There are plenty of people in this world who believe in luck, superstition, and other things of the like. Athletes might wear the same underwear every time they compete. Businessmen will save their first dollar so that it helps them earn infinitely more. Actors will run lines they already know by heart before they go on stage.
Alyssa Grey? She lit candles.
Quite a few, actually.
She had this ratty old backpack. Bright green, threatening to fall apart at any given moment. On it were the words "Lucky Ducky". Don't ask me about the ducky part, but it might have been due to the picture of the duck with a saxophone that had been added. Yet, that little doodle only came into life recently. And the word "Ducky" had been on that bag since the first competition of my sophomore year.
I still remember it like it was yesterday. The little Indian (like the country, not the Native Americans) freshman with two long braids, struggling along with her bari sax case. I had decided to take pity on her, and took the instrument without a word. It was loaded on the bus, and I boarded soon afterwards.
Being a tenor, I had thought nothing of sitting with the saxes. But all their attention was grasped by that little girl from earlier. Her and that damned green backpack. She was talking a mile a minute. About luck. How all that stuff about four leaf clovers, horseshoes, and rabbit's feet were all lies.
And that really, luck – the true kind, spun of gold and mercy in the heavens – lay in candles.
That backpack held dozens of them. Homemade things. Her grandmother's recipe, she boasted. All different colors. Blues, greens, reds, purples. All had mysteriously entrancing designs carefully carved into them by a straightened-out paper clip.
The result of her crafts was that she was always sporting bandages on all ten fingers, at the least. Those Hello Kitty offenders sometimes showed up on her arms, face, neck...anywhere, really, where one could get burned making candles.
Of course, now – two years later – I was used to Alyssa's antics. We'd even become friends, despite the fact that I had been her section leader last year and would once more do so this year. Senior year. The end of high school marching band for me. Alyssa was oh-so blissfully innocent. She still had one more year of memories. I had no doubt they would be wonderful ones. That was just how she was. Never stopped to smell the roses, always moved forward with determination. Everyone loved Alyssa Grey because she was just so alive. The only time she was ever calm was when she was with her candles.
At the moment, for instance, she was sitting on the pavement as the buses were unloaded. The girl has convinced the director that her candle lighting was a science. And it had worked so far, bringing us home plenty of trophies. So Alyssa skipped unloading so that she might perform the usual ceremony. I usually watched from a distance as she unloaded all of those candles from the backpack. One by one, each was lit. Each with it's own match. She must go though a hundred of those match boxes during marching season.
All those candles - different shapes, sizes, and colors – surrounded Alyssa and cast a glow on her in the dark of the evening outside our hotel. She waited, her eyes closed for the moment. It was times like this that one could see the true beauty of this mysterious girl. It was a magical beauty, so far unmatched by anyone I'd ever met.
Then, one by one, each candle was blown out. In the same manner by which they were lit.
Alyssa stashed away her things in her backpack, winked at our band director mischievously, and waltzed on over to me.
"David Mallard, were you watching me light my candles?" She inquired with an accusing grin.
"Absolutely not." I shot back, deadpan. Though she could see the smile playing at my lips.
"You were so." She argued, hands on her hips. Enjoying this, quite a bit. It could possibly be due to the slight reddening of my cheeks.
"Carry your own case, then." I set it down in front of her, and she pouted in protest. I usually managed to avoid her puppy dog pout, but tonight it was especially strong and irresistible.
Just looking at that face, I couldn't help but sigh and pick the case back up, along with mine.
"C'mon, Candle Girl. Let's see how many buildings you can burn down this trip." I said, going ahead of her.
She got thoroughly flustered. "Don't make fun of me! We've gotten straight ones every competition since I've been here with my candles!" Alyssa said defensively, trotting to keep up with me.
"Whatever you say, Candle Girl."
Speak as I will, I could go off to college. I could go off into the world. Hell, I could go off to space. But never would I ever forget the sight of Alyssa Grey, lighting her good luck candles.
AN: Not really sure what I think of this one...I kind of rambled on with it. No real planning. Thanks to KyF777 for the word 'candles'! Um...so yeah. Did anyone make the connection between "Lucky Ducky" and our narrator's last name? Just a little detail I thought I'd throw in for the fun of it! Review on, reader, review on.