Paris Wills is a dreamer. His father always said he got it from his mom, an artist who was unlike any other. Her virtue was painting, and Paris' is poetry. No matter where he is, Paris finds inspiration for his poems.
In the summer after his sophom...
It makes me want to buy all the pink carnations in the world and plant them where the old ones are, drooping like a lost child crying for their mom.
I try and fix my unruly blond hair, which has grown out since summer began. It reaches down to my neck now, falling in gentle waves when I bother to comb it. I haven't washed it in days because we've arrived at hotels during ungodly hours of the night, and by then I just want to jump in bed and sleep. To cover up the unruliest parts, I'm wearing a black beanie. My golden-green eyes hide under my thick black glasses, which I almost never wear, but we've been driving near nonstop and I didn't want to worry about forgetting to take out my contacts after arriving at the hotels.
I step out of the car, straightening out my black jeans and white tee before reaching to grab my jacket from the back. Alas, Tessa pulls me along in a haste, and I almost lose my hold on her leash but manage to catch up to her as she pisses all over the grass.
Nothing like marking your territory.
Whatever. When Tessa's done with her business, I take her to the front door where Dad is fumbling with the key. My mom hugs me tightly as we await the sight of our new home, and I can't help but feel as if someone is watching me. I push that strange thought aside and eagerly gasp as Dad finally gets the door open. One look inside, and I absolutely adore it.
Our new home has polished ebony floors and a fresh coat of white paint on the walls. A new brown couch sits in the front room, which I'm guessing is the living room. The first flight of stairs is right behind the couch, and they make a left into a straightaway which leads into another left up another flight of stairs. To the left of the front door is the dining room, which has a long mahogany table with matching upholstered chairs. Leading from the dining room is the kitchen, with polished wood cabinets and slabs of black granite. Brand new silver appliances fill the kitchen, and I look out on the backyard to see an expanse of trees – shocked to see a budding forest.
Despite my desire to go out and explore the trees, my parents eagerly lead me upstairs, showing me to my new bedroom, with a big window that looks out onto the beige house I noticed earlier. Best of all, the windowsill has a seat. A white wooden queen bed sits in the center, and I crash down on the squishy mattress, bouncing up and down on the bed. Soon, my bedroom will look just the way I like it, but already I'm beyond satisfied with the spacious layout.
Tessa jumps onto the bed, lying beside me on the mattress. I'm sure she's already searching for her place on the bed. She and I sleep together every night. Ever since we brought her home as a little puppy, she's remained by my side. When I wake up, she's there. When I go to sleep, she's there. She's always there. I have no idea what I would do without her.
"Honey, Dad and I are going to start getting the boxes out of the U-Haul. You can come down whenever you're ready," my mom says with a kind smile, waving goodbye to me as I nod and wave back.
I know I should go help with the boxes, but I need a minute to take it all in. I finally have a home, a real home. As much as I love New York City, I've always dreamed of having a real home, one with big walls and a roof and stairs and a fireplace. Our apartment was nice, but it never compared to what this feels like.
Getting up from my bed, I make my way over to the windowsill, sitting down on the window seat, my new favorite spot in our home. Tessa whines, trying desperately to sit up there with me, even though the seat is only big enough for one. After a moment of begging, she finally admits defeat, and I laugh at her before gently taking hold of the thin white curtains, pulling them back to let the pale sunlight in.
Then, as I look out upon the neighborhood, I notice a head full of raven black curly hair, and the darkest brown eyes I've ever seen, staring up at me, a look of terror in his eyes as he hastily pulls back his own curtains, vanishing as quickly as I noticed him.
And, despite only seeing him for that one moment, the only thing I can think of is how much I want to take his picture, to see his photograph on my computer screen, to brighten up those puffy white cheeks filled with freckles, to focus in on those big brown eyes.
One look, and I'm mesmerized.
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