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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1487785
Rated: E · Draft · Teen · #1487785
Troubled Teen grows up, and reflects on life. This is a work in progress. a true story.
I was looking for a folder with some of my poems from long ago, when I came upon a note book, every page was filled with messy writing. It took a few minutes to realize that the note book belonged to me, only I haven't written in it since college. I stopped looking for the folder containing poems, sat down and started to read.

Part 1

Sitting in geometry class, bored out of my mind, I stare off into space. The teacher, Mrs. Strayhorn talks about angles and of other stuff I really could care less about. I sat thinking, wondering about the dreams I've been having for months now. Dreams I haven't had for a very long time.

Suddenly the door cracks open, and in walks this freakishly weird, most ridiculous looking human being on the face of the earth. (Well that is till George W. Bush became president. I swear he looks like a monkey.) The boy was young, maybe the same age as me, maybe older. He had red hair, cut short, reminding me of the Beatles hair style, but not as cute. He was pale, with freckles sprinkled everywhere, even across his nose and cheeks.

He walked over to Mrs. Strayhorn and gave her his schedule. She looked it over, added his name to a paper, and told him to take a seat. He turned towards the class, glancing around while walking towards the back. I smiled. He smiled back as he took the seat directly in front of me.

Throwing down his bookbag, he turned around to face me. Up close I could see that his eyes were not gray as i had first assumed, instead they were the perfect blending of gray clouds and blue sky. His eyes showed every emotion, I could see that he wasn't happy, and he seemed lost. The eyes are the window to the soul. His soul was trembling, troubled and lonely. Yet he had potential. I knew that in a few years he would grow taller, for he was quite short for a boy, and become handsome. I felt a connection and understood him. I instantly liked him.

"What's ya name?" I asked.

"Brian", he replied. "And yours?" he asked.

I smile and stated "Tiara".

From that day on we were the best of friends.

How was I to know he would tear my life apart and compromise my dreams. How was I to know that because of him my life would never be the same. How was I to know that he would become the love of my life.



I smile, thinking how naive I once was. Yes he became the love of my life, and much, much more. We connected in a way most people don't. I decide to read more, see where the young, naive me goes with her story.

Looking back on that first day, I realize that I had always known, deep down, that I loved him. Before Brian , my life was messy. On the surface I seemed happy. Great kid, loving, caring, somewhat obedient and really smart. My parents, nor any of my friends knew I was depressed, miserable and quite unhappy. I hated myself and was always thinking of suicide. But I never did it, only because I didn't want to hurt my mom and leave her alone with him. By Him, I mean my step-father. A strong willed, small minded,loving, harsh, strict man.

My life with him was heaven, and hell. Dad met mom when we wsre still living in Queens, NYC. They met at a roller skating rink, dated for about a year before Dad popped the question. I finally got to meet him after they'd been dating awhile. He bought me silver bangles the first time I met him. I liked him immediately, (come on people I was 6 years old). I didn't get presents often. I found out months later they were getting married. I loved the idea of having a Dad. My biological father (A.K.A. the Donor), left my mom when I was barely 2 yrs old.

Anyway, Mom and Dad set the wedding date for late May. Mom had this gorgeous dress being made for her, until she found out she was 3 months prego. dad had been living with us for awhile now, so it wasn't too surprising. On her wedding day mom had a huge tummy as she walked down the aisle, yet she was so beautiful, her face glowing with happiness.
© Copyright 2008 TinkerBell (cutepunkrocker at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1487785