Preface

Looking back on our life together, it's hard to extract certain memories from others. It's like everything blurs together in an epic watercolor of emotions. I wanted to give you something special, so I've traversed the labyrinth of my mind to pick out the exact moments I fell in love with you. There are a lot, so bear with me, but out of the blurry haze of our past, these are the times that strike me as bold and undoubtedly the cornerstones of our relationship. These are the precious moments.

Present Day.

I run the pad of my thumb over your smooth knuckle and graze it against the wedding band you've worn for the last eight years. It still gleams silver and is the identical twin to the one that rests on my own left ring finger. You're quiet and pensive and both of us breathe slowly as if any noise might send us into chaos. I break the silence and look into your eyes, willing you to hear me.

"Just listen, okay?" I beg, squeezing your hand and settling back into the plush cushions of our oversized sofa. I clear my throat lightly and begin weaving our story when you give me a subtle nod of acquiescence.

August 15, 1994

I was so excited I could hardly contain myself. I felt like I had swallowed a beehive because my entire body was humming with eager anticipation. Most kids are either scared silly or bouncing out of their skin when the first day of kindergarten rolls around. Me? I was one of those skinless kids. When my mom woke me up at 7am, I was already fully clothed; I had slept in my new sunflower dress and white frilly socks because I didn't want to risk being late for my first day of school. My mom, being the understanding woman she is, merely giggled and helped me into my new white KEDS before combing my golden hair back and swiftly plaiting it into a French braid.

At the breakfast table, I drenched my dad's pancakes in maple syrup and had to tuck a kitchen towel into the front of my dress so I didn't soil it before the day even really began. I took heaping mouthfuls of the sweet fluffiness and wiggled in my seat with pent up energy. Maggie was in her high chair next to me, gumming on the Cheerios that she hadn't managed to throw on the floor. Mom and Dad were bustling around the kitchen, packing my lunch and filling travel cups with coffee; they both wanted to share in this milestone and I felt super excited to have both of them fawning over me. They loved me, I know, but when Maggie was born I had to start sharing their attention, and that was hard for me. Still, even with my sister's needy diaper changes and loud wails, Dad found time to play Rock N' Roll or Tick-Tock with me and Mom always made sure to massage my scalp as I fell asleep every night.

After the crazy chaos of getting Maggie and I buckled into the van without forgetting briefcases and the diaper bag and my new Rainbow Brite backpack, we actually made it to the schoolyard with an extra fifteen minutes to spare. Dad carried Maggie against his chest with one arm and I held onto his and Mom's hands as we walked up to the brick building that had me feeling so squirmy. Every three steps or so I'd jump in the air, tucking my legs under me, and my parents would swing me forward like a tiny, blonde wrecking ball.

I broke away from our foursome when I recognized a few faces; I even started playing tag with Bradley Wentz. He was in my Pre-K group where we would sing together and build play-dough figures that looked more like potatoes than animals. All of the parents stood in an open circle, keeping their eyes on us while talking excitedly about how fast time goes. I was just within arm's reach of Bradley's shoulder when I noticed you. You were clinging to your mom's leg like it was your only anchor to the earth. Your Converse-clad feet were pigeon-toed and your raven hair was pulled into a high ponytail. It wasn't so much you that I noticed, but your backpack. It was all white and had a Hello-Kitty face on it with a red bow on the upper right side. My jaw dropped open and I abandoned my game to rush over and greet you with a wide smile and bubbling energy.

"I like your backpack," I squealed, bouncing on the balls of my feet. "Kitty cats are my favorite! And unicorns too!" I swung my bag off my shoulder and ran my hand over the image on the front, showing off the little blonde cartoon character hugging the rainbow-mane unicorn. You looked at me like I was from another planet before turning your face into your mom's thigh and gripping her leg like a vice.

"Aye, mija! That hurts, baby," she yelped, trying to pry your hands away.

"Hi Meeha! I'm Brittany," I beamed, holding out my hand like my parents taught me. You pulled your head away from your mom's leg and stared at me for a moment before your lips curved into a soft bow. I grinned at you goofily, waiting for you to break out of your shell.

"Mija, mi hija," you explained, "is daughter en español. Uh…Spanish." You bit your lip before taking a deep breath. "Santana," you muttered, lightly taking my hand and shaking it. "I'm Santana," you repeated, dropping your other arm from around your mom and pivoting towards me. My smile widened as you taught me my first Spanish lesson and I received a bright grin in return; you knew you had just imparted wisdom on someone and it made you proud.

I was about to ask you another question when the bell rang, signaling the start of the school day. All of the kids running around the yard hurried over to the white stripe painted on the pavement. I grabbed your hand and dragged you to the growing line of kindergarteners. We all lined up, our parents sniffling yet beaming with pride, and followed Mrs. Thurston into the colorful classroom. You kept looking over your shoulder as your mom waved goodbye and you squeezed my hand as if I was your safety blanket. We broke our connection to pull off our backpacks, but before we even left the cubby room, your hand was once again nestled in mine like a puzzle piece.

