"Teenagers should never write about love..."

I wish
for a lot.

It's a bad habit.

My mind projects from past to future and back again, as I go from day to day.

I push an old metal and glass door away from my body, it's bells ring overhead. I leave Carmelita's mexican restaraunt after making a reservation for later this evening, and walk down the strip mall sidewalk towards my parent's van. My fingers wrap around the car key and the soft plastic keychain. The sun is low. Before the warm orange twilight even reaches my skin, my mind plays it's usual game, and I loose the present to the past; to the flights of my imagination.

He would be walking next to me, maybe following on the gravel parking lot, the two of us exchanging common words. I can picture him clearly. He's so beautiful - an arresting smile, adorable hair, an effortless body. I smile with every glance of him. My face is lit up by the strong goldenrod sun and purple shadows are cast on my neck. A balmy breeze pushes though my hair. I know he would stare and smile too.

He's never kept his captivation secret. For years now, no matter where we go, he'll find a moment to slip a few perfect grinning words into my ear.... how he's never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life....how I deserve fame and a million dollars for looking like that....he says that I don't even understand how much he loves me.

Once, in a field of mud, we spent almost an hour freeing a four wheeler that I drove into a hole. While his friend slammed the gas, throwing mud all over our faces and sweaters, he looked at me and said that he's never been more attracted to me then he was at that moment. We both laughed at how absurd and true it was.

Once when we were counselors at a summer camp, he walked next to me while we escorted a flock of 11 year olds to the lake. Making no eye contact, he carried on in very plain speak about how he had a crush on a certain camp counselor, and how he was dying to let her know, but couldn't, because there were rules against public displays of affection. While kids swam around us like sharks in the green lake, jumping on our backs trying to pull us under, he cooly suggested different ways we could escape from the sweet dears for a quick minute.

The metal clap of the passenger door returns my focus to the dashboard in front of me. I slouch lower into the driver's seat. Sitting in the parking lot, the steering wheel, the grey velour seats, the whole car is so still; I can feel the sun moving, sinking quickly outside. I don't know how I got so lucky, and so unlucky to be where I am now: with him, and without him.

I wish for a lot...