It felt like a film

Those rose tinted days in the city
the rush at Liverpool Street
running late on my twenty first birthday
waiting on the circle line
in the cold winter sunshine
I remember coffee in the tiny cafe
when everyone turned to look at us laugh

It felt as if the world made sense
as if we’d found the place we needed to be
tucked away in a corner sharing stories
as if we’d known each other forever
like soul mates made of the same star
I knew I never wanted to leave your side

I’m in the library, at school, trying to write an article for the school paper (and I'm not even ON the school paper). I’m on a forty-five minute deadline to complete a story someone else did poorly - on the edge of my vision I see someone step up to my table - a boy, I can tell, without looking up, from his school uniform. I’m hoping whoever it is will go away.. 44 minutes.
“Uhh-umm,” I hear.
My eyes flicker up and I ID “Everett Priestly” - one of God’s less ambitious efforts.
After a moment.
“Uhh-umm,” he does again.
“Parsley,” I say, without looking up.
“Priestly,” he answers with a sigh, "wanna play HOUSE?" he says conspiratorially, with a smirk.
"We were 7," I say, liberally applying syrupy boredom.

I’ve kind of known Everett Priestly forever - he lives two doors away from us - then my family became ex-patriots until three years ago. His family is rich, he’s handsome and I believe someone once told him he was charming. He fancies himself a lady killer but I’m willing to bet that he kills them with a combination of daddy’s money and poor driving.

“I’m awfully busy - on deadline Mr. Priestly - please send me a text,” I say, again, without looking up.
“I don’t have your number,” he says, patiently. “Would you like to go to Sandra’s party with a group of us Friday night?”
“OOOO! Let’s keep it that way,” I smile - this is too easy - 42 minutes.
“It’ll be FUN,” he says, with a smile in his voice - Oh, God, he’s trying charm.
“Everett,” I stop writing, look up and lean back. “You ask me out every two months. If you’ve made a bet with someone - like we’re living a teen movie - I’ll payoff the bet for ya if you just give it a rest, OK?”
He really IS good looking - but kissing him would be the apoco-LIPS.
“Why do you always say no??,” he asks, with a helpless 1/6th shrug and his GIGAWATT smile.
41 minutes.
“See you in January,” I say, as I slide my laptop closer in, give it my obvious, full attention and hopefully, start back to writing.
“Come to Thanksgiving!,” he says, as inspiration strikes.
“January would be MLK day,” I remind him. “Everett, PLEASE - deadline,” I plead (not looking up).
Everett, makes a snarky sound, turns around and slowly moves away - like a man headed for jail - he really SHOULD try out for the drama department, I decide. 40 minutes.

When Everett turned 16, his daddy gave him some kind of expensive foreign sports car - a really, really, really expensive sports car. Six hours later Everett guns this formula-one race-car out of a gas station, loses control, and totals it. The girl with him had to get stitches over her right eye.

His friends call him “EV” - they say it with a kind of a southern accent - that I can’t decide is fake or not, which gives it a hint of - “Elvis” - had a replacement car within 48 hours. He wrecked THAT one in less than six weeks - and his date got a concussion in the roll-over.

If he wants me to get in a car with him, he’s gonna to have to taser me.

Kindest boy with a library that
reached the ceiling and
the same personality as
my best friend, they would talk about
movies in the middle of the street at
three a.m.
Everyone wanted us
to end up together but
it would never work out
in the end.
Moody boy with dark circles
that rimmed his eyes, always
wanted to talk about romance.
He looked at me with the softest eyes
but couldn't hold a conversation to
saves his life.
I don't know why but
I always think about him
when I'm feeling bright and
blue.
- dates at seventeen.

In the moments before she leaves
When her hands sweat bullets
With full anticipation of the future to be
She looks in the mirror, worried.
She looks out the window, he isn't there yet.
She looks back to the mirror,
Her hair is a mess, she fixes her bangs to one side,
She looks again outside, he isn't there yet.

She's pacing, wasting time in anxious
She notices her make-up smudged
While he's driving down the road
Looking in his side mirror to judge
Why she agreed to an evening
Leaving him self-conscious of his soul
His eyes meet his eyes and in his own gaze
He feels he could swallow himself whole.
Pulling into the driveway,
He inhales deep and says
"Don't let this one get away"

He walks to the door feeling his pulse
She walks to the door trying to breath slow
He thinks she's going to look perfect
She thinks he's going to look perfect
She turns the **** and pulls
The ending, time will only show.