Melting December

Hello! My name is Ash- no… Cameron! Ugh, that's wrong too.

How about… December.

Does December work?

No second guesses, I guess it works.

Now to get on with our story.

One Tuesday… Thursday afternoon, I was walking — no, biking though a park- forest- city.

Sigh, sorry, I meant park.

I was pedaling up a hill, so I shifted to my lowest gear so pedaling would be easier — but there was a problem. The chain popped off!

It was absolutely tragic- catastrophic- awful.

…Before I knew it, I was rolling backwards, uncontrollably, and I crashed into a bench back at the bottom of the hill.

"Oh! Are you alright?"

That voice… it was absolutely breathtaking. I looked up from my scraped knee er- yeah, knee, to see the source of the voice. It didn't matter what the trees were like or how the singing birds sounded; the sight before me was all I had to worry about. "Y-Yeah… I'm just fine." I couldn't help but smile.

She kindly took my hand and helped me up without hesitation.

I wonder what that's like: to know what to do, and when to do it; having just the right words at the right time.

This kind girl lured me back to reality, her voice as silky as her hair, with a simple "What's your name?"

Ooh! I know this one! "My name is November!"

Dang it. So close yet so far.

She seemed to notice my wince at failure. I added, "sorry, it's actually December…"

"Well, I'm glad you're okay, December. My name is Melissa." This beautiful person was so cheery, even after my mess-up. "I think you should sit with me for a moment while you get yourself together. How does that sound?"

The idea sounded wonderful, but I didn't. "Great! Simply lovely. Absolutely fantastic!" I knew I would sound ridiculous, but I'd hoped it wouldn't be this bad. Nonetheless, I sat with her.

She spoke, not allowing time for my usual awkward silence kick in. "I like your button-up!"

"Th-thank you, I really like… um…" I tried to make a comment about the pattern, but the name wouldn't come to me. It's almost sad that I can't decide what to wear day to day, let alone remember what I end up picking.

"Basket-weave?"

"Ah, yes! That's the one." This kind lady is so perfectly unlike me. "I also like your blouse. The hydrangea pattern matches the shape of the frills perfectly."

Melissa smiled a crooked, yet sweet smile. "I see you have a keen eye for flowers and fashion, dear December."

As my face grew hot, I stuttered so bad that no words could be distinguished. She alliterated so fluently, too. Why can't I do that?

She giggled. My heart fluttered like the late Summer butterflies around us.

I need her in my life.

"I'm sorry to laugh, it's just that it's almost like you have an uncertain little author inside you; it's rather cute." Her poppy pink lips enunciated it so…

Wait, a little author?

"You flatter me very much Melissa, though, if I may ask, could you, er… talk more… elaborate… on the little author bit?" I leaned in closer with my elbows resting on my knees, which were protruding from my blue dress-shorts.

"Oh, my apologies, I simply like to think everyone has a little author inside them." She looked up to the sky with her amber eyes, as if imagining the picture in the clouds. "Thinking this way helps me put more confidence into what I say. The only way for an author to get better at writing is to write and make mistakes!" As Melissa added this, she made a quick swooping snap with her hand.

"So… you just… talk?"

"Exactly!"

I thought for a moment. I just have to be willing to make mistakes, huh? Well, if that's the case, "Would you like to get dinner with me?"

She smiled knowingly, leaning in closer. "You know what, December?"

My heart was on the edge of its seat.

Lowering her voice, she answered, "I'd love to."

~-~-~-~

I sat waiting in a local bistro, hoping Melissa would show up. She recommended this place without another thought — so sure of herself, as always.

Just to be polite, I made sure to show up early. I might have overdone it, however; I arrived almost half an hour before we were supposed to meet. It gave me plenty of time to overthink.

What if she doesn't like the outfit I chose?

What if I say something stupid?

What if I fail?

Melissa's kind voice echoed through my head, "The only way for an author to get better at writing is to write and make mistakes!"

My thoughts then began to change.

So what if my purple dress shirt with small blue wildflowers is too feminine for her?

So what if I let slip that I think I love her?

So what if I mess up even in the slightest?

A familiar voice pulled me out of my mind's monologue. "Good to see you again, December."

I couldn't help but smile widely with stars in my eyes upon seeing Melissa again. "Good to see you too."

She sat in the chair across from me and gave her drink order to the waitress. Melissa turned to me again and made direct eye contact between each of our blue eyes. "So, have you been waiting long?"

I could feel my inner author hesitating. Do I tell the truth? Do I play it off? Before I could think, though, I had already spoken. "I've been here for about thirty minutes." I said it as if it was nothing.

"Oh wow, you really got here early."

No! Why did I say that? "Punctuality is rather important to me, but I always overprepare and end up budgeting too much time." I laughed the last few words nonchalantly. Someone must have replaced my 'author' — I barely recognize myself.

"That is completely understandable. Budgeting time can be hard." As she paused, I took a moment to notice her bright blue sundress. It almost made me forget my current identity crisis. "I must say, you seem much more sure of yourself now than back at the park the other day."

"Thanks, I feel very out of character today."

Her bouncy giggle was contagious. "Maybe that's okay."

Something about her comforting words made things finally come together in my mind. It shouldn't have been so simple. It wasn't. I don't have to know the answer to everything, but I can come up with theories, and my theory, right in this moment, is that Melissa is enough to help my troubled inner author.