Why
I took a few photos and tried to keep my distance from Dylan, but each step I took away, he took two steps closer, and soon he was so close we were practically touching. I can’t really say that I didn’t like it. He grabbed my hand, but I snatched it back, making my drop my pops’ camera into the sand. “DYLAN!” I yelled so loud I was sure that I woke every one up. The seconds that he starred at me seemed like hours. Finally he dropped to his knees and picked up my pops’ camera and slowly and nervously stood up. He then handed it to me ever so gently. Terror started to take over my senses, my eyes fluttered as I started to realize I might have just lost my only connection to my grandfather due to a stupid boy that I met on the beach at midnight. That’s when I felt Dylan’s cold but smooth hand wipe away a tear trickling from my eye. I pushed his hand away and ran. I didn’t know where I was running to, or when I was going to stop, I guess whenever my legs decided to stop carrying me along. I took out my phone and looked at the time, 12:57. I had no idea where I was, but somehow I felt safe along the ridges of the water. I sat down on the rocks and thought about pops. He was short and chubby, but he made the best pillow when I was little, he was always there for me when my parents weren’t, he was my best friend. And I had to lose him due to a stranger’s recklessness, just like I lost his camera, the last connection we had. There was a gentile tap on my shoulder. I slowly but knowingly turned around to find Dylan. He was slouching and his shoulders hung forward as thought he was scared. He opened up his backpack and handed my pops’ camera to me. “It still works Morgan.” He said, his voice filled with sorrow. “Dylan, I-“ I started but never finished. I took the vintage camera from his delicate hands and turned around again. “You have some amazing pictures on there you know, you should become a photographer.” His words gave me hope; he was the first person to ever see my photos, being that I kept my passion a secret. The only other person that knew was pops, but that’s why he gave me his camera, and my secret died with him. Until now, of course. I turned around and snapped a photo of Dylan. This was only a weekend camping trip, and I had to remember Dylan in my later days somehow, being that a relationship couldn’t start or be maintained in the matter of a weekend. Wait, relationship? What am I thinking? I mean, sure, Dylan has beautiful hazel eyes and a perfect smile, and soft hands...soft hands? I was surly losing myself there. “Morgan, It’s getting kind of late.” He seemed worried all of a sudden, which in turn worried me. I took out my phone to see it was almost 1:30. Had we really been sitting together that long? I must have been thinking to myself for at least ten minutes. Why didn’t Dylan leave? What importance am I to him? Why do I ask myself so many questions? “Morgan, hello?” confusion was in Dylan’s voice. I looked into his eyes and he looked into mine. He sat down next to me on the rock, even though there was plenty of room, he sat as close to me as possible. He nudged me with his shoulder. “So Morgan, I see you don’t really talk that much.” He was right. I was shy, and if anything, the complete opposite of outgoing. “Where are you from Dylan?” I asked as kindly as possible for me, being that I can be bitter if I please. “Tampa.” He said, bluntly. “Tampa? Tampa, Florida?” I said shocked, why was he in Long Island then? “Haha, I know, ‘what am I doing in Long Island’ my mother lives in Great River, and I visit each summer, we camp here often.” I nodded, accepting his answer to my unstated question. “And how about you Morgan? Where are you from?” I thought. Hypothetically, where are we all from? Who knows, and I’m sure that no one really actually cares as long as they are where they are now. “Bay Shore.” Dylan just stared at me. I wondered what was going through his head. I wasn’t even sure what was going through my own head. He leaned closer to me, suddenly. He breathed on my neck, was I supposed to just sit there? I don’t even know this guy; I don’t even know how old he is. He kissed my jawbone, below my ear. I just sat there like a loser as I let him kiss me. Why was I letting him? I turned my head towards him and he kissed my lips. I certainly was not expecting that, but I didn’t fight against it. As much of a stranger as Dylan was to me, he was the most attractive guy I had seen in a long time.
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