#7

Love Story Like No Other

 "To be honest with you, I'm not interested in a casual friendship."  he spoke rather bluntly.  "In my book, a relationship requires commitment.  I need to know:  Do you want to be with me, or not?"

    She stared across the table into his penetrating brown eyes.  "I need time to think about this." she said, with customary caution.

    "I'll wait."  he smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in those eyes.

    Inwardly, she shunned his proposal.  She had always taken pride in the fact that she needed no one else to complete her.

Life continued as usual, until one balmy summer afternoon, when she tripped on the staircase in front of her office building.  Concrete met her flailing hands after she performed a double somersault midair.  Her elbows absorbed the shock, and pain rocketed through her arm.  

        She called him, because he'd told her he was in the area.  When he arrived, he saw her scrapes and pained expression.  His own face showed concern as he helped her stand.  She tried to smile as he opened the door and handed her the seat belt.

    "It's gonna be okay, Amie." he reassured her.

     He sat beside her in the emergency room while she made some phone calls and waited for a doctor.  Somehow, amidst the pain of her throbbing arm, she was seized by a sudden desire.  Giving into it, she reached for his hand.  His grip was gentle, but firm.

    With that one touch, she realized how wrong she'd been.  She was not complete by herself.

        It was far from romantic.  The greenish glow of the fluorescent lights, combined with the gray-white walls and smelly chairs, made for a rather ugly setting, but none of that mattered.  She somehow summoned up the courage to tell him that she wanted to be with him forever.  He was overjoyed.

Suddenly, her friends didn't understand her.  His threw a party.  She laughed about it, later.  The amazing part was that he loved her, not the other way around.       

Every day with him was a new adventure, and she was thrilled to be spending the rest of her life by his side.

        Near dusk one evening, they went for a walk on the beach.  The clouds had been drizzling rain all day, and the air above the lake was a misty gray.  They ran toward the shore, and dipped their toes in the water.  She laughed when the cold shot through her legs, because his hand was warm.  They flung themselves down on the sand, and watched the stars appear.

    There was something in the air that night, or maybe it was how joyfully he looked at her, that opened the floodgates of her heart.  She told him her dearest and deepest buried dreams, and he listened.  Eventually, a realization dawned on her.  These were her plans.  Lying there, taking in the soft sand, salty air, and warmth of his hand, she knew that her biggest dream had already been realized.

    "I'm sorry." she apologized.  "I've been talking only about myself.  What have you dreamed up for us?"

        The darkness hid his face, but she could hear the smile in his voice.  "Lots of stuff." he replied.  "But I want to surprise you along the way."

    She squeezed his hand a little tighter.

    As the years raced by, things weren't quite as easy as they'd seemed at first.  She saw her own dreams shattered, one by one.  As each one was ripped away, she felt like she'd been set adrift on the open sea. Her emotions threatened to engulf her.

     "Do you realize what's happening?" she yelled.

      He stretched out his hand.  "Let me show you."

    She hesitated, then reached for him.  They stood together, and his grip was gentle, but firm, and she remembered something that she'd known since that night on the beach.  She already had everything she needed.

#6

#5

The Story Begins

     

     She remembered December, rehearsing for a winter voice recital.  "You Raise Me Up" had managed to burst from her lungs with a volume that she hadn't realized was possible.  Her voice teacher had smiled.  "When you sang that song, I could tell that you love music." 
     It was true, she realized with surprise.  She had loved music for a long time, but she had forgotten.  Later, she would tearfully insist that she didn't like playing piano, but there was always a little whisper in her mind:  "You love music.  Not just singing, either."
     There were other whispers, saying, "Why waste your time?  This has nothing to do with your future, nothing to do with the career plans you have yet to make.  Plus, you aren't that good at it."
     This time, she managed to remember that she loved it.
     In the spring, she was chatting with her aunt.  "I know how much you love art." she heard.  Her aunt was absolutely right.  She loved colors and patterns and the way it connected with people.  She had no intention of being an artist- her enthusiasm for the subject always dimmed when faced with her own meager capabilities, but, somehow, that was okay.
     All the time, stories followed her around.  Real stories, ones that were funny because she was a goof, or happy because she was loved.  There were sad ones, too, and she tried to learn as much as she could from them so they wouldn't come again.  Imaginary stories floated across her mind.  She saw sunlit beaches, princesses locked in towers, an old man masterfully playing the violin on a gray street corner.  She loved stories.  No one needed to remind her of that.
     Then she realized that these interests were all one.  She loved different forms of art.  They were colorful, unique, and diverse.  They made connections and points that other mediums could never get across.  She thought it was beautiful, also, how they flew, uninhibited, across the barriers of culture, age, and time.
     The question sprang into her mind:  How could she use these interests of hers?
     She thought, first, of words, and of how she loved to come across quotes from books that seemed to fit her exactly.  Then she remembered, as a child, painting with water colors at her aunt's dining room table.  There had to be a way to combine them, like music combined chords and lyrics to create exquisite songs.
     What did she do?
     You're reading the answer.        

#4

#3