again.

Plus, aren't you into guys?