To meet You Again Read online

  To Meet You Again

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this e-book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever without the express written dated and signed Permission of the author. Other than a printed version for personal use of the purchaser.

  This e-book published by Hayley Nelson

  © Copyright 2013 All Rights Reserved.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 1

  “Okay. Before you say anything, I think I have the right to explain why everything is covered in chocolate.”

  Well, if you want to know the whole story, we’re going to have to go all the way back to about the time of the High Middle Ages. Now, nobody really knows what happened exactly, but apparently there was this guy named Valentinus or something. For the sake of the story, I’ll call him St. Valentine. There were many saints that had the same name, and nobody really knows which one or ones we’re supposed to be crediting with the creation of this absurd holiday, but for simplicity’s sake let’s say there was one of them.

  Also, let me just point out that it isn’t even a holiday because, if it were, we would be allowed to skip out on work and school. But no, people have to suffer the embarrassment of seeing all their classmates and co-workers getting Valentines while you get zip.

  Anyway, I digress. Apparently, at the time, soldiers were not allowed to marry. St. Valentine disagreed and would marry them in secret. He got found out. He got jailed. Then, before he was executed, he sent some kind of note to his loved one saying, “Farewell from your Valentine”. And so, every February 14 we celebrate that guy and his appreciation for romance by romancing each other or some bullshit like that.

  Valentine’s Day is ridiculous.

  We kill thousands of rose bushes. We cut down about a thousand more trees than we normally do. We make each other fatter with candies and chocolates. And for what? To show our love? How materialistic can we people be? Can’t you just say “I love you” or write a sonnet or something? Something, anything that doesn’t involve uselessly wasting our natural resources.Well, I guess if you were writing a sonnet, you’d have to write it on something, and, in a sense, you would be wasting paper, too, so… Forget that one.

  Also, would it kill you to get a room or something? Why do you have to declare your love in front of the entire population? Honestly, how do you think it makes the rest of us feel? Why do you think there’s such a thing as “Singles Awareness Day”? S. A. D. That’s right. It makes us… Well, me, not so much. But it makes single girls feel sad. Why do you think they were even pretentious enough to make up their own holiday? Singles Awareness Day – the day you become even more aware of your crippling singularity. Granted guys could celebrate it, too, I guess, if they were single, too. I don’t know how these things are supposed to work.

  In my experience, to see every girl around you get a valentine is disheartening. I mean, I wouldn’t be sad and pathetic enough to make up some holiday for myself and people like me. But, then again, if I did it would be a “me party”. Yeah, in grade school, I wasn’t exactly “likeable”. I kept my nose in the books. I didn’t like playing games, let alone sports. While other girls drew hearts around boys’ names I scoffed at their stupidity. I was pretty much a snob back then. So when everyone got their secret admirer notes and poorly cut out hearts cards, I got nothing. I guess that was my fault, but that’s not the point.

  Personally if a guy sang to me in public, I’d murder him. Why? Because, while the gesture is sweet and all, it’s embarrassing. I HATE being the centre of attention, and whenever a guy publicly announces his affection everyone stares at you. There’s so much pressure. I mean, what if I don’t like him that way? Then I’m the bitch who sent another “brave warrior” into the friend zone? Also, why does he have to do it publicly? Can’t he do it in private? I mean something about publicizing your love feels, to me, fake. And guys, save yourself the embarrassment you arrogant lump heads. Have you ever considered the idea that maybe, just maybe, the girl might not like you back?

  Gasp. Did I hurt your feelings? Well suck it up.

  Wait, no. That’s a strategy isn’t it? Put pressure on the girl to say “yes” because if she doesn’t... Yeah, if a girl is decent, she wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of all those people. And, if she’s not decent, she’ll at least be thinking about her reputation. Oh, I see right through you, you sick bastards. That’s mean! You try to make it seem as if we’re the bad guys here, but it’s been you all along! Cunning, manipulative bastards.

  Oh, right. About the mess of chocolate.

  It all started in freshman year. High school was still this exciting adventure I wanted to document every moment of. I wasn’t exactly a camera whore like my female peers – sometimes male – but I liked to take pictures of things.

  I would take pictures of field trips. I would take pictures of each classroom I had a class in. I would take pictures of notes… Okay, so my picture-taking wasn’t exactly for sentimental reasons. But there were a lot of instances where I did take pictures for sentimental reasons.

  For example, in the first few months of that year, I didn’t really have friends. I would sit alone at lunch because during class I didn’t care for small talk with my seatmates. I read books and took notes. So, to compensate, I would take pictures of the surrounding lunch tables and make up stories about the people. Then, one day, a boy named Angelo noticed me taking his picture, and he accused me of having a crush on him. We’ve been best friends ever since, and I would take pictures of all the different pastas he brought for lunch.

  But, anyway, one time while we were on a field trip, we were taking our rest break on this beautiful hill up where you could see the beautiful plains below. The sky was a great clear blue. Not a cloud in sight, and yet the sun seemed to be hiding somewhere. It was a cool day. Both the grass and the leaves were such a fantastic green colour it almost seemed unreal, but the bare shadows gave them back their place in the real world. The view was void of any bodies of water. It was just rolling fields as far as the eye could see. I took so many pictures within that half hour. It was as if each photo was an attempt to perfectly recreate the moment, of course futile, but an attempt nonetheless, and it made me feel better.

