Under the Mistletoe

“We’re under the mistletoe,” he whispered nervously, taking me in his arms. 

If only you knew how much I have longed for this my body sighed as my mind raced back in time.

I was fourteen years old, starting Middle School in a city a thousand miles from the only home I’d know:  a new state, a new town, a new school, new people…no wait I’m the new one I thought, looking around.  Seventh grade: awkward, shy, self-conscious.  First Hour:  Orchestra:  Music Room 1.

Peeking through the narrow window I saw several students in conversation and a dark-haired boy sitting by himself reading a science-fiction book.  Perhaps I can sneak in and no one will see me.  Pushing the door open I took a step forward but stopped short when the dark-haired boy looked up over his book.  In an instant I was knocked to the floor by a girl rushing into the room behind me.  She tripped and fell on top of me, sending the contents of her backpack in all directions.  That was Dawna.

We stared at each other for a second then laughed until we couldn’t breathe.  “I didn’t know you were going to stop like that,” she apologized, refusing the boy’s offer to help her up.  He extended his hand to me.  I took it and was no sooner on my feet before he let go, wiped his hands on his jeans and returned to his book.  “Thanks,” I muttered toward his retreating form.  He turned and nodded

Dawna would be in every one of my classes that year and it didn’t take long for us to become the best of friends.

The dark-haired boy, Scott, was a freshman and would be going to the high school the following year.  We only saw him in first hour orchestra; all year we tried to get him to talk, with no success.  All we got was the occasional smile, a raised eyebrow, and a silly nickname: ‘the dynamic-duo’.

“Guess I’ll see you kids at the high school in a few years,” he said on the last day of school.  When he smiled his brown eyes glittered with golden flecks.  I wished I could look into those eyes forever.  I caught one last glimpse of Scott as he hopped aboard his bus for his last ride home from Middle School.

***Break here for chapter two

Two years later I was a sophomore on a mission.  The new girl persona had disappeared and I had settled into my new surroundings like a native.  Look out, high school, here I come I thought confidently.  First Hour:  Orchestra:  Music Room 1.  I smiled at my schedule knowing there was only one orchestra hour and if Scott was still playing his violin, he would be there.  With Dawna on my heels I turned the corner, flung open the double doors, and stopped dead in my tracks.  In the next split-second Scott looked up from his book and Dawna ran in to me, knocked me to the floor and fell on top of me. 

Scott cocked his head, raised an eyebrow, and stood, grinning.  “How familiar:  the dynamic-duo strikes out again,” he teased. 

“Listen; he speaks,” Dawna mocked, waving away his helping hand and scrambling to her feet.   

“Please, allow me.”  Scott chivalrously knelt beside me until I’d caught my breath, then stood and pulled me to my feet, holding my hands a moment longer than necessary.  I looked into his brown eyes and he gazed back.  “I’ve been waiting for you to get here.”

It was my turn to be speechless. 

Scott, now a senior, had become my classic image of ‘tall, dark, and handsome’.  He had to have grown two feet taller since I’d last seen him.  Orchestra was our only class together, but we had the same lunch period.  The months passed:  by Halloween he’d hold my hand at lunch;  by Thanksgiving, I wore his class ring on a silver chain around my neck; and by December he had almost kissed me.

The day before Christmas break Dawna sat at the lunch table shaking her head as Scott walked away.  “Geez,” she sighed.  “He kissed your hand.”  She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly as she reached up and removed the barrette from her hair.  “You need this more than I do,” she said, dropping the barrette on my pile of books. 

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I gasped, smoothing my hair.

“It’s mistletoe, silly,” she laughed.  “You know:  'stand under it and get kissed'?  Mistletoe?"  She blew out her breath, exasperated.  “ ‘Hopeless and helpless’!  That’s my new name for you and Scott; the two of you are quite a pair!  Just put it in your hair and I’ll take care of the rest.”  She mischievously tapped her pencil on her notebook.

Dawna was up to something, I could tell; not knowing what it would be was the scary part.  I crept cautiously through my afternoon classes, wondering what scheme was brewing in that blonde head of hers.

During my last class Scott appeared in the doorway.  Mrs. Ray’s eyes sparkled when she saw him.  She looked at a piece of notebook paper on her desk and then at me.  "You're needed in the hall, dear," she said with a wink and a nod. 

Scott took my hand and we headed down the hallway, stopping in front of my locker.  Towering over me, he gently touched the foliage attached to the barrette secured in my red curls.  “We’re under the mistletoe,” he whispered nervously, taking me in his arms.  Blush rose in my cheeks and I closed my eyes.  His lips brushed mine lightly then returned with more confidence.  I wished that kiss would never end but the bell rang and the hallway was flooded with students anxious for Christmas vacation. 

Snow and ice covered the walkway as we left school that afternoon but I was walking on a cloud as Scott and I walked arm in arm toward the waiting buses.  “Guess I’ll see you next year,” he quipped, knowing I would be gone for most of the break, visiting my oldest brother and his family in Louisiana.  He leaned in and gave me another quick kiss goodbye. 

