Okay, we all know how Daphne is all romantic and wishful, right? Well, I was mucking around on my computer, and I thought, "I should write a story that talks about love." All of my stories have love as at least an undercurrunt, since love is one of the most powerful things on Earth. Why wouldn't we write about it? I dare you to find a book that doesn't have some form of love in it, whether it's romantic or love for a friend or family or an animal, like a dog, or a horse.
The point is, this story is all about love. And, since I'm so familar with Daphne, I decided to write sort of a beginning to her fanciful approach to life. It's still in character, but it's the more pessimistic form of Daphne that she can certaintly be. Anyway, hope you like it!
I'm going to put it bluntly: love is stupid.
Not that I have experience, but I've seen it enough times, and it's illogical and yet everyone thinks it makes perfect sense. Ever since Velma and Shaggy started dating - to put it mildly - I've been drowning in love. It doesn't help that everyone thinks me and Fred are next. Please. I'm allergic to love, I think.
But I don't express my opinion very often, because I get called a cynic and a skeptic and a Grinch. Even Tara Massey, who has been through about a billion boyfriends and all of them have ended up with her sobbing her eyes out in her room, told me that love was beautiful and that I was such a pessimist and how could I say love is stupid when I was obviously in love with Fred?
Sure, it's beautiful. But it's beautiful in the way I might say the ocean is during a horrifying ocean storm. Beautiful, I suppose, but absolutely devastating. It's something you can't recover from, and the moment when you feel freed by love, it strikes again with the accuracy and power of a lightning strike.
And I'm not a pessimist. I'm really an optimist. I like life and all and I hope and I try to look on the brighter side of things. It's just that some things are beyond optimism. That includes love.
Furthermore, I'm not in love with Fred. Sure, we're friends, and sure, I guess he's attractive, but I think love is supposed to be more than looks. It supposed to be about the meeting of two souls which become one, or something like that. And how could our souls be one when I feel tongue-tied around him, or how I feel like I have to work harder to impress him, or how he drives me insane even when he isn't around? We're more apart that Jekyll and Hyde.
Shaggy and Velma are in love, and that's obvious. They've taken it a step farther than obvious and now it's sickening. I don't think Fred is having the time of his life, either, and I know Scooby doesn't like it at all. Because none of us really want to be in the back, drowning in the love aroma, Scooby sits in the front with me and Fred. Which is okay, except that half of the time I end up squashed against Fred and it's totally awkward, which also proves I don't love Fred. Because if I was in love with him, I'd like being squashed against him, right?
The thing is, I have no idea why Velma is in love with Shaggy. I mean, let's be honest: he's a mess, he's clueless, and he eats like a pig. Not to mention that he couldn't stand his ground against a mousquito and that his best friend is a dog. A talking dog, mind you, but still: a dog.
I asked Velma for five reasons why she liked Shaggy, and she came up with five little sentimental tidbits that made me embarressed just listening to her. I mean, she said, "Oh, I love how during a movie, I can pretend to be scared and he'll still hold me." Thanks to Velma, I'll never be able to look at Shaggy in the same way.
You can ruin yourself through love. You could fall head-over-heels for someone, and if they don't love you back, then you end up feeling like there's a hole punched through your chest. And no one even did anything bad. Sure, if your boyfriend was sneaking off at night to go make out with a cute cheerleader named Ashley or Brittney or something like that, then you have the right to cry yourself to sleep. But if the guy simply doesn't like you as a girlfriend or boyfriend or whatever, then what do you do? You can't blame anyone but your sorry self.
Another thing that bugged me about love is the way everyone carries on about kissing. I mean, sure, if I was in love I might want to be kissed, but nothing like everyone talks about it. I'd been sleeping over at Bridget Lloyd's house with a few other girls, and they spent half an hour analyzing Patti Carson's first kiss with Roberto Figueroa. Please, grow up.
Not to mention that our ancestors, thousands of years ago, could have just as easily decided that shaking hands or kicking each other or thumb wars were the greatest way to show someone you love them.
Fred is driving me home from his house, where we'd been having a game night. It'd been fun at first, but it had gotten kind of boring when Shaggy and Velma had gotten too mushy for me. Blech. They'd left to go do who know's what at Shaggy's house, so Fred had driven me home. I hadn't bothered to ask him for a ride; Fred drove everyone just about everywhere. Well, he did, until Shaggy had started driving his car around, in case he and Velma wanted to go off on their own.
The ride is quiet, mostly because I'm fuming about love and I'm too whipped up to speak. Fred's probably thinking about football. I don't know why this bothers me, but it does.
When he stops in front of my house, he doesn't unlock the car. Before I can drag Fred's mind back into real life, he asks, "What are you thinking?"
"Right now? I'm thinking that you should open the door so I can get out of the car. Five seconds ago, I was thinking about how stupid love is." I sigh.
Fred laughs. "That seems kind of out of character."
"Are you saying I'm romantic?" I ask incredulously. "Honestly, Fred where have you been?"
"Honestly, Daphne, you're kind of ridiculous." He was so annoying.
"Ha ha. Very funny." I roll my eyes. He still hadn't unlocked the car.
