Dear Me.

Dear Me.

I'm writing from a place far in your future. 10 years may seem like a lifetime away; I know you feel as though you are molding in loneliness waiting for the 'best' part of your life to begin. Right now, you've never driven a car, never loved a boy, never had a true best friend and never been left broken-hearted. You have so much in your future just in the year that stretches eagerly before you that I have to pause to even consider where to begin.
I think we all have regrets; for the most part, I try not to. What's the point? But since the purpose of this is to give you advice, I suppose for the moment I can divulge a few things that bite at my heels.

First of all, dump your current boyfriend. He is of no use to you and your future; only scarring you and succeeding at making you feel small like him. You are loud, rambunctious and spirited; revel in every second of that energy and life. Becoming an adult tames that spirit; and while that blue flame ignites in me every once in a while, for the most part it's shelved in my past. So don't let him make you feel ashamed for being the loudest person in the room; it's what draws them all to you--like a moth to a flame.
You will find in your life that people want to be your friend, because you are a good one. Hold dear to that cluster of girls that you have accumulated; they will be your life-raft in rough waters, even after you graduate. Sure, one day you will move on and up in the world, either geographically or into distant phases of unparalleled lives, but you will always have the memories and the pictures that you made. Those girls, that friendship, made you who I am today.

Stop wasting moments in your life by longing for your one great love. It will happen in it's own time--you will fall in love and it will be great, for a while. But like most things, great loves are more satisfying in the movies. Instead, realize that great loves can come in all shapes in sizes--from the dog whose life you saved to the girlfriends who get you through times that are not so great. It is so hard to see for the anticipation clouds your vision--but enjoy your life as it is, without the complication and responsibility that love brings. You have plenty of time for complication in the future; enjoy the simplicity of the moment--because it too will quickly pass.
And when you meet him, you will be blindsided. He will be nothing you thought you wanted and everything you needed. And just when you find yourself completely dependant on him and your future is dangling by a thread, he leaves you. Some days I would warn you to avoid him at all costs; to not allow yourself to believe that you have a lifelong future with him. When he leaves, you will be destroyed. But, but, you will also be left with a valuable life lesson. You may not love as all-encompassing anymore, but you will love logically, healthily and in the end, more genuinely. You will find power in a love that makes you independent--love shouldn't cripple you, shouldn't make you feel inadequate.
But I want you to love him--to feel the unique joy of a first love. Your heart is open and pure; it's the only time in your life you'll be that away, aside for the love you feel for your own child. Enjoy that slow dance at prom and those first glorious days during spring where you soared with the heightened transformation of new love. It's an amazing time in your life. Feel the wind in your hair of those great heights--don't rush through it--because soon enough the gravity of love and growing up will force you back down again.
You will learn so much from him that I will risk the devastating pain in order for you to learn those lessons. I believe we are who we are from the circumstances before us and how we overcome them. Your heart will still be open--it remains so even today--you will bounce back quickly.
You will find that when life gets hard--you get stronger. Knowing that about yourself is half the battle.
On that note--I do want to advise you to listen to that small voice. Know yourself enough to know when it's time to say goodbye. I believe you missed out on a lot senior year of high school as you grasped on to a future that wasn't meant to be. As impossible as it may seem, let him go. You know, it your heart, it's over--trust yourself and watch the boys fall out of the woodwork--there will be one in particular you will always wonder about.

Relish every moment on stage. Audition for Crimson despite what anyone tells you. When you sing without fear, you're not half bad. Don't let any one's doubt crack a hole in your self-esteem. Become OK with disagreeing with your parents; just because they believe something differently doesn't make you wrong or them right. Once you over-come the obstacle of their acceptance--it's when they will truly accept you.

Stand in a mirror and really see yourself. You will look back at photographs and marvel at how beautiful you were. Cut your hair short, I mean really short, but only after homecoming senior year.

When you graduate, take all that money and put it in a savings account--don't blow it decorating your apartment. Apply to Oglethorpe but go to Georgia State your first year--regardless of what your boyfriend's plans are. Go into the City and get lost; over come your fears. Your directional sense and independence in that regard will be a huge chunk of your identity when you get older.

Don't live at home--live in the dorms. Never tell Mom where your really going--it's all part of being in college. You are responsible and mature; trust, trust, trust yourself.

