The Twilight Series belongs to S. Meyer, no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just playing with the characters.
Plan (verb) to devise or project the realization or achievement of
If I truly thought back to when I'd begin my cycle of screwing myself over, it probably occurred before I was out of grade school. I was a girl who loved to plan. My mom said I'd been doing it since birth. It was like I inherently had the knowledge of what milestones I had to achieve and when they should be. Like clockwork I did just that. I walked, talked, smiled, and laughed at the exact moment in time when it was considered "normal" development. Not too early where I'd be considered precocious nor too late where I'd cause my parents to worry.
While my friends loved to role play – with their Barbies, dolls, and each other. I was busy flipping through my mom's catalogs finding the perfect family. I'd search until I found all the members of my future – painstakingly cutting them out and pasting them in a scrapbook. I now realize it was a somewhat morbid fantasy album of my future. That perhaps, there had been something wrong with me – I guess it's something I should have discussed with that one therapist I saw a year after I left La Push – but that's not here nor there.
It was when I tried to find a woman – I say woman because I hoped someday to transform into this mystical creature – I could never find one that I truly felt comfortable claiming as the future me. All of them were too pretty; their hair too shiny, skin too smooth, and their teeth too straight and white. None of them were plain like me.
And why as a five or six year old was I concerned with my plainness? Possibly because my mom was always preaching about inner beauty – I now get she was trying to give me some type of life lesson, but I needed to know that I was just as pretty as the other girls.
"Kim," my mom would say in her alto voice while making dinner wearing a dress and heels. "Young girls now days are too concerned with what's on the outside. I've known some very beautiful people who were ugly on the inside. It's who you are that counts. St. Peter isn't going to care if you're wearing the most fashionable clothes or a cloth sack – he's going to look into your heart. That will tell him if you're worthy."
My dad was another matter, he'd always laugh at my mom's words then he'd reach over and tweak my pigtails. "Kim, honey – not every girl's meant to be the brightest star, but you'll always be my special girl."
Is it no wonder that I chased after my dream life? If I wasn't bringing any looks into the relationship then my husband damn well better. Else my future children would be the homeliest kids on the block.
So at the ripe old age of five I'd picked my dream man. Jared Cameron. I suppose at the time he couldn't be considered a man, any more than I could be considered a woman, but it was my fantasy and I'm controlling this train.
Don't even start humming along to Ozzy's Crazy Train – I may have been born in 1989 – but any American girl worth her salt knows about the Prince of Darkness.
How did I fall in love, you ask? Well, the same way any other girl does. It was a cold, but not wet day in La Push and it was also the first day of school. I had an Esmeralda backpack filled with brand-new school supplies; a single crisp notebook, several sharp pencils, an unopened box of crayons, and lastly markers which not only still had their caps, but weren't dried out either. The backpack and supplies – well, let's just say it's how I look at chocolate cake or fresh strawberry tarts today.
As I stood there, unsure of myself and not knowing a soul other than the teacher, Jared and Paul came barreling into the room and knocked my backpack out of my hands. The supplies I'd so carefully packed inside flew across the carpeted floor and at the same time I felt my lip tremble and my eyes sting with tears. My first day and I was already starting off on the wrong foot.
It was just like my cousin Jenny always said to me, "Kimmy, you're such a baby!"
That was her excuse for never playing with me during family get-togethers. My face flushed with embarrassment and I blinked furiously and forced away my urge to cry. Instead, I buried my face in my long dark hair as I crouched and began to pick up my supplies. I was saved, sort of, by our teacher, Miss Lacey. She'd seen everything.
Her voice curt, "Paul, Jared – help Kim pick up her things and then apologize. There will be plenty of time at recess for you boys to work on releasing all that energy."
"Yes, ma'am," the two boys replied.
It was as they helped me that I looked at Jared for the first time. His brown eyes shone with mirth, a grin tugged on his cheeks which revealed nearly identical dimples on each side and his white teeth stood out in stark contrast to his copper-colored skin.
"Sorry, Kim," he told me.
And with those two words, I fell in love. To this day, I don't remember if Paul apologized – it didn't matter because Jared was what consumed my thoughts that day. For once, I wished I was prettier or smarter, but maybe, just maybe if I was lucky he'd see the inner beauty my mom kept talking about.
It was that night when I began my search for dark haired, dimpled men for my scrapbook. I planned every detail of our lives. Our two-story house in La Push with two children – one boy and one girl; the boy was the spitting image of Jared while the girl would luck out and have his dimples and eyes which would be just enough to make the features that were mine look pretty.
I later learned he loved the outdoors and sports. He'd insist we have a dog. For one reason it was the perfect companion for our children and the other reason that it would protect our family if he ever needed to be away for the night. I'd never liked dogs, but I'd love our dog, Hunter and because Jared loved me – he'd bring home a calico cat from the pound. Our kids would insist the cat's name should be Patches and with that final addition – our family was complete.
It was a perfect and beautiful plan.