Just Want To Be Near You

Chapter One: Phenomenal Traditions

Maisy hated her name. It wasn't just the fact that it sounded awful whenever anybody pronounced it incorrectly; the S sounding more like a Z, making her Mazie instead. It wasn't even the fact it was a hand-me-down from her Grandmother whom she'd never even met, since she'd died just before she was born eighteen years earlier. It was just the simple fact that it was so girlish and inappropriate. It had suited her Grandma, who had been a genuine housewife and mother by choice, a fact that astounded Maisy's modern sensibilities even as a child. The meaning behind the name again was so appropriate for her Grandma that it was almost cliché, a variety of the name Margaret meaning Pearl. Maisy didn't blame her mother for giving her the name, not anymore at least; she'd reasoned once she became a teen, that just because she hadn't known her Grandma, and from what she had been told about her could see nothing that they had shared in common, didn't mean that her own mother, Laura, felt the same way. Grandma Maisy had been Laura's mother, and her death had a taken its toil on Laura's self-esteem and confidence. They hadn't just been mother and daughter; they were also best friends, something Maisy was often envious of. She didn't have that kind of bond with Laura, although she did love her tremendously; but their relationship was strained by how different they were in personality.

Maisy had always been rather energetic and had preferred making mud pies out in the garden to actually backing cookies in the kitchen, as Laura would much rather she would have. Even now in her later years of teenage adolescence, Maisy detested all things feminine, favouring old demin jeans to dresses, a ragged old rucksack to a purse, and the only jewellery she would wear where the studs in her singly pierced ears and a friendship bracelet given to her by her childhood friend Ethan when they were five years old. Her hobbies no longer included building mud pies in the garden, but she still desired the outdoors, enjoying more strenuous activities such as rock-climbing, snowboarding and cycling. Her figure hinted toward that effect if you looked close enough to notice her well toned muscles, or if you were fool enough to challenge her to an arm wrestling match like Bobby Ridgeway had done in sixth grade. She was fortunate enough to be blessed with a very clear complexion that rendered such artifices such as makeup unnecessary. Her skin although fair had a light dusting of peppered freckles over the bridge of her nose making her features more than just beautiful but interesting in addition. She was a dainty looking little thing though, so despite her other boyish qualities she could never be mistaken for male, this worked to her advantage when it came to a fight as her opponents often underestimated her strength and agility.

One of Maisy's most favourite pass times was a passion she shared with her two best friends. Whenever the weather turned rainy and there was an electrical storm to the east coastline of her home town of St. Augustine, Florida, she would run to the garage were she kept her mountain bike, for just such occasions, and race to the end of her avenue where she would be met by Ethan. Besides being her oldest and best of friends, Maisy often thought of Ethan as more of a cousin; his mother, Marilee, wasn't just a neighbour but more like an aunt on account of her being Laura's best friend since their own collage days. Both she and Ethan would then turn south on the main highway leading out of town and head past the wealthier residential areas toward Cresent Beach that was not three miles away. On the road they would be joined by the third in their party, Brody. Both Maisy and Ethan hadn't known Brody very long, a little over a year and a half, but they were a trio so close that if you didn't notice the stack differences in appearance, you'd be convinced they were family.

Ethan's tall and lanky build was deceptively strong, with a shock of coppery bronze hair to top it off, which seemed to shimmer in the sunlight and add green hues to his hazel eyes. Brody was of average height, but that was all that was average about him; he had a mass of black curls that brushed just above his collar and tickled around his ears, enhancing his emerald green eyes, that sparkled brilliantly when he was happy, excited or curious and could darken to a deep turbulent mist when angry, upset or when he was brooding. Which is often the case. Maisy loved both of her friends for such singularity; it made them even more special to her, although she never saw herself in such a category even with her own long wavy mahogany hair and aqua blue eyes.

Cresent Beach in an electrical storm could be an awe-inspiring sight, the sky turning dark as night despite the time of day or if the sun had been shining brilliantly just a few hours earlier. Forks of lightning shoot across the sky changing its colour from black to varying shades of blue, purple, orange and yellow. No two forks are ever the same, some stretch across the sky appearing like the branches of a tree in the dead of autumn caught alight, others shoot to the sand of the beach in one thick bright lightning bolt that tears the sky in two for that one instant, whilst other times five or six bolt seemed to reach out simultaneously.

Maisy and Ethan had been fascinated by such a phenomenon since they were very young and their parents just happened to have brought them to the beach that day. The other children around had been terrified by the view, but Maisy and Ethan had watched the display unfold in wonder and awe. They had made these trips a tradition since the age of thirteen, when they were finally considered old enough to make the three mile journey without parental supervision. If they were lucky they got to carry it out two or three times a year.

Since Brody had relocated to St. Augustine, this was the third occasion on which he had gotten to experience it with them. Brody joined Maisy and Ethan on his own bike at the end of the estate where he lived, from which point they all turned east together toward Cresent Beach a remaining two miles off, racing at top speed. When they reached Cresent Beach, all three friends abandoned their bikes in there usual spot amongst the American beach grass that covered the sand dunes there and ran to their make-shift hut made out of old wooden clothesline props and a sheet of PVC to keep the majority of the rain off. When underneath, they huddled together under an old picnic blanket to enjoy the exhibit.