I lay across my bed, stretching to reach underneath it to retrieve a book. My fingertips sweep across an old candy bar wrapper, then to a dirty shirt I had worn the day before. Finally I feel it, the slim cool binding of the book I am searching for. I quickly flip to the page I dog-eared so long ago the crease finally gave way. The tiny corner tore off disappearing underneath my bed with everything else lost for good.
His face peers up at me with a smile; always so confident. My eyes trace over his features that were so smooth and almost soft, he was almost pretty for a boy at that age, before sweeping to his name Gabriel Livingston.
I wonder what he looks like now. Is he graduating on time? Still living in the same town I left him in? It hadn’t been nearly long enough to remove him from the tiny place in the back of my mind, the one that knew he was somehow worried that last day.
My brain created a special permanent location for him. He lives there happily, where someday we will meet again, and fulfill all I dream of. We will fall in love, own a beautiful home, and fill it with children as attractive as he is, maybe with my lovely hair.
I half wonder if his being in the audience would make singing any easier, or if it would be too intimidating. Maybe if he were there I could sing to him, and he would be as dumbstruck by me as I am by him.
He floats into my sleep-filled head, his image straight from the book. I look the way I did then too. We are in my yard, sitting down on the cement steps of the porch laughing. His smile is wide with his brilliant teeth, eyes alight with humor. Our fingers intertwine together as we sit side by side enjoying the spring afternoon.
The scene is typical of my fantasies. The best part is hearing him speak, his voice sweet and kind. Not the whispers I’d grown used to. If only all my dreams were this way.