We met at school. We were locker neighbors, sharing that same smell of fresh notebook paper and molding tennis shoes, with clips of our favorite musicians taped inside our locker doors.
She was beautiful and had that self-assurance that told me she must be going with somebody. Somebody who was somebody in school. MeI'm struggling, trying to stay on the track team and make good enough grades to get into the college my folks went to when they were my age.
The day I met Rachel, she smiled and said hello. After looking into her warm brown eyes, I just had to get out
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and run like it was the first and last run of my life. I ran ten miles that day and hardly got winded.
We spent that fall talking and joking about teachers, parents and life in general, and what we were going to do when we graduated. We were both seniors, and it was great to feel like a "top dog" for a while. It turns out she wasn't dating anybodywhich was amazing. She'd broken up with somebody on the swim team over the summer and wasn't going out at all.
I never knew you could really talk to somebodya girl, I meanthe way I talked with her.
So one day my carit's an old beat-up car my dad bought me because it could never go very fastwouldn't start. It was one of those gray, chilly fall days, and it looked like rain. Rachel drove up beside me in the school parking lot in her old man's turquoise convertible and asked if she could take me somewhere.
I got in. She was playing the new David Byrne CD and singing along to it. Her voice was pretty, a lot prettier than Byrne'sbut then, he's a skinny dude, nothing like Rachel. "So where do you want to go?" she asked, and her eyes had a twinkle like she knew something about me I didn't.
"To the house, I guess," I said, then got up the guts to add, "unless you want to stop by Sonic first."
She didn't answer yes or no, but drove straight to the drive-in restaurant. I got her something to eat and we sat and talked some more. She looked at me with those brown eyes that seemed to see everything I felt and thought. I felt her fingers on my lips and knew I would never feel any more for a girl than I did right then.
We talked and she told me about how she'd come to live in this town, how her dad had been a diplomat in Washington and then retired and wanted her, all of a sudden, to grow up like a small-town girl, but it was too late. She was sophisticated and poised and always seemed
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to know what to say. Not like me. But she opened up something in me.
She liked me, and suddenly I liked myself.
She pointed to her windshield. "Look," she said, laughing. "We steamed up the windows." In the fading light of day, I suddenly remembered home, parents and my car.
She drove me home and dropped me off with a "See you tomorrow" and a wave. That was enough. I had met the girl of my dreams.
After that day, we started seeing each other, but I wouldn't call them dates. We'd get together to study and always ended up talking and laughing over the same things.
Our first kiss? I wouldn't tell the guys this, because they would think it was funny, but she kissed me first. We were in my house, in the kitchen. Nobody was home. The only thing I could hear was the ticking of the kitchen clock. Oh, yeah, and my heart pounding in my ears like it was going to explode.
It was soft and brief; then she looked deep in my eyes and kissed me again, and this time it wasn't so soft and not so brief, either. I could smell her and touch her hair, and right then I knew I could die and be happy about it.
"See you tomorrow," she said then, and started to walk out the door. I couldn't say anything. I just looked at her and smiled.
We graduated and spent the summer swimming and hiking and fishing and picking berries and listening to her music. She had everything from R&B to hard rock, and even the classics like Vivaldi and Rachmaninoff. I felt alive like I never had before. Everything I saw and smelled and touched was new.
We were lying on a blanket in the park one day, looking up at the clouds, the radio playing old jazz. "We have to leave each other," she said. "It's almost time for us to go to college." She rolled over on her belly and looked at me.
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"Will you miss me? Think of me, ever?" and for a nanosecond I thought I saw some doubt, something unlike her usual self-assurance, in her eyes.
I kissed her and closed my eyes so I could sense only her, the way she smelled and tasted and felt. Her hair blew against my cheek in the late summer breeze. "You are me," I said. "How can I miss myself?"
But inside, it was like my guts were being dissected. She was right; every day that passed meant we were that much closer to being apart.
We tried to hold on then, and act like nothing was going to happen to change our world. She didn't talk about shopping for new clothes to take with her; I didn't talk about the new car my dad had bought for me because that would be what I drove away in. We kept acting like summer was going to last forever, that nothing would change us or our love. And I know she loved me.