No matter how foolish it sounds--write, write and then write some more. Forget psychology (still double major in sociology though--those classes speak to the very core of who you are and validate you as a person). Don't be so concerned with making money; instead, be concerned with being content. Major in something like creative writing. It's our belief that life will work out that makes it so. Believe, write and keep skipping those classes. Your college days pass in an unbelievable blur.

Of all the regrets I stew over in my mind, marrying Anth at such a young age is not one of them. Sure, life would have been easier; I could have lived pretty much carefree from my apartment under my parents--but what kind of life is that? It's the hardships and the challenges that sharpen you, that transform you, whether for better or for worse. That, well, that is what you choose--whether these things will make you best version of yourself or the worst.

But of all the advise I've just given you, you must take this one piece to heart: ignore most of what I've told you. Don't change one step in a different direction; otherwise I may be writing you from a very different place right now. Life with a different perspective may not have led me to Anthony and then inevitably to Oliver--and that is not something I would ever risk. And no matter what I preach--you will never be able to get to where I am without passing through those treacherous woods of adolescence. Sure, I look back with regret because I didn't know better. Now I do--it's the seemingly unfair contradiction of growing up.

Just know that your life in the future is small but meaningful. The plans we felt so sure about scattered to the wind but our life is a charmed one. Just plan to be surprised. Plan to be happy.

I'm sure I'll write you again in another ten years. Have fun in high school and trust me--things will get easier.

Love always,
Me.

Sometimes I write and it feels so good. My words, my mind--they're in sync and I can't doubt my dreams.
A little bit of what I'm talking about, Willis.
Writing is so much fun.

It wasn’t about having him all to herself, she decided, as she settled in the last row of the library, where she knew she would be undisturbed. It was knowing that Mason couldn’t have both—her and them. It was the innocent look in his deep brown eyes that pained her; there were politics in the works that he couldn’t possibly be aware of and he surely wouldn’t understand; not yet anyway.
They would make him choose.
He could either have them—a huge variety of friends and a thousand different memories in the making: prom, parties, dates, senior trips and a strong friend base. Or he could have her, just her; sharing the unbearable, miserable curse of being an outcast. He couldn’t have them both and there were no compromises in this area. Mason may have been unbearably naive but Ellie knew how things worked around this school.
Ellie couldn’t blame him for the choice he would inevitably make; she only resented his ability to have one. She never got the option.
Being alone, she finally let the tears come. She cried for Mason Riley and the impossible connection they shared; she cried for the way things were in her life and the desire for change that never seemed to realize; she cried for a future she felt would never come; but mostly she cried because she was unhappy.
When Ellie finally gained composure, a small part of her felt the tiniest bit relieved. Because in those small, insignificant hours, Ellie discovered through Mason Riley that she was in fact still a human capable of love, capable of intense emotion. Sometimes she couldn’t help but become the creature the rumors swirled about—cold, unlovable, inhuman. She lived life in a constant state of numbness because of how she was treated. It was a vicious cycle. Life was just too painful.
But she wasn’t cold and she wasn’t dead. No, behind her exquisite beauty and hard, bitter exterior, Ellie believed in love. She longed for a love that would change her; that would save her from the unfortunate circumstances that fate had bestowed upon her.
Ellie would never admit to this; but something stirred inside her like a great wind. It was a tiny voice in the back of her mind, telling her that she was meant for something more. She felt a great, majestic power in the blood that pumped through her veins. It was an instinct that pushed her to fight against her cold reality; that whispered secrets of a better life. She was exceptional and she knew it. Yet it was as if she wasn’t created to live in this world; she was designed for another that she couldn’t quite find.
It was the only explanation Ellie could come to as to why she was treated the way she was. It went against human nature to reject someone so beautiful. She should be adored, respected and coveted. Instead, she was isolated—like the only one of its kind on an alien planet; she felt as if she were a different life-form.
Ellie constantly boiled on the frustration of it all; she felt as if the entire truth was told to her every night in her dreams; yet in the morning, all the words she understood in her sleep made no sense in the gray breaking of the dawn. She could feel the ticking of time passing on her bones, wasting precious time; her life was wrong and every misstep added more weight she couldn’t bear.
Ellie always envisioned herself as a wild cat born into captivity. Sure, she was cared for and complacent; but something just wasn’t quite right. It burned in her mind, never ceased, never decreased in power; but she couldn’t quite jump the confining walls of her life. She didn’t know how.
If only she had someone to show her. Maybe then she could escape to the life, the world, she was created for.
Ellie would never admit this, no, because despite what her instincts screamed at her, she couldn’t help but believe in its foolishness. It was a far-fetched and outlandish fantasy; one Ellie believed in only to get her through each day.
But unconsciously she hoped; it is much easier that way.
Mason stirred things in Ellie that she wasn’t able to deal with. He opened doors that were bolted shut; roused emotions that baffled her. She hurt in a way she never had before; because she couldn’t deny that she felt something, a strong and penetrating and meaningful shock to her system. It was ridiculous and illogical, but it was real, whether Mason felt it or not.
As she settled at the long wooden table that stretched along the back wall of the library, Ellie wiped away the remaining tears and exhaled. At least she was still able to love, to find a connection in this world she didn’t belong in.
Ellie at least could take comfort in that.