  Angelo was sick, so he couldn’t come. Since I didn’t have anyone to talk to, I let myself be in my own world. I was perfectly satisfied falling asleep on the bus and taking my pictures. Don Vernal had a different idea. He approached me as I looked out onto the fields. He very silently walked beside me. He was so quiet you would think that the sound of his voice would have made me jump. But his voice was quiet, too.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he remarked.

  “Yeah,” I nodded, smiling.

  I turned to face him. Don was tall and lean, but muscular. He had dark hair and skin that was two shades darker than fair. His eyes were dark, but kind, and his smile was asymmetrical, but perfect. I was flustered. He was gorgeous, and was the only one since Angelo who actually came up and talked to me without academic motivation. If it had been anyone else, I probably wouldn’t have paid much attention. If it had been any other day, I probably would have brushed him off. If he’d said anything else – if he hadn’t somehow been able to echo the exact thought that lingered in my mind – I probably would have gotten annoyed and walked away. But he approached me in the most peaceful and perfect way. He did not disturb me. Rather, he joined me. Matched my mood. Matched the low tone of the wind.

  “I don’t think we’ve offici
ally met,” he extended a hand. “I’m Don.”

  “Ruby,” I shook his hand, and I was sure that he could see me blush.

  “May I?” he gestured to the camera. I handed it to him. He took a few steps back and focused the camera on me. “Stand still,” he seemed to whisper. My cheeks were probably opaquely rose pink by then. I didn’t move. I didn’t even breathe.

  Just then a great gust of wind passed, blowing all of my hair up. I squinted slightly, but I also couldn’t help but smile. My hair tickled different parts of my face.

  “Perfect,” Don smiled and showed me the picture.

  I didn’t know what was wrong with his sense of aesthetic. I personally thought I looked like some sort of failed depiction of medusa. Or even Sadako. Maybe one of those people who touch those charged spheres and all their hair stands up. Whatever it was I looked like, I looked of not perfectly sound mind. But I smiled anyway, because the comment and his smile were quite endearing.

  “One more,” Don put his arm around me and pulled me closer. His touch sent shivers all around, which was strange. I’d only just met this person. I knew nothing about him. He held out the camera, “Smile.” He took the picture and showed it to me. This one was better. My hair looked like I had just gotten out of bed, but Don looked fantastic. He was incredibly photogenic. “Here you go,” he held the camera out.

  I stared at his hand for a while, not realizing at first what he meant. My thoughts were all so scrambled. I finally took it from him, the touch of his fingers burning. “Thanks,” I pressed my lips together and nodded.

  “I should be thanking you,” he corrected. We stared at each other for a while, smiling awkwardly at each other. I couldn’t hold his gaze. I would switch between his eyes, the blades of grass, the faraway trees, and the cloudless skies.

  Just then, the teachers called us to the school bus, and that was the last time I’d ever been alone with Don. I kept the picture of him and me in my drawer and looked at it all the time. I never forgot that moment on the field trip. In fact, I memorized every moment of that moment. He was the reason I’d stupidly managed to cover the kitchen in chocolate. It was supposed to be my Valentine’s Day gift to him. I should’ve known that nothing good could ever come from that holiday, or anything related.

  Ever since that field trip, I’d never gotten the chance to really talk to Don. I could never work up the courage to do so. Instead, I would stare at him as he hung out in the halls and Angelo would laugh at me. He thought it was pathetic, especially since he got a girlfriend.

  To this day, I never understood why Don didn’t come up and talk to me again. That moment we had so much chemistry. He was such a sweetheart. I truly thought that he liked me, or at least wanted to be friends with me. But when we came back to school the around him was rather unfriendly. I didn’t even post the pictures on Facebook. We weren’t even Facebook friends. It was weird. I really didn’t understand. What, then, was that moment all about? Was it because he knew nobody else was watching? Huh. Just as I thought; another insecure teen too focused on self-image and reputation to follow through what he started. I’m sure he’ll grow up to be a fine man…

  See, this is the bad thing about crushing on someone. Sometimes you like them, and sometimes you want to just murder them.

  Needless to say, I’ve kicked my enthusiasm for pictures and started taking down notes the “normal” way. Haven’t touched my digital camera in two years.

  “Ruby!” Angelo’s voice pulled me back into reality. “Don’t tell me you’re daydreaming about Vernal again.”

  “Since when have I ever daydreamed about him?” I said defensively, moving my arm as if I were trying to shoo away a fly. But Angelo definitely was a pest. My best pest friend.

  “Always,” he answered matter of factly, “and I’m sure much more than you’ll ever honestly say.”

  “Shut up,” I slapped his arm… with my chemistry book.

  “So you were thinking about him!” he accused. Oh, he was really asking for it. “Well, I guess it’s the time of the year for that.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, stopping myself mid-punch. Angelo pointed towards the nearby cork board. The entire thing was adorned in red and pink hearts of different sizes with a giant “Happy Valentines’ Day” in the middle. “Oh, right. Stupid, huh?”