"So, you really think that Shaggy and Velma going out is stupid?" Fred asks, enjoying himself.
"Not just that, but everything about love," I correct him. "I mean, no one ever can think of a decent reason why they're in love, and half the time the girl ends up crying onto her banjo or whatever."
"I think it was a guitar." Fred corrects me back.
"Whatever. Her guitar. The point is, saying you're in love is just a way to say you're obsessed and addicted."
"So, I assume there's no point in asking you if you believe in destiny," Fred sighs. I'm sure he was mock-sighing, though. He had better be mock-sighing.
"You would assume correctly. Dawn believed in destiny, and look where it got her. Her husband was on a date two weeks after she died." A sour note creeps into my voice. Dawn had thought of him as the man destiny threw down to her. I refer to him as the misrable excuse Dawn mistook for a man.
"I wouldn't do that," Fred says gently. I glance at him. Gee, wasn't someone feeling mushy today.
"What does that have to do with anything?" I mutter, annoyed that I was blushing. Why did Fred have to always mess everything up?
"I think you know exactly what it has to do with everything." Fred face is leaning towards mine. My heart is beating wildly.
"How do you know what I think?" I manage to say, a little breathlessly.
"Do you even know what you think?" Fred murmur.
"I think you're missing the point," I mumble. I have no idea what I'm thinking now.
"And what is the point?" Fred breathes.
"That..." It takes me a moment to pull the point out of a tangled mess that we call the brain. "That love is stupid. And I don't believe in destiny and fate and love at first sight and all that jazz."
"Well, in that case, I think I'm right on topic." Fred smiles slowly.
"And why is that?" I whisper. His eyes are distracting, that's all. If I was in love with Fred, I'd be able to have a coherent coversation with Fred, wouldn't I?
"Because I'm about to prove you wrong." Fred's blue eyes shine, and then he kisses me.
The kiss is long. The whole world grinded to a halt, than picked up again, at turbospeed. I wouldn't have cared if it had blown up at all, as long as our little pocket stayed safe.
When he pulls away, I stay still, my mind flopping around like a fish out of water. Eventually, I take a deep breath. "Fred, I think you should unlock the car door now."
Fred nods, on autopilot. "Okay." I hear the click of the car door, and then I am getting up and lurching out onto my wet lawn. I expect to hear the van's engine rumble to life, but I don't. Fred doesn't leave until ten minutes after I'm inside.
I'm still not in love. That wasn't love. That was just Fred's hormones taking control. I'm sure he'll be back to normal by tomorrow.
In my room, I lie on my bed. The fan above me spins around and around, and my eyes follow it. Watching a fan is easier than thinking about what just happened.
A sound from my laptop awakes me. Fred is online. Sorry, his chat bubble says. i didnt mean to kiss you. it just happened. sorry.
I don't make a move. My mind is too overwhelmed to consider the idea that I should get up and type back. When it comes to mind, a few moments later, I sit in front of my computer reluctantly, and then I don't know what to type.
Fred knows I don't believe in love. He wouldn't be surprised if I told him it was okay, but I'd rather just be friends. Because that's what I'd rather do. Since love ends in heartbreak. Nothing good ever comes out of love. Look at Romeo and Juliet. Look at Cathy and Heathcliff. Look at Charlie Brown, for crying out loud.
Oh, get real, a voice in my head challenges me. You are obviously in love with him. You're just afraid. A chicken. Bok, bok! Bok! The voice sounds way too close to Daisy's voice for comfort. She always made fun of me, since until I was like seven I was afraid of almost everything. Trains, worms, school, shopping - you name it. Daisy's teasing helped me, I guess, because then I'd always get all indignant and show her what I was made of.
If Daisy were here, she'd be making fun of me. But I wasn't afraid of love. I don't love Fred, so that automatically kills anything about me being a chicken. Besides, I don't want a broken heart. I was just being cautious.
Yeah, cautious, the voice taunts. Like Shaggy is cautious of monsters.
I groan and put my fingers against my temples. Then I get an idea so genius it's Einstein. I'll find five pieces of proof as to why I love Fred. It will be super hard, and I'll only come up with one, and then I can get rid of this love-garbage.
Number One. I only need to think for a second before it comes to me. Unwillingly, I write down, His eyes.
Number Two. This comes easy enough, too. He tries to be everyones knight in shining armour. Especially mine, I reluctantly add.
Number Three. Once again, evidence pops up in my brain like weeds pop up in a garden. He can't speak another language to save his soul.
Number Four. The way he runs his hands through his hair when he doesn't know the answer.
These answers shouldn't be coming hot and fast. They should be slow and occasional, like the drip of water from a faucet that's not all the way turned off.
Number Five. A flood of ideas rush through my mind. His strong hands. His humor. How he makes you feel wanted. How me and him could talk for hours about nothing. How - oh, no. I am in love with Fred. I don't even have to write anything down for number five to prove it.
But when I admit that, instead of feeling weighed down, I feel lighter. I smile. I turn to my computer and type back to Fred, its okay. im not afraid anymore.
I am not afraid. And with Fred by my side, I now know I never will be.