Just a little something I'm working on...

...don't be too hard on me yet...just a little piece of fiction that stemmed from a dream I had...in the early very rough stages of writing...figure if I put it out in the universe, good things will come... So I guess I'm practicing the secret now...

Eleanor Von Dee often wondered how God could make her so extraordinarily beautiful yet so ordinary. She didn’t wonder this out of vanity as she combed through her long, dark hair, sweeping it effortlessly behind her porcelain shoulder. No, Eleanor wasn’t vain nor was she conceited.
She was lonely.
Eleanor noticed at a startling young age—the tender age of five—that she was different than everyone else. She was aware of the world by the age of two and grasped a third language by three. She was faster, taller, stronger and smarter than anyone she knew. But what alienated people from her—what made people gasp and shuffle away—was not what she was capable of. No. Unless you were a first hand witness, Eleanor would never make a show of her abilities.
It was the perfect proportion of her body; the beautiful curve of her cheek; the sparkling blue of her eyes; the purple-black-brown tint of her hair. Every aspect of her physical appearance blended together so perfectly passerby’s often questioned if she was real, if she was alive.
Because of this—because of her perfect beauty—boys were too utterly intimidated to talk to her and girls despised her immediately—regardless of how amiable Eleanor was. The truth of the matter was—they all feared her, knowing she was much more than what she seemed. She was exceptional, brilliant, well spoken and remarkably beautiful yet humble and serene. Perfection in one person—well, lets just say perfection makes more enemies than friends.
But, as Eleanor would often argue with herself, she was not perfect. She had one visible blemish—a birthmark in the shape of a diamond, just on the inside of her wrist. Like a tattoo, it was many shades darker than her creamy, ivory skin tone. It was ruddy and unremarkable; Eleanor took great comfort in this. Something about her was normal; she too had flaws just like everyone else.
Yet all attempts at a normal life were in vain—because Eleanor was not a normal girl.
Only it was not time, not yet, for her to discover that.
So she remained lonely.
Eleanor sighed at her reflection, so perfect, even in the dim light of the morning. Even though she was beautiful, it didn’t please her. Like every morning, Eleanor wished she could look just like everyone else.
She took one last look at her bedroom for the day, perched high in the attic of the old house. The walls were blue and fading, the dark lines of the white-washed wood seeping through. Doubled glass doors led out onto the widow’s peak; from there she could admire the dark shadow of the ocean. Her bed was large and plush with hand-sewn pillows and a white down comforter that seemed to call to her on this particular morning.
Eleanor’s bedroom was her favorite place to be even if it constantly reminded her of what she was sorely missing.
The walls were bare; no heart-throb posters or collages of friends. The only pictures were stuck in the corner of the extravagant white rod iron and mosaic mirror that stretched floor to ceiling. The first picture was one of her entire family; the only people that shared her blood and loved her. Her Mother, Rosaline and her Father Patrick were casually lounging on the beach not a block from where Eleanor’s room overlooked. They were laughing; she could hear the boom of her Father’s voice in her thoughts even though it had been a decade since she last heard it. A car accident took his life and the easy happiness he brought.
In the picture, Eleanor was in her Father’s arms, squirming as most 5 year olds do. Her brother, Michael, was 15 and prosaic. Even awkward and lean, he seemed majestic, especially to Eleanor. Ever since her Father’s passing, Michael was but a ghost to her and her Mother, only visiting once or twice a year. She didn’t hold it against him. Even Eleanor felt the heaviness of his presence within the four walls of the home and in the memory of their Mother.
“Ellie!” Her mother, Rosa, called urgently up the stairs.
“I’m coming” She mumbled as she finished dressing.
She scurried lightly down the wooden creaking staircase that led from her bedroom to the bottom floor, three flights down. Her hand glided along the banister, enjoying the smooth feel of the worn wood. She hated leaving her home, begging her Mother for years to let her be home schooled. Eleanor knew it was an improbable option, especially since graduation was only two months away.
Rosa waited impatiently on the bottom floor. Even though Eleanor saw her Mother every day, she was still sometimes taken aback by her mother’s beauty. Her Mother was a ray of hope; striking beautiful, like Eleanor, she lived a normal life with many friends. Eleanor hoped one day she would be as loved as her Rosa; she dreamed of college where her life would inevitably change for the better. For things couldn’t get any worse.
