Stewart Worthington


I write when I find the time - and sometimes when I don't have any at all.

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September 15, 2015


Twirling. Smiling. Gazing. Ugh. Why must intriguing, male figures turn innocent females into mindless princesses? An unanswered question for centuries of generations. Me. A 21st century, school girl can tell you why. Love, defined by Google as a strong feeling of affection. I will have to agree to disagree with Doctor Google here. Love, defined by me as a maze of overly dreamy eyes, a puzzle of 1000 pack abs, a tornado of feelings, a load of nothing. In advance, I am sincerely sorry to all love sick puppies out there, but honestly love is a war zone. Bullets of confusion flying through both mind and heart. Fear amongst every soldier, both male and female. The worry of regret and pain. Love is a warzone, and that’s why I vowed to never get involved with such voodoo. I promised for the benefit of my sensitive, emotional state, that I would never let anyone or anything tangle me down the hole of heartbreak. A promise that I had kept every day of my adolescent life, before yesterday. I was fully focused in the art of English when I was hit by an atomic bomb. A gorgeous, amazing, blue eyed bomb. He slowly turned his perfectly rounded head around to face me, revealing a shimmering smile. My whole body was in a marathon! My heart was sprinting, my stomach was doing somersaults, my mind was jumping, yet my face was showing no emotion what so ever. Just as I thought I couldn’t get any more freaked that I already was, I discovered that the male was not just a pretty face. It could talk. So it said, “Can I borrow a pencil?” I froze for a while, and then unfortunately I discovered that like the male, I could also speak. So I squawked, “Sure! HB or 2B?” I awkwardly smiled and cringed at my very existence, but he laughed and said, “Hmm, hard decision. I’ll have to go with 2B.” Despite his charming wit, I handed him the pencil, without another word.
“You say that you love the rain, but you open your umbrella when it rains. You say that you love the sun, but you find a shadow spot when the sun shines. You say that you love the wind, but you close your windows when wind blows. This is why I am afraid; you say that you love me too.”
I was indulged in the great words of Shakespeare, when the bell rang. As the mighty sirens sang, I gathered my belongings and darted straight for the bullseye of the door. I was in the running for 100 points when another competitor got in my way. The male figure again. “Hi again,” he greeted which I responded in a murmur and shuffle for the door. “Wait!” I quickly turned back at his rude yet enthralling order. “Um, I have an extra ticket to a movie tonight and I wondering if you’d like to attend it, with, me.”
“You don’t have to. It’s probably a really bad movie anyway.”
“No, I’d love to. I love really bad movies.”
“Oh, okay! Pick you up at seven?”
“Sounds swell!”
“Okay, see you then.”
“Okie Dokie!”
“See ya.”
Uh? Swell? Okie Dokie? Byeeee? It’s like I had been brain washed into a world of lame phrases. But yet, I mentally squealed and headed straight for my bullseye.
So there I stood on the edge of my balcony at exactly 6:59pm. I debated with myself about my choice of blue jeans and purple sweater, but as I was about to change into another outfit that I would have regretted, he arrived at exactly 7:00pm. He arrived in a white, pick-up truck. Not really my interpretation of a romantic pick up. I expected something a little more formal. Maybe a magical unicorn.
“Hello there!”
“Well, you have definitely beaten me in good looking test. You’re stunning”
I blushed. “Thanks.”
“Well, let’s get rolling.”
After an extremely awkward drive and the ticket man pointing us out as a ‘lovely couple’, we entered into the cinema. Like the gushing wind, he seemed calm, a polar opposite to the hurricane me violently sucking in helpless popcorn pieces. We silently fiddled with our fingers until, “When the lights go down,” causing my realisation.
“Um, what movie is this?”
“Pardon,” he answered back, as the screen read, ’50 Shades of Grey.’ Oh boy.
I exited the cinema, leaving behind awkwardness but releasing horrification.
“You okay,” he asked me.
“Um, yeah.”
“Perhaps a walk would make you feel better?”
I froze as my brain automatically listed several things that could go wrong but yet I said, I stupidly said, “Okie Dokie.”
We walked along with peaceful wind of the winter night. I could sense his glistening eyes staring at me as I shivered in the ice cold, dark. I jumped felt weight a long my shoulder. I thought that number 5 of my ‘wobbly walk’ list had come true, kidnapping, but then realised a brown leather jacket to my right shoulder and a shimmering smile to my left. I blushed at this scene, feeling as if this moment was staged on a Broadway show. “So,” he said, breaking a painful silence.
“Yes,” I answered back, avoiding the lead of the conversation.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Okie Dokie.”
“Why so quiet? If that’s not to straight forward.”
“Um, you know. I just am always have been,” it was true yet not, so I continued, “The headline read ‘Husband murders wife.’ My headline read ‘Dad murders Mum.’ I was 6 and I guess that validates me to not see it coming. I didn’t. I didn’t even realise what was going on till my grandparents sat me down for ‘Biscuits and Milk.’ I hated my Dad after that. Absolutely hated him. I never knew why he did that. I don’t even know why now. I don’t want to talk in case that’s why. I don’t want to fall in love in case that’s why. I’m so scared and he is the reason why.” I dived into a puddle of tears and regret. Why had I opened up to him like that? I felt ridiculous. I felt ashamed. For some reason, I felt alone. I turned around to see him a couple meters behind me.
“You alright,” I asked him, as I walked back by his side.
“Sorry, I stopped at the part about you not wanting to fall in love,” he answered.
“Well, um. Maybe one day.”
We looked at each other. No longer was he the gorgeous, amazing, blue eyed bomb. No cover. No precious reputation. Just him. Not matter how quickly this happened or how absolutely cliché this was, I wasn’t afraid anymore. I didn’t hate love anymore. I agreed with Google. I hated Shakespeare.
“How about today?”
No twirling. No smiling. No gazing. I took a chance and it took me to today, and what a wonderful day it is.


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