I sighed and opened my eyes to see him wave as he got on his bus.  Tripping up the bus steps I caught the edge of my skirt on the heel of my shoe, slipped and skinned my knee.  By the time I reached home, there was a dirty river of blood running down my leg, soaking my sock and pooling in my loafer. 

“That’ll take a few stitches,” my mother informed, looking at the injury.  “When your father gets home he can take you to the hospital.”

Six stitches closed the gash in my knee and later that night we left on the two-day trip from Wisconsin to Louisiana.  The trip was miserable, not only because I wanted to spend time with Scott, but because my injured knee was stiff and constantly being bumped by my younger brothers and sisters crammed into the back seat with me.

The rest of the year was a blur with concerts, recitals, debate matches, and homework.  After Scott’s graduation, he went to college on the east coast and my family moved from Wisconsin to Missouri.  We tried to keep in touch but time, distance, and life moved on around us. 

***Break here for chapter three

Expand the content of the first paragraph into several chapters to flesh out character background.  Also, add a few chapters where Brielle learns different aspects of Scott's life...

I met and married a wonderful man, with whom I had three children and shared twenty-five incredible years.  He was killed suddenly in a car accident on his way home from work one snowy evening.  His car stalled on a bridge over the Missouri River and was rear-ended by a snowplow, killing him instantly then pushing the car over the side into the icy water below.  He had called before leaving the office, as he always had, and a short twenty minutes later he was gone.  I was heartsick.

Five years had passed and I still mourned.  The children were married and I was on my own.  As much as I longed for the deep friendship I had shared with my husband, I knew my heart could never love another. 

Dawna and I had kept in touch after my family had moved.  She had gone to a local college and become a veterinarian.  She opened her own practice, married, had children, and lived a few blocks from the middle school where we had met.  She would write or call every few weeks to check on me.

“You’ll never guess who I saw in town the other day,” she wrote one July.  “Scott!  What a surprise that was. He’s as handsome as ever. 

“We went to Maninno’s and talked over pie and coffee.  Like you, he’s still not a coffee-drinker; I don’t know what I’d do without my caffeine.  Anyhow, I guess we talked over pie, coffee, and herbal tea.

“He asked about you.  I told him you were still in St. Louis.  I was using a picture you sent of your son's wedding as a bookmark so I showed it to him.  On a sad note, cancer claimed his wife three years ago.”

Oh, poor Scott.  Tears welled up in my eyes as my heart ached, knowing the pain and emptiness he was experiencing.  Then I shook my head.  Silly Dawna.  She was well-meaning, but neither of us were ready for a fresh start, and certainly not with each other.  After so long, we were more strangers than lost loves.

As the months passed I thought of Scott occasionally, usually when Dawna wrote or called asking if I'd heard from him yet.  I sent a card to his parents’ address but never heard from him, and that was fine with me.  I was nursing my own broken heart; I didn’t have the strength to nurture his, too. 

One cool autumn afternoon I was expecting my daughter to come by for a visit.  She was due to deliver my first grandchild any day and we were putting together a scrapbook of her baby pictures.  I heard a vehicle in the street so I went to let her in.  Peeking out the window I saw an unfamiliar red pick-up at the curb.

“Delivery, Ma’am,” said a voice from behind a large arrangement of mums and carnations.  As I accepted the bouquet I saw a familiar golden sparkle in the delivery man’s brown eyes.

“Scott?” I questioned uncertainly, supporting myself against the doorframe.  Oh, Dawna was right:  he is as handsome as ever.

“I’m sorry I never wrote back,” he confessed.  “Your words were so beautiful and eloquent, as they always were.  What could I possibly say in return?”  His brown eyes filled with tears and his tall shoulders slumped forward and his head hung down; he looked like a little boy ashamed of his actions.  “Thank you for caring,” he whispered hoarsely, turning toward the street.  “I should go.”

“N-n-nonsense, dear,” I stuttered, reaching out until my fingertips brushed his sleeve.  “You can’t drive 1000 miles and leave without having a cup of tea. It’s the least I can do for a friend.”

Scott nodded and silently stepped through the front door.  Not wanting to embarrass him, I ushered him into the living room and took my leave.

Scott paged through some family scrapbooks on the coffee table as I prepared tea and put the flowers in water.  I set up a tray, decorating it with a small bud vase holding a single pale yellow carnation.  “Here we are,” I announced. 

Scott moved the scrapbooks to the side of the table to make room for the tray.  “You have a lovely family,” he commented, taking the tray from my hands and placing it carefully on the table.

“Thank you,” I murmured politely, gingerly pouring the tea.  A gnawing had begun in the pit of my stomach and I didn’t know how I felt.  My heart ached to comfort him and be comforted by him, but pictures of my husband flashed in my head.  I wasn’t ready to let go; I didn’t want to become attached again in order to avoid more pain in the future.  I didn’t know what to do.

March 2, 2008:  2029 words