title

I began writing this some time ago; I doubt I will ever finish it.


'Amor a Primera Vista'


I fell in love. A girl of 16, with her heart on her sleeve; I fell so fast, so deeply. The adults will say it’s just an illusion, a ridiculous fantasy, a result of watching too many ‘chick flicks’. Truth be told, the censure would be then doubled – I abhor ‘chick flicks’; there is much more passion to be found within the pages of a book. A motion picture requires little or no imagination; with a book, you are the characters; you make the story. I digress.

But what do they know? With minds so preoccupied with finances, jobs, and a rise in taxes, how can they begin to comprehend the pure and innocent nature of young love? - So unspoiled by life’s trivialities.

If memory serves, Juliet Capulet was but 14 years young when her ‘juvenile infatuation’ with Romeo blossomed. It just so happened that their story became one of the most celebrated plays in all of history. Dare they question the integrity of a literary god such as William Shakespeare?

Dearest reader, I offer my sincerest apologies in advance for the melancholy tenor; the memory is still raw. I cannot share my story by word of mouth, not to even my closest of companions. So I devote my innermost thoughts and emotions to you, a stranger; I hope that in doing so, I will be granted some reprieve from the constant torture that has plagued me for some time.

***

July 2008, another “British – family – holiday.” An exquisitely picturesque Spanish resort, jam-packed with pink skinned, lilo wielding, pint drinking, ignorant tourists - all of them pining for a decent cup of tea, the stuff you can’t seem to find outside of the U.K.

I wandered on to the balcony, the warm air caressing my pale face, the tantalizing sun exploding in my eyes. Still reminiscent of the night before when I had said my goodbyes to , I shut my eyes and wished so ardently I was back at home, watching Fraiser re-runs whilst sprawled on a sofa. I just knew, even before we arrived, that these 2 weeks would be tedious beyond the pale.
“We hope you will enjoy this evening’s entertainment!”
What? Endless nights of tribute bands singing ancient mowtown songs with a slight Spanish twang? I’ll pass thanks.

It was decided. I was to spend the fortnight alone; daily activities consisting of reading, sunbathing, swimming, and taking full advantage of the internet cafe at every opportunity. With any luck, what had the potential to be a very painful 2 weeks, would fly by in no time. It’s just the whole idea of family holidays that gets me... I’m too old for it. I had no quarrels with the place itself, nor do I dislike spending time with my family; the two just don’t mix.

So there I was, waiting patiently at the bar for a vacant computer, somewhat eager to inform of how much I missed him after only 2 days.

I was sat at the bar with a cool lemon drink, slightly peeved due to the fact some little madam with gigantic playboy earrings hijacked the computer I was waiting for. I thought manners cost nothing?
After the executed attack on my nerves, I turned to express my disbelief to a Spanish boy sat directly behind me. He was a little put out too given he was also waiting for a computer.

His name was Stefan, aged fourteen - a Serbian born in London. What a fantastic tan! So without the usual initial awkwardness of, “Hey... I’m bored, wanna play ball in the pool?” we became friends. I had no former intentions of making any friends on that holiday; I did not possess the energy, nor the inclination. But Stefan and his older brother Dean helped me pass the time of day with their humorous banter and many games of ball in the pool. They mocked my northern accent, as teased them for their typical southern dialect. It was brief - a mere 5 day friendship, but it was fun for the duration.

I thought it wise not to tell about my new friends; I’d feel uneasy too if I was in that position. Of course, it was purely friendship – not even an iota chance of something more.

One crucial difference to this particular holiday was my change in appearance, and the amount of male attention as a consequence. Years of feeling like an idiot wobbling around in a bikini, with mad hair, and an acne inflamed face had passed. I was taller, slim even; my face had thinned, and my hair was styled in a fashion that complimented it. These improvements certainly made me feel more attractive, more confident than I had been in previous years. Boys looked at me more, and albeit strange, I quite enjoyed it. By no means was I a beauty to society’s standards, but it would suffice.

I think it was Stefan’s final day in Menorca when I first saw . Conversing with a small group of acquaintances in the pool, my gaze suddenly became transfixed upon this boy who walked by with his father and elder brother. Admittedly, I found him exceptionally attractive. I didn’t feel guilty, it’s just human nature.