It's nearly spring now. I'll be a college sophomore soon.
Rachel never writes.
She said that we should leave it at thatwhatever that meant. And her folks bought a house in Virginia, so I know she's not coming back here.
I listen to music more now, and I always look twice when I see a turquoise convertible, and I notice more things, like the color of the sky and the breeze as it blows through the trees.
She is me, and I am her. Wherever she is, she knows that. I'm breathing her breath and dreaming her dreams, and when I run now, I run an extra mile for Rachel.
Robby Smith
As told to T. J. Lacey
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Why Guys Like Girls
One day while reading my e-mails, I came across one of those that you have to scroll down for an eternity just to get to the letter part because it is sent to hundreds of people.
Well, normally, I automatically delete those. But this one intrigued me. It was titled, "A Few Reasons Why Guys Like Girls." The instructions were to read it, add to it and then forward it to at least twenty-five people. If you did not forward it, you would have bad luck with relationships, but if you did send it to twenty-five people or more, you would be the lucky winner of romantic bliss.
After reading the reasons why guys like girls, I had an idea. If I could attain romantic bliss by sending this e-mail to twenty-five people, imagine how lucky I'd be if I sent it to millions. My husband and I are looking forward to marital perfection thanks to each and every one of you who reads this.*
[*References to chain letter results are not meant to be taken seriously.]
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A Few Reasons Why Guys Like Girls
1. They always smell good, even if it's just shampoo
2. The way their heads always find the right spot on your shoulder
3. The ease with which they fit into your arms
4. The way they kiss you and all of a sudden everything is right in the world
5. How cute they are when they eat
6. The way they take hours to dress, but in the end its all worthwhile
7. Because they are always warm, even when it's minus thirty degrees outside
8. The way they look good no matter what they wear
9. The way they fish for compliments
10. How cute they are when they argue
11. The way their hands always find yours
12. The way they smile
13. The way you feel when you see their names on the caller ID after you just had a big fight
14. The way they say ''Let's not fight anymore," even though you know an hour later . . .
15. The way they kiss when you do something nice for them
16. The way they kiss you when you say "I love you"
17. Actually, just the way they kiss you . . .
18. The way they fall into your arms when they cry
19. Then the way they apologize for crying over something silly
20. The way they hit you and expect it to hurt
&nbs
p; 21. Then the way they apologize when it does hurt (even though we don't admit it)
22. The way they say, "I miss you"
23. The way you miss them
24. The way their tears make you want to change the world so that it doesn't hurt them anymore
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Yet regardless of whether you love them, hate them, wish they would die or know that you would die without them . . . it matters not. Because once they come into your life, whatever they are to the world, they become everything to you. When you look them in the eyes, traveling to the depths of their souls, and you say a million things without a trace of a sound, you know that your own life is inevitably consumed within the rhythmic beatings of their very hearts.
We love them for a million reasons. It is a thing not of the mind but of the heart. A feeling. Only felt.
Kimberly Kirberger
[AUTHORS' NOTE: We thought it would be fun for you to send in more reasons to add to this list for next book, Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul III. You can also send in reasons why girls like guys, and we will include them in the next book also.]
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Love Is Never Lost
If our love is only a will to possess, it is not love.
Thich Nhat Hanh
They say it's better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.
That thought wouldn't be very comforting to Mike Sanders. He had just been dumped by his girlfriend. Of course, she didn't put it quite that way. She said, "I do care about you, Mike, and I hope we can still be friends." Great, Mike thought. Still be friends. You, me and your new boyfriend will go to the movies together.
Mike and Angie had been going together since they were freshmen. But over the summer, she had met someone else. Now as he entered his senior year, Mike was alone. For three years they shared the same friends and favorite hang-outs. The thought of returning to those surroundings without Angie made him feelwell, empty.
Football practice usually helped him take his mind off his troubles. Coaches have a way of running you until you are so tired, you can't really think of anything else.
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But lately, Mike's heart just wasn't in it. One day it caught up with him. He dropped passes he wouldn't normally miss and let himself get tackled by guys who had never been able to touch him before.
