I have a few more! These ones are a bit lengthier.
Markos - Former high school teacher - I love the guy but he's kind of a dick
"Ichabod Crane's apprentice... Is that really so?"
He seemed to put off scholarly airs. Refined, sure. To be completely honest, however, I couldn't see how a man like him could be apprenticing under a man such as Crane. He had a broad smile and broad shoulders - even the way he held himself suggested a sweeping demeanor. His chest was bolstered by the cotton that ruffled under his blue suit (which, might I add, was of rather fine taste), and his red embroidered lapels lay perfectly flat and starched against his person. I also couldn't help but notice small, brown fibers decorating his clothing.
A dog. He had a dog. Crane hated dogs. Then again, Crane hated most things.
"Indeed. I thank you again for your generosity." He paused for a moment and raised an eyebrow, "For a town so minimal, there seems to be quite the lack of real estate, hm?"
He seemed taken aback at first by my confusion, then seemed to come to a humbled understanding.
"Oh, never mind. I'll explain it to you in time."
I noted the signs of hair growing around his chin and lips. Small red marks from the blade of a razor sprinkled his jawline, some as far up as the cheekbone. It was obvious a sharper blade was in order, but luckily I had made sure to supply my new resident with ample supplies in his room.
The thought of shaving incited my curiosity.
"Excuse my boldness, but aren't you a bit... well, aged to be apprenticing?"
He crossed his arms firmly across his puffy chest and gave me a look that even the dead would shake beneath.
I merely nodded. Despite his defensive disposition, he seemed like the scholarly type. He was learned, and quite obviously experienced in conversation as well. He definitely commanded the room. I couldn't help but wonder whether he could teach Crane a thing or two about how to be a functioning member of the social setting.
After a pause a bit too long to be excusable, I realized that I myself had not been as cordial as I had ought to have been.
"I'm sorry, I never asked for your name."
He smiled his broad smile and extended his hand in my direction.
"Markos Van Brunt, pleased to meet you."
It was then that I realized he would never survive under Crane. He had his head about him, for sure. Something I most definitely couldn't say about that slimy Ichabod Crane.
Klay - Former Coworker and Graffiti Artist - I love this guy with all of my heart
Normally when I see a street hooligan dressed up in all black and spray painting graffiti onto the wall of an arroyo, I have a certain tendency to spin 180 degrees on my heels, speed walk in the opposite direction and pretend to be taking a very important phone call. I wouldn't call it profiling but... okay it's totally profiling. It's horrible and I know it, but I can't help it. Growing up the daughter of the county sheriff has it's downfalls. When you're raised on images of strange men in handcuffs and shank wounds, you develop a certain precautionary nature.
So, naturally, when Klay approached me in the middle of the night wearing what looked to be like an espionage outfit, I got a little spooked.
"Hey, kid. Look, don't be scared, but can you hold these for a second? I promise I'm not a weirdo. I promise. Just hold these. Just for a second."
He picked up a couple cans of spray paint from the ground and shoved them into my arms. Picking up a few himself, he pulled me by the shoulder around a corner.
"Lay flat against the wall and don't move."
I did as he told me. His smile was nice and his eyes were kind, but I could tell he was on edge about something. I swear, if I get caught up in some sort of turf war...
Just then, headlights splashed against the concrete wall in front of us, illuminating a freshly painted, still-dripping mural. It was the most beautiful work I had ever seen, and my jaw dropped. The lines were clean and flowing. Jagged where they needed to be. The colors were vibrant and well-dispersed. I was thoroughly impressed.
In the distance: "Yeah, I've got another 594 off of Jaquez. Looks like the vandal already scattered. Mhm..."
Oh, god. That was my dad! What was he doing here right now? I thought he was supposed to be home to watch my little brother for the night. Then again, I suppose I wasn't supposed to be here either... Think fast!
I shoved the cans of paint back into the arms of the man, who was already struggling to keep his from clattering to the ground. I whipped out my cellphone and dialed my dad's number.
After a couple rings, he answered.
"Hey, Munchkin. What's up? How's Bethany?"
"Bethany and I are fine. Just watching movies. I just called to check up on Caleb. I heard Mom was coming home early because he called her crying or something."
The line was silent for a moment.
"He's fine. Oh - Oh he's calling me right now! Yes Caleb! I'm coming! I've got to go, Munchkin. Have fun!"
The headlights vanished and we peeled ourselves off of the wall.
The man turned to me and smiled the sweetest and most genuine smile I'd ever seen.
"Hey, thanks a lot, kid. I'm Klay."
"Hey Klay," I paused and gestured at his work, "I like that a lot."
"Thanks!" He smiled again, and this time handed me only one sticky can of paint, "Wanna try?"
Justin - My boyfriend - He's okay I guess ;)
"I... I am... Me."
And that is about all that I could say with confidence.
The walls were white. The floor was white. The sheets, the lights, my hands: white. There was a curtain to my right that covered a window that overlooked a world that I couldn't remember. I could conjure up images of trees, dogs, park benches - but there was not a single place that were made up of these individual things.
My name had been changed to "Me". My face had been scribbled out with pen like an unwanted addition to an old middle school yearbook.
The room was white. I was Me.
It was evening. I could tell because the white had a pale pink wash like a watercolor. No one had come in to see me for a couple of hours. I must have been like this for a while for no one to be waiting by my bed. I didn't know if I was upset by this.
Then he walked into the room.
Even though I couldn't remember any specific romance novels, I did know that this felt like one. The pale pink from the window brushed across his face like the most beautiful silken sheet. His eyes were chatoyant. He cut such an attractive figure; I inhaled deeply and heard my heart monitor quicken.
This caught his attention. His crystal eyes widened and his jaw went slack. He dropped his things onto the floor.
"You're awake. Oh my god."
He rushed to where I lay and - much to my surprise - laid his entire body on top of mine. It was only after a minute or so did I realize he was absolutely sobbing. I felt my hand gravitate toward his head as I stroked his hair. Was this my son? My brother?
"It's okay," I muttered, running my fingers through his silvery locks, "It's okay. I'm here."
He nodded into my chest.
I spoke again. "I am so happy you are here. Believe me. But... I'm really confused. I don't mean for this to sound strange, but... who are you?"
His breathing halted. He lay still against my body. I felt his hands seize mine tightly.
"No," I heard him breathe quickly, disbelief and grief heavy on his tongue. He brought his eyes to mine. "No. You can't - You don't know who I am?"
I shook my head regretfully.
He nodded and bit his lip, fresh tears cascading shamelessly down his cheeks. I hurt him. I hurt him and I hated that so much.
I held his head within my hands, wiping his tears away with my thumbs.
"No, please don't cry. I don't mean to be a burden - honestly. I just -"
And he pressed his lips against mine. I felt the heat from his tears against my skin. I felt his stubble brushing against my chin. I felt his love pooling around me like warm water. I remembered what love felt like.
He pulled away and pressed his forehead to mine, talking agonizingly slow, "Don't forget that. Please. Don't ever forget that."