Laurette's POV
It was just another day after school. I just got out of English class. Jeez, doesn't the school system
realize kids don't care about Shakespeare? How many times can they force us to read and analyze
Romeo and Juliet? How about a new story? The Tempest, Othello, maybe? Just one more time reading
about star crossed lovers and I might puke.
Look, I don't mean to sound harsh, but love stories have never been my thing. Love has never been
my thing. After 16 years, you would think I would have a boyfriend. Well, its fine, I've always been fairly
independent. Speaking of independence, my mom's not home (late shift) so I'm going to my secret spot.
The Evanwoods Park is the most beautiful spot in Gotham. I reach the bench behind the Oak tree and
sit. Nothing like reading some real literature (NOT SHAKESPEARE), The New Yorker. Ooh, look an article
on green collar jobs and the Westward ecology system.
About halfway through the green collar jobs article I see the guy. He always walks by here
seemingly without a purpose. I've been coming here for about a month and he's never missed his 5:00
stroll. His blondish floppy hair flew in back of him as he kept walking. Occasionally our eyes would meet,
but he's never stopped by the bench. Well, anyway, back to the green collar jobs article.
Whoosh........Whoosh….Ughh, the wind was thrashing at my face and skin, my hair was flying all
over the place. I held a tighter grip on The New Yorker. Whoosh. Darn it! The wind whisked away my
magazine into the air until it eventually landed on the leaf laden walkway. Why does this always
happen? Not the magazine thing, but the whole, you were in the middle of doing something so fate
must interfere. I mean honestly, if I were to go one day witho-
"This must be yours."
It was the guy. The one who walks down the walkway every day. He must've seen the magazine go flying
and he caught it.
"Um, yeah it is. Thanks." I took the magazine from his hands.
"The New Yorker, huh? You must be one of those artist-types," he said.
"I wouldn't call myself an artist; I really like the poetry though." I replied.
"Well, I generally read them for the comics. Nothing like a political cartoon to brighten up your day."
Was that a joke? Should I laugh? Too late now.
"Do you mind if I sit? I've been walking for quite a bit now." He sat down as I scooted over.
"I'm Laurette," I blurted out of nowhere. Where did that come from? Giving out my name in public
wasn't my thing, especially out of nowhere like that.
"Jack," I shook his hand. It was nice and warm.
"I see you walk by here every day. What's the significance of traveling past here every day?" I asked in
curiosity.
"Well, I put in a 9-4 workday, and find walking to the park to be a bit of an escape. It's really soothing."
His voice sounded like velvet when he said 'soothing'.
"Yeah, well, I'm a student, so I like to read, when I can." There I go again. Diarrhea of the mouth.
"What college do you go to? GU? Occard?"
"Um, no, I'm still in high school." I blushed.
"Funny, you look much older." He shifted for his bag. "Do you like Ovid?"
"Who's Ovid?"
"He's an amazing poet, the best in my opinion. You said you like poetry, right?" He asked.
I nodded as he handed me the book.
"Read it. You won't help but be enthralled in the beauty of his words. Hey, how about this. After you
read it, next Friday you can meet me on the bench and we can talk about it. Sound good?" he asked
with a hint of a smile on his face.
I wanted to say thanks, but all I seemed to be able to do was nod.
He stared into my eyes for a second, still with that smile on his face. His eyes were a golden hazel with
streaks of brown through them. My spine tingled.
"Well, I'll see you soon, Laurette."
And with that he stood up, lit a cigarette, and continued down the path, his golden wavy hair flopping as
he walked.
See you soon Jack.