Flag 1.2: Lizzie

- Amber Hills -

Gym class is going overtime today. I hope she's okay with waiting for a little longer. I'm sorry, Lizzie, I think to myself.

"Amber! Watch out!" Yells a voice from behind me.

I quickly duck out of reflex as I realize that a ball is nearly approaching my face. I let out a deep sigh of relief as I luckily saved myself from a possible nose injury and horrible embarrassment. Thank goodness that I'm blessed with good reflexes because that would've sucked.

"Alright! That's it for today," says our gym teacher.

Class is finally over. I dash into the locker room to change into my regular clothes. I'm pacing through the campus towards that same bench table set where I met her.

Elizabeth Andrews. It's only been months since I met her or at least since we began talking to each other. I always see her around this area with her earphones always on. I think it was because the athletes and cheerleaders were always loud around the quad. I assumed she also wanted to avoid the wildness and I don't blame her because sometimes, I also wanna avoid all that. This spot is probably the most peaceful place around campus.

People don't really notice her because well, she's a wallflower, she chooses not to put herself out there but to be honest, I've always felt drawn to her. Could it be her eyes? Her eyes that change color from blue to gray depending on the light that surrounds her? Is it the way her hair falls and flows perfectly down her body? The way she bites her lip when she's thinking about something so deeply is the cutest thing ever. There's just something about her that lures me in.

I see the familiar sight of dyed black, wavy hair reaching towards the end of her lower back. It flows along with the dancing leaves caused by the calming autumn breeze. I approach her and put my arms around her. I'm happy she's still here. I wonder what song she's listening to. I gently pull out her right ear piece to listen.

Coldplay's Til Kingdome Come.

"Good song," I utter.

Her eyes, her smile, her taste in music, just everything about her amuses me and it's something I simply can't deny and ignore.

"I'm tired."

Gym class has officially worn me out. I slowly lay my head on her lap as she gently brushes strands of hair off of my face. I see, to me, a perfectly structured face looking down on me with a sweet smile.

"It's ok you can rest up before we head home," she says.

Each and every word that spills off her mouth seems to have so much more depth to me. It's all these little things that make my heart pound loud enough for me to hear each of what seems to sound like a thud clearly. These friendly gestures and acts of kindness are things I wish meant something more.

I reply wearing a grin that lights up my cheeks, "You mean before I drive you home, right? Thanks, Lizzie."

And I watch as my eyes fall shut.

Am I allowed to look at her as if she was art colored with beauty? Am I allowed to look at her and see poetry? She's just so intimately tied to every idea I've ever had of love and it drives me crazy.

I want her more than anything.

Is it ok to even think like that?

I wake myself up from the deep thoughts inside my head. I'm greeted with a set of familiar eyes that are a soft gradient of blue to gray. Her eyes are utopia, at day, her natural glass lens would shine as bright as the sun. At night, they're either starlights or glimmers sent by the moon, my favorite part of the night and they're not even part of the sky. It's hers I want saved and safe, away from pain, sadness, doubt and fear. It's hers I wish to protect if she'd let me.

We're really close now but I feel her heart is still strongly guarded. It feels as though it's caged and locked by chains but here I am, longing for the key, hoping she'd willingly hand it over. I want to unravel this mystery.

I lift myself up to head towards the parking lot. She stands up as well and slides her hand into mine, instantly intertwining our fingers between each other's. I feel her thumb gently rubbing a part of mine in almost a circular motion, indicating comfort of affection. Sometimes, I wish we didn't have to let go.

We reach the parking lot and I open the door for her. Now driving to her home.

I pull over in front of their main door.

She steps out of the car and waves goodbye.

"See you tomorrow."

"See ya," I reply.