Rosa Von Dee shared her daughter’s sparkling and intimidating eyes. But her hair was ash blonde and silky and long and flowing, unlike other mother’s her age that had cropped theirs short. Like Eleanor, there was nothing average or quaint about her.
“You’re going to be late” Rosa scolded her absentmindedly, her eyes scanning the length of her daughter’s body, “Is that what you’re wearing?”
Eleanor rolled her eyes, “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“Could you dress a little drabber?” Rosa sniffed. She shuffled through her metallic bag, “Here, at least put on some lip gloss”
Eleanor shuffled self-consciously underneath the baggy sweatshirt but because it was so large, her movement was hidden. She looked down at her jeans and black sneakers with very little shame; she did whatever she could to blend it. She ignored Rosa who returned her lip gloss with a frustrated sigh.
“It won’t help” Rosa commented, seemingly able to read her mind, “You cannot hide who you are, my love”
Eleanor stomped out, discouraged by the fact that her mother was right. Regardless of whether she wore the dumpy sweatshirt for the third day in a row or the beautiful form fitting turquoise cashmere sweater that hung unworn in her closet—her mother was right. No one would talk to her yet everyone would notice her.
The sky was an undiluted blue, the clouds a frothy pink tint to yellow sunlight that fell happily down. It was going to be a cold yet beautiful day. Rosa drove hastily down twisting, slick roads but Eleanor didn’t flinch. She had long grown used to her mother’s chaotic driving.
Eleanor stiffened when her brown brick high school rose out of the green trees. She dreaded this moment and the hours that followed every day. Relief of leaving at the end of the day dissipated as the next loomed. It was a terrible way to live.
After cutting three people off, Rosa swerved and stopped quickly in front of the school. Eleanor had to stop herself with her hand from flying into the windshield. “Goodbye, Rosaline, behave today” Eleanor joked forlornly.
Rosa smiled sadly, “Have a nice day, my love.”
Eleanor grunted in response and hoisted herself out of the low-lying car. She heard a few honks in the distance behind her and Eleanor knew, without looking, that her mother was gone.
She shuffled wearily into the crowd of students that walked numbly around her. It was the start of another school day, one that seemed as familiar as the day before. Eleanor had learned to ignore the glances that flickered her way; she snuffed out the hope that these momentary looks of interest would lead to something more; but alas, no one talked to her—just like the day before.
She sat in the first row, her assigned seat in homeroom. Eleanor groaned at the thought of assigned seating; she hated being treated like a child.
Her teacher, Mrs. Green, looked over the roster, checking to see which students were absent. Her eyes stopped on Eleanor before quickly moving away. Even the teachers were uncomfortable around her.
“Um, Eleanor?” A hesitant voice called behind her.
Eleanor jumped in shock; unused to having her name spoken during these set hours. She spun around quickly. A boy looked at her with wide, alarmed eyes. His pupils dilated, as most boys’ did when their thoughts turned to her, but his face was red with alarm.
“Yes?” Eleanor asked hopefully. Her voice was high, like the tinkling of a bell.
“Your chair is sitting on my book bag” He mumbled, afraid. Eleanor looked down in disappointment; sure enough, her chair sat on the black strap of his bag. Behind him, the class had grown quiet, inordinately interested in their interaction. Eleanor frowned as she picked up her desk and the boy removed his bag. He returned to his seat without a backward glance.
What have I ever done? She asked herself angrily. Why is everyone so scared of me?
She replayed countless years in her mind as she did most mornings—as if trying to solve a riddle that didn’t make sense. She grew up in this small school, had class with the same people every year. Yet nothing ever changed; they eyed her with suspicious awe and kept their distance.
Even new students avoided her. Eleanor recalled the first day of school for Bridgett Pickett, the blonde head cheerleader. She sat at Eleanor’s empty lunch table; sure that Eleanor was someone to know. Before the end of their first conversation, Bridgett was so nervous she couldn’t finish her lunch. The cafeteria had all but stopped and was observing them as if they were in a glass tank at the zoo. Bridgett fled before the lunch bell rang and never looked in Eleanor’s direction again.
“We’ve got a new student.” Mrs. Green announced, halting all side conversations. “Mr. Riley, will you please stand so I can introduce you”
All the heads in the class turned and a low hushed murmur broke out. Eleanor didn’t even bother turning her head, what did it matter to her anyway? She buried her face into her arms, shielding her eyes and thoughts. A new student meant one more person destined to ignore her.
