This is the first chapter of my little experiment with the different fonts. I hope its flows as easily as I imagine it will. Remember: bold is the entry, italics is Edward, and normal is the narrator (me). Okay? Lovely. I usually get inspired by a song but I can't picture a proper song for this memory (Is it a memory? I suppose). It only makes me wish that Edward could have been born in the 50's... so... much... good... music... Oh well. Now as I read over the story for the final time, I see it's in past tense, if you're wondering about that, it's because he's writing it as if it just happened a minute ago. But, I may switch to a present tense, if I do, that's just a typo. I have huge issues with tense agreement, my apologies. I doubt it will get in the way of the story, I just want to let you know. I own nothing of Twilight but there are some original characters (i.e., Cara) so those are mine. No stealing, guys. Really. Promise? Alright. Please comment, your comments fuel me as a writer.

...

20 June, 1909

Has it truly been so long ago? I smiled as I flipped the page to my atrocious penmanship. I was only eight; writing was not exactly my forte. In fact, it was a small miracle to find that the spelling mistakes were limited and it was relatively easy to read.

It is my birthday today. Hopefully you knew that.

I couldn't help but laugh a little. That was adorable. It continues:
Today was alright I suppose. It may have been worse if Cara was not there. She's really nice. Today for my birthday she gave me this book because she told me to write down my thoughts of the day. She said she does it and it makes her feel good. She says if I like it, she can get me one every year for my birthday. She even gave me her magic pencil too.
This gave me pause.
Magic pencil...
I bookmarked the page and closed the book, placing it on the couch. The memory was lost somewhere in the depths of my subconscious. It took a minute or so until it was retrieved in full. If my heart were beating, it would have beat faster at that moment. I was at my bookshelf in an instant. I was so excited that I forgot that I was wearing socks and nearly skidded across the hallway. Luckily I only slipped a little and regained my balance quick enough. I reached at the higher shelves and pulled down my original copy of Dubliners. I never read it since I heard that it was about drunkards. But, if memory serves...
Yes, of course. I opened the book which was hollowed out and contained various small items. I once treasured these items that were Now kept hidden away from my wife, my child and, more importantly, me. I gazed down at it in awe. I felt like a child once more. I pulled out a short, heavy pencil. It was awkwardly rounded and had a dull point. The eraser was plucked off long ago and the dull paint hinted at a previous yellow hue. I held it with care as I examined it and slowly bent down to my knees. I placed the pencil on the floor and watched with great enjoyment as it slowly began to roll along the perfectly level floor. The memory came to me full force. Yes, she was right. This was indeed a magic pencil. It was because of this silly, disproportionate pencil that I met Cara those years ago.

