The Girl on the Bench | Teen Ink

The Girl on the Bench

December 16, 2010
By BabyJ SILVER, Herndon, Virginia
BabyJ SILVER, Herndon, Virginia
5 articles 0 photos 2 comments

She had come to that bench for the past four months every day. It almost looked like clockwork. Every day at five o clock, she would glide in a way through the park doors, sit down on that oak bench, and read a book. Sometimes she would have a snack. Other times she would have a notebook and draw little doodles of birds that would come, or just trees. She would wear thick clothing because of the weather, but if anything, it still stopped my heart when she would walk through those doors.
Every day that tiny little girl would transfix me and I couldn’t do anything, but look at her. I’d look at the way her golden hair would shine in the sunlight. The way her brown eyes would bounce from one thing to another. The way that she smiled, with the most gorgeous dimples that I almost went straight up to her and kissed her right there. When I do get the courage to talk to her, I want to say something special. Something that won’t sound cliché, but will make me see those dimples as well. I want to wine and dine her, and take her to see the world, yet I didn’t even know her first name.
So many corrupting feelings and I couldn’t even find the courage to talk to her. Maybe she would reject me. Or maybe she would think I was just some creepy stalker boy. Maybe she even had a boyfriend. I had been having the same argument with myself for the past four months, and my head felt ready to explode. Winter would be coming to a close soon and there was a slight chance that she wasn’t going to come anymore. At least that was what I told myself.
Then one day she didn’t show up. No petite blond walked through the gates of the park. Deep in the pit on my stomach, I knew that my chance was blown. I should have said something sooner, but my cowardice had gotten the best of me and I let and gorgeous petite blond slip right through my fingers.
Shoving y finger into my pockets I walked to my house- which happened to be twenty miles away. The term FML seemed to be engrained in my head. Just when I figured my life couldn’t get any worse. I bump into a woman holding so many books they cover her face. We both trip and stumble and all her books scatter across the sidewalk.
I groan and begin stacking the books up and mutter my apologies over and over again. She just sits there motionless and just watches me as I pick up her books. I look at her and then I see it. It’s her- the girl that I’ve been obsessing over for the past four months. I have to look cool and say something that will make her swoon. No, she’ll think I’m some kind of pervert if I say something like that. Maybe I should make a joke and see those dimples. No, she would think I’m some kind of insecure brat who doesn’t know how to think. I had to say something, but I didn’t know what. So I settled for the simplest thing.

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