Mrs. Green’s voice, although muffled, still penetrated her thoughts, “Class, this is Mason Riley. Please go out of your way to make him feel at home. Mr. Riley, would you like to say something about yourself?”
He laughed hesitantly; something familiar drew her attention. Eleanor lifted her head and slightly turned. He was blocked by a row of girls perched higher than the rest—almost jumping out of their seats to get his attention.
Just great, Eleanor thought miserably, fresh meat.
She couldn’t see his face, only the slender muscles of his arms and the ivory color of his skin. Even though she knew better, her interest piqued. Jen Smith’s red head shifted slightly and Eleanor got a quick glimpse of him. He was tall—taller than Eleanor and the rest of the boys at school—with messy dark hair that had a golden tint. He had a square jaw but skin that seemed worn for his age and tone. His eyes carried a wisdom that intrigued her. He looked older than 17; wiser than a senior in high school.
Eleanor gasped as she took him in; he was unequivocally the most beautiful male she had ever seen. It was no wonder the girls were practically wagging their tongues at him. He was a stunning tribute to perfection. She was happy to admit that his beauty rivaled hers.
Although impossible with the excited chatter, Mason seemed to hear her intake of breath.
His eyes flickered to Eleanor. She waited for them to leave her, to see the familiar look of fear and awe, but they didn’t. His gaze held steady, a flash of recognition registered and then left, but their eye-contact never broke.
Eleanor thought her heart would split down it’s seam. Only seconds had passed but it felt like hours. Mason smiled at her, so small, that almost no one noticed.
Almost.
Jen Smith turned around and scowled at her. Eleanor smiled in response. Even being hated was better than being ignored.
Shaken and unnerved, Eleanor quickly ducked her head as she slid further down into her seat.
What is a matter with you? She asked herself harshly as she fumbled with a pen between her fingers. He’s a new student. Of course he’s interested. But don’t think his interest will hold. But there is something about him…
In that moment, Eleanor knew she was doomed.
She convinced herself he wasn’t looking at her; it would be easier to deal with the disappointment later if she convinced herself that the moment that passed between them was a figment of her imagination…
The homeroom bell rang and the students around her buzzed excitedly. A new student was big news—especially when there was so little to discuss in the small coastal town. Eleanor didn’t dare look in his direction as she slowly collected her things, but she could hear the gaggle of girls surrounding him and pelting him with superficial questions. He seemed disinterested as he tried push through them.
Lost in eavesdropping, Eleanor dropped her book. It landed with a sharp smack against the floor, causing several of her classmates to look in her direction. Embarrassed, she bent to reach for it but it was already gone. Instead, a hand held it out for her.
Holding her breath, she took it, knowing who stood before her without looking. No one else would have thought to help her. No one else would have even noticed.
“I think you dropped this” His said, amused. Eleanor was afraid of drawing her eyes up.
She stood and smoothed out her sweatshirt. She winced, wishing for once she had chosen to wear the dress instead. She took in a deep breath and looked him square in the eye. He smiled at her, completely comfortable and at-ease.
“Thank you” She whispered nervously.
“Um, Mason” Jen’s hand was on his shoulder, “Why don’t I walk you to your next class?” She asked; her tone heavy with provocation. Eleanor stuffed the book in her bag, her face hot with embarrassment. She scolded herself for allowing herself to hope, if only for a second, that this new guy would be any different from all the rest. The general weariness of the student population made her the high school equivalent of the plague.
Eleanor pushed past them, her eyes on the floor in front of her.
“Thanks, uh, what was your name again?” Mason asked absentmindedly, his eyes following Eleanor.
“Jen” She answered indignantly.
Mason shrugged out from under Jen’s hand, “Could you show me where my next class is?” His hand reached out and grabbed Eleanor’s arm just before she was out of reach. Eleanor paused in shock, her eyes on his long fingers that gripped her sleeve.
She summoned all the anger she could stand and shot him a scathing look.
It will hurt less if you push him away. She thought to herself. You know how this will end regardless.
She swung the strap of her bag over her shoulder as she yanked her arm away. Eleanor was out of the classroom and away from him in a few seconds. Or so she thought.
“Um, excuse me, Eleanor?” Mason was matching her frantic pace step for step, “I kind of blew Jen off so if you could show me to my next class, I’d really appreciate it. It’s chemistry with Mr. Cobb.”
