(This week’s edition of A Creative Space features the beginning–a prologue–to the very first novel I wrote called Wild Cherries. I call it my ‘practice novel’ lol. It will never see the light of day, other than here. It’s a women’s fiction story, and this prologue narrator is a newspaper columnist and the antagonist of the story. Enjoy Part I!)
Beginnings and Endings: Part I
The Local Guy: Beginnings and Endings
by Nicholas Hart
I don’t know if you really want to hear about it, but I bought a book a few months ago. It was actually the seventh time I’ve purchased this same book. Every time I go into a bookstore, I purchase a copy. You see, I am more interested in this book than I have been in any other for a long time, but I haven’t read it yet despite owning seven copies of it. The problem isn’t that I have been too busy with work or that I’ve spent too much time analyzing the pros and cons of the Bowl Championship Series or even that I’ve got too many other great books stacked on my desk, all beckoning to be read. The truth is, it’s August and I’ve got countless empty hours to fill in a lounge chair on a beach under a summer sun reading a great book while listening to music.
I know it’s a tremendous book, but the problem is that if I begin it, it will eventually end. I don’t want this story to end, similar to how I don’t ever want to see the end of the Friday Fish Fry at O’Brien’s Pub. There are just some things that become a part of a man, and it’s difficult to imagine life without them. I’m sure I could stretch out the middle of the book in an effort to prolong my enjoyment of the story, but it would still eventually end. There are only two things of which I’m certain: 1) if I begin this book, it will end and 2) I don’t want to face the end of this story.
Beginnings and endings are certain. And this makes them easy. Sometimes you see them coming from miles away, while other times you only see their backs after they’ve passed. But the trail of any experience can always be traced backward and forward to these instances: beginnings and endings. They are always defined by one singular moment.
A beginning can be the moment a young man turns to page one and reads, “I first met Dean…” Or it could be the instant the eyes blink open and see the morning sunlight. It may also be the toss of an orange leather ball into the air in an old, musty gymnasium packed with bodies full of hope and nerves. This singular moment sets events in motion and launches a person into an unknown world to travel a long and winding road or merely a few steps. This moment is a beginning.
An ending, too, is defined by its singularity. It can be the first ring of a midnight telephone call that changes a life forever. Or it may be a red velvet curtain that slowly closes on a scene of a mother and daughter sitting together on a couch and a voice that says “…and so goodbye.” That moment when a scoreboard clock flashes 0:00 or when one loses sight of a white car or the swaying brown hair of a girl could signal an end. This type of moment can elicit relief, applause, exhilaration, or even the racking sobs of deep sadness. An ending is always felt, even if it is not acknowledged right away.
These moments are easy to identify. They are clear and precise. It is the unknown and often tumultuous path in between these two moments that can be difficult. It sometimes takes strength, courage, and even humor to live in that unknown between beginnings and endings. I am pretty good at telling about beginnings and endings; they are easy. Where I often fail is at the middle. It is sometimes difficult for me to navigate through such uncertainty; and especially lately, I’ve been reminded of this.
So in my column today, I’d like to tell the beginning and the ending of a truly sad yet wonderful love story. (I know, love story? What’s up with that? But indulge me, please, just this week; its beginning and ending deserve to be told.) It’s a story with a beginning that sets two people on an unexpected journey down a beautiful road less traveled that appeared almost out of nowhere. Its ending is one that exhibits a rare combination of happiness, relief, exhilaration, and profound sadness. It’s a story of love: found and lost and then found again.
Once upon a time (Yes, ‘once upon a time.’ You’ll see- it has all the makings of an epic fairytale.) Anyway, once upon a time, a man fell in love with a young woman. The young woman was beautiful. She had sea glass eyes and long brown hair. Though most often sparkling, her eyes were also sometimes overwhelmed by her deep emotions, spilling salty tears down her cheeks and threatening to drown her. But when the sparkle returned, they could be mysterious and passionate and innocent in any moment. Her smile was just as brilliant and could light up any room. It was contagious, coaxing out other smiles and filling all hearts with joy. If one could tear his gaze away from the beautiful face, he’d see long, gorgeous legs, legs that made a man’s head turn. Stretched out on the summer sand or running on the cement sidewalk or curled up on a couch on a Friday night, these legs were quietly naive yet boldly beautiful. And her inner strength and passion were even more incredible than her physical beauty. If you haven’t figured it out already, she was amazing.
It was shocking to the man that not many noticed her beauty. But she was quiet about it; she was the girl next door. Although for those who took the time to look, she was a wonder.
So it is no wonder that the man fell in love with the young woman. The man, however, was not nearly as handsome as she was beautiful. He had a mouthful of crooked teeth (which he hated) that looked something like a car wreck. He sported a small scar above his right eye—much like Harry Potter, though less heroic, and he had boldly chosen to wear baldness as a result of losing his hair as he approached forty. His body was not as toned and muscular as it had been when he was younger, despite continuing to play sports regularly. He was simply average.
And though merely average in looks, he was slightly above average in kindness and generosity, many would say. He was the guy who always bought a round of drinks at happy hour and the one always listening politely to a coworker’s inane babbling. People were drawn to him, asking for favors or sharing secrets or just looking for a laugh. But the person the man was drawn to beyond all others was the young woman.
It was a new year, on an ordinary Wednesday evening, when the man first saw the beautiful young woman. The surge of emotion was unexpected, like a surprise party in his heart. He was alone, that night and always; and he had not intended to find love, that night or ever. He had stopped looking, understanding that in the moment of a careless vow he had sentenced himself to a life of obligation. He was muddling through, feeling undeserving of anything more.
So it must be that love found him on that January evening. It was so simple: a look, a question, and a book. It was so accidental, as well. But the events were set in motion. It can all be traced back to that moment when the beautiful, young woman walked up to the man, her daisy scent filling the air, and looked at him with her hopeful, innocent, sparkling sea glass eyes. The road was stretched out before them in that very moment. He would grow to adore her greatest of all.
Yes, once upon a time a man fell in love with a beautiful young woman…
Join me next Monday for A Creative Space and read Part II!
xo, Leslie