Mike knew better than to have the coach yell at him more than once, so he tried a little harder and made it through the rest of the practice. As he was running off the field, he was told to report to the coach's office. "Girl, family or school: Which one is bothering you, son?" asked his coach.
"Girl," Mike responded. "How did you guess?"
"Sanders, I've been coaching football since before you were born, and every time I've seen an all-star play like a J.V. rookie, it's been because of one of those three."
Mike nodded. "Sorry, sir. It won't happen again."
His coach patted him on the shoulder. "This is a big year for you, Mike. There's no reason why you shouldn't get a full ride to the school of your choice. Just remember to focus on what's really important. The other things will take care of themselves."
Mike knew his coach was right. He should just let Angie go and move on with his life. But he still felt hurt, even betrayed. "It just makes me so mad, Coach. I trusted in her. I opened myself up to her. I gave her all I had, and what did it get me?"
His coach pulled out some paper and a pen from his desk drawer. "That's a really good question. What did it get you?" He handed Mike the pen and paper and said, "I want you to think about the time you spent with this girl, and list as many experiences, good and bad, that you can remember. Then I want you to write down the things that you learned from each other. I'll be back in an hour." With that, the coach left Mike by himself.
Mike slumped in his chair as memories of Angie flooded his head. He recalled when he had first worked up the
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nerve to ask her out, and how happy he had been when she said yes. Had it not been for Angie's encouragement, Mike wouldn't have tried out for the football team.
Then he thought of the fights that they had. Though he couldn't remember all the reasons for fighting, he remembered the sense of accomplishment he got from working through their problems. He had learned to communicate and compromise. He remembered making up after the fights, too. That was always the best part.
Mike remembered all the times she made him feel strong and needed and special. He filled the paper with their history, holidays, trips with each other's family, school dances and quiet picnics together. Line by line, he wrote of the experience they shared, and he realized how she had helped shape his life. He would have become a different person without her.
When the coach returned, Mike was gone. He had left a note on the desk that simply read:
Coach,
Thanks for the lesson. I guess it's true what they say about having loved and lost, after all. See you at the practice.
David J. Murcott
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David's Smile
David could make me deliriously happy or crazy with anger, quicker than anyone I'd ever known, and when he smiled everything else disappeared and I could not help but smile back. He had a million smiles, but there was one in particular that I could even hear in his voice across the phone from miles away. It was playful and knowing and cynical and sincere and secretive and assertive and a thousand other paradoxical things all at once. That smile made me laugh when I was hurting, forgive him when I was angry and believe him even when I knew he was lying. That smile made me fall in love with himand that was the last thing I ever wanted to do.
When he was mad or hurting or thinking or listening, his face was stone. When he smiled, though, I felt like I was looking right into his soul, and when I made him smile, I felt beautiful inside and out.
David was the first guy I ever really loved. Sometimes when he held me and my head was resting on his broad shoulder I felt that he could hear my deepest, darkest thoughts. He always knew how to say exactly what I needed to hear. He would touch my face and look into
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my eyes and say he loved me with such warmth that I couldn't help believing.
From the first time we touched, he dominated my thoughts. I would try to concentrate on school, church, my family or my other friends, but it was no use. I would tell myself over and over again that he wasn't the kind of guy I needed in my life, but with each passing day, I only wanted him more. I felt so out of control, so scared and so excited. I would fall asleep at night thinking about his kisses and wake up in the morning with his soft, magical words ringing in my ears. Sometimes when I was near him I trembled. Then, he would put his arms around me and I would relax and feel safe again.
My instincts were in constant conflict. Trust him. Don't trust him. Kiss him. Don't kiss him. Call him. Don't call him. Tell him how you feel. No, it will scare him off. And then finally I would wonder if maybe that would be the very best thing that could happen.
If he was scared or insecure, I only saw it once or twice. Like the rest of his emotions, I could never tell how much was an act for my benefit and how much he really felt. He fascinated me. I would stare into his brown eyes and wonder if he had any idea how much control he had over me. If he knew, he never let it show.
Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul II Page 6