Eleanor stopped and looked furiously around, “OK, what is this, a dare? A trick?”
She searched down the hall in the direction from which they came, “Something to initiate you into their little popular club?”
Mason was startled and dumbfounded as he struggled to catch on. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re the first person I’ve talked to”
“Other than Jen” Eleanor scoffed as she crossed her arms.
“OK, let me rephrase. You’re the first person I’ve wanted to talk to”
Eleanor smirked darkly as she came to a realization. “Ah, so it’s ignorance.” She turned on her heel and continued down the hall. Mason followed, still baffled in her wake.
“Eleanor, I don’t know where I’m going” Mason called over the hoards of students that tried to separate them in the crowd. He continued following her onto the next hall. She abruptly stopped and turned, fire burning intensely in her eyes, “Here is your class. Have a nice day! And by the way, not that it will matter to you, but my name is Ellie”
“Did I do something?” Mason asked. His mouth turned down into the hard line of a frown.
Her hard exterior cracked a little as he looked helplessly into her eyes. “No, you didn’t do anything. I’m just doing you a favor” She mumbled weakly.
“By being unfriendly?”
Eleanor bit back a smile. “After your next class, I promise you won’t want to be my friend anymore”
“And why is that?”
Eleanor struggled to find the right words for the reason. Everyone mulled about them seemingly distracted but she had the distinct feeling all sideward glances were on them, “Let’s just say I’m not the person you want to befriend if you want to be a social climber”
Mason eyes sparkled, pleased to receive a non-hostile response. “Let’s say I’m the kind of person who doesn’t care about rank.”
Eleanor shied away from him but inside was an internal battle. Part of her knew better than to trust his kindness; it was surely fleeting. But the other half wanted to get lost in his warmth, to trust his interest. “You must care a little, if I’m the first person you sought out to talk to”
Mason shook his head as he held up his hand, “Wait a minute, I’m confused.”
“I’m going to sound conceited…” Eleanor blushed, “…but I think it’s safe to say that the only reason you talked to me was because I’m beautiful.”
“Well, I suppose part of that reasoning is correct. No one could deny that” Mason rubbed the back of his neck uneasily, “So, connect the dots for me. I’m still a little confused”
“You say you’re not a social climber yet you seek out someone who fits the conventional mold of popularity. I’m beautiful therefore I must be popular…” Eleanor forced back tears, determined to keep her voice steady and unemotional.
“My, you’ve thought this out”
“Let’s just say you’re not the first new guy who didn’t know better” She said bitterly.
“And what happened?”
“Take a wild guess. I’m not exactly surrounded by friends now am I?” Eleanor’s voice wavered just a little.
“Maybe it’s your warm welcoming” Mason suggested dryly, with just the hint of a grin.
Eleanor couldn’t help but laugh, “Maybe”
They stood awkwardly together in silence.
“I think you’re nice.” Mason said sheepishly, “And you’re beautiful. I don’t know why anyone wouldn’t want to be your friend.”
Eleanor shrugged. That was a question she often wondered herself. “Go to class and I’m sure you’ll get an earful.”
“Will you show me to my next class?” Mason asked hopefully.
Eleanor turned from him, pretending to look down the hall when really she was wiping away a single tear. “You won’t want that. Trust me.”
“Wait for me here.” Mason pled. His hand reached up and touched the edge of her chin, forcing their eyes to meet. Eleanor fought back her suspicions, her doubts, and her fears and let herself be overcome with hope. Maybe she had found a friend after all. From the alarming warmth that spread over her body, she deduced she may have found something more.
“I’ll be here” Eleanor whispered. With a wink, Mason disappeared into the crowded classroom. Watching him walk into the buzzing room filled her with instant dread. Eleanor hoped he would keep his word.
She watched through the small square window that was perfectly center in the door. Jen had a seat open next to her and she eagerly encouraged Mason to sit. When her lips began moving rapidly, Eleanor pulled herself away. She didn’t have to guess as to who Jen was warning her about. Now it was all up to Mason.
The dark reality of what would probably happen tugged at her thoughts. If he wasn’t waiting for her, if Mason passed her by as if he didn’t know her, just like many had done before, Eleanor knew it would hurt her deeply. Anger flared up quickly, unable to believe she had allowed herself to be so vulnerable, especially with someone she just met. But she was unable to resist him; and if her predictions were correct, as they so often were, her heart would be utterly crushed into a thousand sparkling pieces.

