What happens when the star baseball player hits a home run into the art studio window?
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All Sadie Lane Garner needed to make herself happy was a canvas and paintbrush.
With copious projects due and little studio time, she volunteers to clean t...
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I TUCKED MY hair behind my ear, but the strong beach breeze pulled the strands back out, tossing them about. I fought the wind, however, it won in the end. My hair was a mess of tangles.
Unlike yesterday, today felt like a true March afternoon.
The weekend sunshine must've been a fluke, or we jinxed the warm weather by pretending it was summer too early. Now cool dampness lingered in the air like the clouds were ready to burst. I hoped my feelings were wrong or else my belongings and I would be destroyed.
I held my sketchbook pages down with my forearm and sipped the coffee. My shift at the restaurant was painless today. I only had one morning class before and I figured I'd pick up an extra shift.
To be honest, I didn't hate my waitress job. The view from Ruby's Tavern was picture perfect. The establishment sat straight on the beachfront, with a tiny patio, occasional live music, and great coffee.
Not to mention, it was far enough from campus that I rarely served students. Instead, I served the early birds who tipped well. Well enough that I could afford to splurge on a new set of drawing pencils.
I'd yet to receive an email about the gallery job, so I hadn't put in my two weeks.
Scooting further down on my blanket, I nestled my toes in the sand.
I enjoyed watching people. Something was calming about the way they moved without hurrying. Some walked alone, some with their dogs, or with a partner.
Right on time, I watched an old couple amble down the shore. They held each other's hand like the past three Tuesdays. When they reached their usual spot, the man smiled toward his little lady as he let go of her and unfolded a blanket onto the sand. They sat together.
I flipped to the drawing I had been working on of them. All I had to finish was the ocean, so I disregarded the sketch for class and pushed myself to finish the piece.
Every so often, he would lean over and kiss her lips.
I wondered what it was like to experience love like that.
Love where you had a routine. Where you could grow old and still gaze at one another like you just met. My sister had found it and now had a baby on the way and I was beyond thrilled for her, but still wondered when I would experience anything of the sort.
Because with love comes pain.
I had seen it firsthand when my father passed away, resulting in my mother's heartbreak.
And I saw it again with my first relationship, which ended with lots of crying and a new definition of trust.
Exhaling, I finished the drawing and tore it from my sketchbook. I didn't bother sighing my name since it was just practice and packed up my belongings, shaking off the sand.