Before he was Edward Cullen, he was Edward Anthony Masen. For his entire life, he lived in Chicago, one of the busiest, tightest, most exciting cities in the country (and of course, the windiest). Since he could remember, he never had neighbors. He lived on a corner between a tailor and a shoe store. The only way he could really ever have a neighbor is if someone moved into the apartment above his. But no one ever did. And why would they? He heard stories of it from kids he knew on neighboring streets. It had bugs under all the furniture, the walls were painted with blood and the dust came to life at night (allegedly). However, around five months before his eighth birthday, electricians, plumbers and decorators ran up and down the stairs like bees from a hive. His mother was instantly excited, hoping and praying that the new neighbor would be someone famous or, at least, friendly. His father shared a much more silent enthusiasm about it. He hoped very much that the new tenants would be a family with many children around Edward's age. He thought often of how his son preferred a quiet room to a group of friends. This confused and concerned him greatly. Edward, however, had no expectations of these new people. In fact, he was a little upset. He never wanted anyone too close by, people moving upstairs felt like an invasion of privacy.
But, whether they liked it or not, moving day came.
It was a spectacular swarm of muscular movers hauling comfortable couches and exquisite end-tables. Their furniture looked expensive and it seemed to be a never ending amount of it. Emerging from a shiny car was two of the most stunning people Edward had ever seen up to that point. The woman was on the shorter side with curly blonde neck-length hair. Her skin was fair and her eyes were an emerald green. But surely, the thing that made her so gorgeous was the way she walked for it was with a certain strut that said she loved her life. Holding her arm tenderly was a man of her same height with much darker skin. A Spaniard no doubt. His hair was black and slicked back so it came close to his head. His eyes were dark and full of happiness. The man took his wife in his arms and carried her from the outside porch to the beginning of the stairs. They giggled and spoke quietly to each other. Edward looked away; he knew when to give people their privacy.
He looked towards the Ford on the curb. There was a third person emerging from it. With difficulty, to say the least. A pair of little black shoes felt for the ground below before settling on it. Her skirt fell to a little bit above her ankles (it was winter after all) and her petticoat went to her knee. She turned and reached for a box inside the car. She held it close to her. It was small and closed in a haphazard manner. She had every intention of opening it immediately.
She looked over to Edward, a few locks of curly dark hair falling to her face. They looked at each other with slight confusion and wonder. Never had either of them met a child their own age of the opposite sex. They smiled at each other at the same time. Edward waved politely. The girl scrunched up her face and closed her eyes tightly. The corners of her mouth turned up in a peculiar smile. She hugged the box closer to her chest. She looked like a stretching cat. She skipped blissfully into the building.
About two weeks after Edward saw this girl; his mother entered their dining room excitedly.
"Do you know who I just ran into outside?" She tapped on the tabletop happily as she awaited Edward Sr.'s response. He folded the top of the newspaper down and stared at her quizzically over the paper. "Mrs. Vivas!" She clapped her hands together and giggled.
"Who?" Edward asked. Elizabeth sat down at the table and knit her fingers together.
"The new neighbors. Upstairs? They moved in a few weeks ago?" She reminded them. Edward nodded, she continued.
"Well, she invited us over for dinner."

...

Hours later, the trio walked up the stairs to the neighbor's door. They were dressed carefully so. Smart but still casual. They wanted to make a good impression and such hobnobbing involved well combed hair, polished shoes and a home-baked apple-cinnamon pie courtesy of Elizabeth. It was still a little warm. She knocked twice, announcing their arrival. Mrs. Vivas opened the door.
"Hello!" She bellowed and embraced Elizabeth in a warm hug. Her voice hinted at a faded Italian accent. The door opened wider and Mr. Vivas stood waiting near the table.
"Hey neighbors." He said happily walking towards them. His accent was still present, but not as overpowering as any of them expected. His smile was glistening, never before had the Masens encountered such a warm welcome in all their years of living in Chicago (or anywhere, really).
They clicked instantly. They talked about the neighborhood and exchanged friendly gossip. About an hour into the evening, Cara set down her water glass and took Edward's hand.
"Come with me." she whispered. He obliged. They scurried down the hall, just barely making a sound. When they got to the end of the hallway, she put a finger to her lips and he nodded. She opened her door cautiously, almost as if she was trying not to wake someone. She crossed the dark room with confidence and struck a match that lit a series of candles, illuminating the perfectly decorated room. She blew out the match and walked over to her closet. She reached for a box on a higher shelf. Since he stood about three inches taller than she, he thought to offer his assistance but by the time he did so, she had gone on her tippy toes and retrieved it on her own. She waved him over to the box as she opened it slowly, taking out the small pencil.
"This pencil has magic," she whispered to him and then sat on the floor, "no matter where I go or how flat the floor may be..." she placed the pencil on the floor and then let it go."It always wants to go somewhere else." They both watched in awe as the pencil clumsily rolled to the left, away from the two of them. The sound of the heavier edges tapping the floor echoed in Edward's ears. It pierced the silence of the half-lit room which made it seem to be louder than a passing locomotive.
"Astonishing" Edward whispered after he tried to keep it still a few times. She smiled and nodded then turned serious.
"But you cannot tell anyone about the magic pencil, ok?" She said uncertainly. He smiled at her and said softly "your secret is safe with me."

We were best friends ever since.