Last Few Thankfuls

Thankfuls:

20. Facebook: It connects us all and eliminates the awkwardness of small talk. Even if you haven't seen them in years, you know that they went to the doctors last week or whatever. I love that we can all keep tabs on each other, see pictures of each other's kids and be apart of each other's lives--even if it's from a distance.

21. The Holiday Season: This year I feel all warm and fuzzy and I find it much easier to slow down and enjoy it. I have become Christmas crazy at home--decorating for a 10.5 month old who has no idea what's going on. He loves the lights in the windows, though, and screams at them (that's how he tells us he wants something--he screams). Anyway, its an excuse to get together, to have heartwarming moments with your family and to tap into your inner child.

22. Burt's Bee's Lip Balm

23. A strong, healthy body: It's amazing what our bodies are capable of. I grew a child with ease, bore it and was able to clean house two days later. Although I wasn't a huge fan of pregnancy, my body handled it beautifully. I'm hardly ever sick and I tend to hang on to weight rather than lose it, but I still love my body--fat shelf and all. I think of my friend Sara always at this time of year--she was the healthiest person I knew--ballerina, so happy and full of life--yet died from leukemia--she was so young. It makes you appreciate your body your health--and realize that all of it can change in an instant-- you're healthy until your not.

24. Two old friends that recently came back into my life--Brandi and Michelle. I am thrilled to be in contact with both of them. Holes were filled I didn't know existed--my life feeling so well rounded with them in it.


25. Indoor plumbing, central heat and air, a roof over my head and the ability to feed my child.

26. That I was donor conceived. I know most would find this an odd thing to be thankful for--but I find that I feel special because of it. Plus, the possibility that I may find siblings (a sister!) one of these days is something I forever hope for and look forward to. There is a sense of mystery to my heritage--and a sense of curiosity I think about all the time. So many men probably think I'm checking them out in the check-out line, but instead I'm pondering, "Could he be my father?"
It's not to say I feel incomplete--I'm not looking for another father. I'm mostly curious.

27. The feeling that I'm being called to do something--finally on the right path, things fitting neatly into place for the first time in years, no more floundering and the faith that it will all work out for me (oh, how I've missed you, faith) I am more myself--I found that hope, that dream, that confidence that so long as been missing.

28. Photo books. I love them--they take up much less room, look uber cute on a shelf and contain a years worth of photographs in one tiny little book

29. My job--sure, sometimes I complain--but it could be so much worse (right, Mom?) My supervisor and I get along personally very well. I don't dread coming to work--and when things are slow--I can write. The pay is decent and the job is easy and there is hope of promotion on the horizon. I understand I was put in this job for a reason. Plus, its something interesting Anth and I have in common--to come home from work to discuss aspects of cases we've worked on. It's a pretty cool thing.

30. "Fall Into Me"--the manuscript I'm working on, getting better and better by the day. It is the first project I've ever obsessed over--I feel like I already know how to write, that I have killer instincts (please don't judge me from this blog--its verbal vomit on here) and I am unlocking every thing I know with every page I write. It is a glorious thing--to have something that gives you a glimpse of your future.