SEEKING: that feeling

There is nothing as careless as a young person's love. Up until then, your understanding of romance was mostly built through conceptual knowledge, slowly but surely fortifying an inevitably flawed construct of what should be. Thousands of lives spent trying to write of young love, to describe its fragility and tender motivations, by thousands of people who'd finally felt that first sting.

Blake was a senior in high school, and her only other friend, Addison, and herself had taken on the habit of sneaking out at night and picking each other up, only to drive around their small suburban town, exploring, finding many spots and secrets that meant something to only them, as it would stay for years to come.

Their main focus was to make the most fun out of any situation, in any context: drivers ed, algebra class, the late night diner, on the bus. As many stories may have come from this, one night in particular was fateful for them both. They pulled into their typical night-time spot, one of the few places that was open 24/7 in the area. It was rare to run into anyone else there, but the two friends got to know the night shift employees, and the best routes to see the night sky while driving to the waterfall. This time, there was another car parked in the typically empty lot. Something told Blake that these were people their age -- it was a nice car, but no one with that money would be here, of all places, at night, as an adult, which meant it had to be a rich family's kid. There were lots of those around there. Within a few moments of walking in, she knew she was right. Of course, conversation ensued -- three boys our age, as if we'd just let them walk out? Within a few minutes of annoyingly loud laughter from both sides, plans were made to hang out soon. Blake wasn't single (yet), but one of those three boys was still there once she was. Jillian was free to do what she wanted, and spent time with these guys, getting to know them, which Blake was slightly jealous of. Nonetheless, with enough time passed, with enough nerves and effort put in, Blake and the one she had set her eye on from the start were meant to go on a date.

He picked her up and they went to the movies. He had a cool car and wore tasteful cologne, bought their tickets and snacks, and was very tall and tan. They were the only ones in the entire theater until the last 20 minutes or so. Alone, in the dark, free, and no kiss. Physical intimacy, laughter, taking breaks from the movie to talk and only focus on each other, he on her brown eyes and she on his translucent blue ones. He was listening to her, and cared about her childhood. Every other thing that was said, the one listening would say or think, "Really?! Me too!?" It was magic, and the hands of their clock ticked so slowly, as if springing through a viscous film of hope. The comfort extended as they strolled through the back entrance of the building and into a small park with some benches and picnic tables. The dusk had begun to turn to dark, the streetlights shining such a deep honey yellow. It was still warm, both their skin sticky with a thin layer of sweat and sickly sweet obsession. His name was Daniel.

They sat at one of the tables and he pulled a bottle of Merlot and some plastic cups out of his backpack, to Blake's honest but pleasant surprise. The same table they would carve their names into a year later, the same table that still stands there today. She felt her lungs curling with flowers and vines with each breath she took, and never did she think she'd watch a guy's subtly movements and gestures with such heated curiosity. They spoke of their families, their pasts, their aspirations, and the surrounding silence ensured the sense that all the trees and flowers around them were listening in. It was getting close to Blake's curfew, and of course Daniel was responsible to bring her home. She loved that he could do that. With time running out, they walked back to the car through a more secluded path, desolate and sinister in its darkness, only to be construed, strictly and solely, as being on the brink of something big. Neither was wrong.

He brought her home, and even walked her to her front door. Beneath the porch light, on the cement step, with Blake's father pacing nervously the next room over as it was one minute before curfew, she looked up into Daniel's eyes. After an incredibly meaningful and symbolic (to her) pause, she came out with a classic phrase, "So, are you gonna kiss me?" And he sternly responded, "Yes." And he did. As I'm sure you guessed it, dear reader, their lives were never the same after.

Young love is that kiss in the summer heat, the sticky skin, the plastic cup of warm Merlot, the table carving. You can find it in the moments that no one else finds special, except for you.