Due to our physical bond, Mrs. Thurston allowed us to sit next to one another as everyone shuffled around the rectangular table. There were three tin tubs filled with Crayola crayons spaced evenly across the tabletop so that every student could reach the drawing materials. We were handed blank sheets of paper and told to draw whatever made us happy.

Mommy and Daddy and Maggie make me happy, I thought, reaching for the crayons. But so does ice cream. I took a minute deliberating on what to draw and turned to you for advice. You had already started doodling and your focus was intense.

"Santana," I whispered, unsure of how you'd respond. You snapped your eyes up to mine as if I had yelled your name at the top of my lungs. I could feel the heat flash across my face as I turned beet red. "Sorry, but what do you think is better, family or ice cream?" Once again your eyes became quizzical before they softened.

"Both." Your answer was clear and concise and you turned your attention back to your own masterpiece. I gaped at you in awe for a few moments, completely captivated by the ease with which you solved my problem. I hastily set about drawing my family members, each holding an ice cream cone topped with an out-of-scale cherry.

My entire family has hair the color of summer straw, so I kept the yellow crayon nearby to finish off my drawing with distinct features and a bright, shiny sun. There were probably five different yellow crayons in the tin, but I loved daffodils and the Daffodil crayon both smelled good and was the perfect shade for how I wanted my family to look. I was eagerly shading in the bright yellow splotches when the curly-haired boy across from us reached over and snatched the crayon out of my hand.

"You're hogging it all up," he whined, ignoring my shocked reaction and using the Daffodil crayon to fill in his own sun. My stomach twisted as I looked down at my unfinished artwork. Would I get in trouble if I didn't finish? I didn't want to use a different yellow, I wanted the Daffodil. I couldn't help the pout that morphed my smile into a frown and I was nearly crying when I felt you stir beside me. You pushed back from the table and leaned over to the greedy thief, seizing the crayon from its captor.

"She was using that," you growled, handing the crayon back to me while keeping your death stare on our shared nemesis.

"Mrs. Thurston! She stoled my crayon!" he crowed, pointing his pudgy finger at you.

"He stole it first," you corrected, emphasizing his grammatical mistake while at the same time trying to ward off any blame.

"Santana, Nicholas, we share here. You two will have time to think about that in Time Out." Mrs. Thurston guided you and Nicholas over to a pair of chairs set up in the corner. My heart sank and I felt like the worst person in the entire world. I hadn't even known you a full hour and I was already getting you in trouble. The scowl on your face was visible from where I sat and all I wanted to do was give you a hug for standing up for me.

"Brittany," Mrs. Thurston warned, making me turn back to the now lackluster drawing sitting in front of me. I pursed my lips and looked at the crayon in my hand before a knowing smile broke across my face. I shuffled my previous drawing under the stack of blank pages and started fresh. I worked at a furious pace, making sure I'd finish before we moved on to story time or handwriting or whatever activity Mrs. Thurston had planned after art.

My tongue was pinched between my teeth and I tapped my shoes on the linoleum floor to keep my body focused on my task. You had slumped back into your seat beside me five minutes after being sent to Time Out and we didn't acknowledge each other in fear of being reprimanded again. Your enthusiasm for the project had greatly diminished, but I was still enthralled in the activity. When Mrs. Thurston came around to look at all of our pictures, she smiled knowingly when almost everyone had drawings of their family doing some sort of familiar activity. She crouched down between us and looked over my drawing while raising her eyebrow.

"And what did you draw, Brittany?" Her voice was soft and coaxing and it gave me the courage to describe my picture publicly.

"This," I crooned, brandishing my hand over my drawing, "is Santana. She makes me happy." I didn't delve any deeper in explanation, but I watched as your eyes scanned my artwork before boring into me. They were wide with wonder and your mouth, which was slightly agape, curled into a broad grin. Although I couldn't see the rosy hue to your cheeks, I knew you were blushing. You ducked your eyes away swiftly and hummed a soft "thank you," before describing your own picture to our teacher. When Mrs. Thurston told us to clean up and put our drawings into our folders to take home, I tapped you on your shoulder and waited, a lopsided smile tugging at my lips.

"I did it for you," I mumbled, handing you the drawing. You were hesitant in taking it, but you slid it into your folder as if it were the most prized document you had ever touched.

"Thanks," I added, not needing to explain why I was thanking you. You gave me a dimpled smile and held your hand out to me as I had done earlier. I clasped our hands together and we silently walked over to the reading nook. It was only the beginning to a friendship that would take hold of both our hearts.

Present Day

I hand the stiff paper over to you after taking in its contents with a teary smile. The drawing is twenty-seven years old, but the colors are as vivid as the day the blank sheet stole the pigment from the crayons. You trail your fingers over the image and I watch your right dimple deepen.

"You kept it?" You question, not tearing your eyes from the two elaborate stick figures gracing the page.

"No," I hush, reaching my hand up to caress your face. "You did."

PLEASE REVIEW. I hope to turn this into a multi-chapter fic. Any feedback would be wonderful!