He was tall (about 5ft 8”), dark skinned, with hair that was almost black – but notably dark brown. Small random locks of his hair curled slightly, and fell about the back of his neck and forehead. It was so sweetly dishevelled. By society’s standards? He was gorgeous.

But nothing in this world could have prepared me for those eyes. I have always been fond of green/blue eyes myself; so far, no such eyes have taken my breath away like the profound, wondrous, brown depths belonging to this boy. He held the kind of intense gaze that could incinerate your heart in a second, bend you to his will. However, there was no malice behind those eyes, just truth.

Wednesday night was fiesta night. Fiesta night was a party by the pool with atmospheric lights that changed colour, sun beds draped in white linen, and dancing women in bizarre attire. If it were not for the horrendous music and masses of... over-active couples, it would have been excellent. Nevertheless, I decided to give it a chance as opposed to my usual retreat to the computers. I was bored out of my brains, of course; I grew tired of refusing to dance each the “animation team” attempted to pull me up.

I clocked again; he and his brother were creasing up at the sight of their father dancing.
Did he just look at me?
He quickly averted his stare. I thought nothing of it... Not that I was interested, but I wouldn’t stand a chance with someone so clearly out of my league. I imagined he would have hoards of girls on his tail.

After the poor entertainment the night before, I once again remained within the confines of the internet cafe. It was about 12.45 am when I finally decided to end my session, and so I proceeded to end a number of conversations with people at home. I looked up into the mirror wall ahead of me; he was there, , and he was whispering frantically to his brother whilst glancing over. Once again, I thought nothing of it; surely any interest in me of all people was impossible.

I rose from my seat in preparation to retire for the evening, when he began to approach me. My chest grew tight, making the rapid thuds of my heart even more severe.
“Hola,” he said; his voice was so deep, yet melodic and soothing.
Oh – my – God. He just said hello; quick! Say something back.
“Emm... hello,” I stuttered, in a voice so hushed that it was almost a whisper, yet in my head it was too loud.
“Eh... how are you?” he enquired.
Red face, red face, red face.
“Good ...thank you,” I cocked my head to the side and gave a fleeting smile.
By this point, his brother was in hysterics, laughing at the somewhat awkward scenario.
“I think...eh... you are beautiful...”
Have I just stepped into a parallel universe?
I just about managed to catch my breath.
“Oh...well... thank you,” I blushed immensely, “I’m so sorry... I speak very little Spanish.”
Curse the day I opted to study French over Spanish...
He smiled; “What is your name?”
“Oh, I’m , and you?”
He uttered his sweet angelic name. Although, it did take me days to pronounce it correctly.
I hesitantly held out my hand, ready to shake his.
Oh that is so typically British! What on Earth were you thinking? You’re not in a blasted business meeting.

So I departed upon agreement that we would meet at the pool the following day. I did not sleep that night. Naturally, I knew nothing could happen between us; that wasn’t an issue. I was to inform him why if the topic should crop up.

***

The morning on the sun lounger seemed to drag, the heat was sweltering, and my nerves were scattered about the place.
Do I look okay? What will he say when he gets here? Ohhh... will he even come today?

Early afternoon, he arrived and perched himself on the edge of the pool. Now was the time to move. I rose from the bed and stripped down to my bikini in the most graceful way manageable. With a nonchalant air about me, I entered the pool, pretending not to have noticed his presence. After several lengths, he caught my eye and beckoned me over to him with a wave of the hand. I shan’t bore you with the formalities of the conversation that followed. Basically: he’s 15, he studies English at school and he wanted to meet me after the evening show for a walk about the hotel grounds.
Wait. A walk at night? Be careful...

I couldn’t breathe the entire evening; why was I so nervous? I found myself pacing back and forth, scratching the bare skin of my legs and holding onto my stomach in fear of it flipping out. I just couldn’t seem to place together a coherent sentence.

I made my way into the bar (our meeting place), my feet dragging the rest of my body the whole way; it was as though my fate was set in stone, no way of turning back. Soon enough, I found myself alone with him, strolling alongside the well lit pool which seemed to radiate a brilliant blue in the heavy darkness.
This is too secluded... it feels like a bad idea. Imagine what would think. No. Don’t panic. Act like everything is normal, because it is.