  “It’s not stupid,” he shrugged, leaning back against the lockers. “It’s Valentines’ Day.”

  “Valentines’ Day is stupid,” I commented.

  “It’s not stupid,” Angelo disagreed.

  “Look,” I sighed, “we have this same argument every single year. I say it’s stupid. You say it isn’t. I say it is. You say it isn’t and then ask me why I think it’s stupid even if you know the answer. I tell you because everyone acts stupid. Then you say love is blind. Then I accuse you of calling blind people stupid. Then you talk about your blind cousin who has a PhD in… I forgot.”

  “Teaching,” he reminds me.

  “Yeah, that,” I nodded and then turned to face my locker again, struggling to remember why I’d opened it in the first place.

  “You seem angry today,” he pointed out.

  “Not angry,” I qualified. “Just… frustrated, I guess? You know I always get like this at this time of the year.”

  “I still don’t understand why, though,” he said.

  “Like I said, because everyone acts stupid,” I repeated.

  “You know when you say everyone you mean yourself, too, right?” he smiled wryly. I chucked my chemistry book at him. Angelo always loved to annoy me most when I was already annoyed. “Seriously, what’s the problem?” he asked.

  “I was just thinking that I don’t understand why Don never talked to me about what happened,” I murmured. While I was angry at Don for acting as if that moment never happened, I respected his need for privacy. I never told anyone about it except for Angelo. I never made a scene about it, a vague status update. Nothing.

  “Well maybe now’s the time for you to talk to him,” Angelo shrugged.

  “Why? Because it’s Valentine’s Day?” I scoffed. “Yeah right.”

  “Not so much because it’s Valentine’s Day,” he explained. “But that’s part of it, I guess. The main part is that he and Melissa Kier broke up.”

  “What?” my eyebrows scrunched together.

  “Don Vernal. Melissa Kier. Splitsville. They are no longer together. They have ceased to be-”

  “I understood what you meant,” I snapped. “I’m just a little surprised. How do you know?”

  “I hear things,” Angelo said passively.

  “Why haven’t I heard anything?” I challenged.

  “Do you sit with anyone besides me at lunch?” he began.

  “No…”

  “Do you pay attention to girls gossiping in the locker rooms during gym class?”

  “No…”

  “Do you pay attention to girls gossiping in the girls’ bathroom?”

  “No…” Angelo gave me a satisfied smile. “All right, I see your point.”

  “So are you going to go talk to him or what?” he asked grumpily.

  “I don’t think so,” I shook my head and turned to face my locker again. I still couldn’t remember what I was looking for.

  “Okay,” he said and bent down. He picked up my Chemistry book. “But who knows, you might have chemistry.”

  “Shut up,” I took the book and shoved it back in my locker.

  “So, you and me still on for the anti-Valentine’s karaoke fest?” he asked.

  “You mean our annual tradition of mocking Valentine’s Day by singing lame love songs all night?” I chuckled. “Honestly I can’t remember how this tradition started.”

  “I told you that maybe if you sang love songs you’d understand why people love Valentine’s Day,” he reminded.

  “Oh, right. Looks like you were wrong,” I grinned.

  “So is that a ‘yes’?” he asked.

  “Of course it is,” I rolled m
y eyes. “Unless you suddenly have a girlfriend or something.”

  “Nah,” he shook his head. “The only girl for me isn’t interested.”

  “You know, you keep talking about this girl, but you never tell me who she is,” I finally shut my locker, giving up any hope of remembering what it was I needed.

  “You aren’t interested,” Angelo leaned onto the lockers.

  “You’re right, I’m not,” I turned to face him and laughed. He pressed his lips together and nodded, and then shifted his gaze onto the heart-filled cork board.

  “So un-original,” he muttered.

  “Yeah,” I agreed.

  “Well, I’ll see you around, Ruby,” Angelo walked away.

  “Looks like I’m not the only one in a bad mood today,” I muttered. “Looks like my cynicism is rubbing off on him.”

  I turned to face my locker. I knew there was something that I needed. I opened it again and scanned the books, hoping I would be able to remember. I sighed and slammed it shut again.

  Just then I heard the sound of falling papers. I turned to see Don Vernal, crouching on the floor and gather flyers. I found myself going near and crouching down to help him. Keeping my eyes on the ground, I handed them to him when I was finished, “Here.”

  “Thanks,” I could hear the smile in his voice. We both stood up. “Ruby, hi,” he said.

  This time I looked up to face him. His hair was a little longer. He’d lost some weight. His build was a little larger, too. But his eyes were the same. Kind and dark. “Hi, Don,” I managed to choke out.

  “Thanks again for helping,” he fiddled with his stack of flyers.

  “No problem,” I smiled. We both just stood there for a while. I was looking down at the floor and, then, at the flyers. I tried to make conversation, “So, you’re putting up flyers for the Valentine’s Day fair, huh?”

  “Yeah, I’m part of the committee for setting it up,” he nodded. “We’re trying to look for a decent band to play a concert, so we’re hoping these flyers will draw in interested parties.”