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.
3 faves · Dec 15, 2011 6:22pm