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Memories of Dean

Memories of Dean

Ratings: (0)|Views: 375 |Likes:
Published by harcad0004
Written for a one-shot competition..Won first place for Best Romantic One-shot on TTS..Goes over the Memory of how a woman fell in love and the hard times she had to overcome to be with the one she loved. Some drug references and language.
Written for a one-shot competition..Won first place for Best Romantic One-shot on TTS..Goes over the Memory of how a woman fell in love and the hard times she had to overcome to be with the one she loved. Some drug references and language.

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Published by: harcad0004 on Feb 14, 2010
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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 This story is a journey through my memory, my memories of the love of my lifeDean Fisher. This memory is rated pg 16 due to graphic language and unpleasantpictures. Believe it or not, this is a romance story.
 Two hundred and Seventy seven days, that’s how many days of torture I have beenthrough; how many days it has been since I held him or kissed him. It was also thelast day I made love to him. I miss him, I need him and I am utterly lost without him.My first kiss was with him and the first school dance I attended I was on his arm. Hewas my high school sweet heart and I his; but it wasn’t always sweet.We’ll just say he wasn’t the valedictorian, he wasn’t even close.Middle school was not so bad, just the occasional skip here and smoke a cigarette inthe bathroom there. Sometimes he would smoke pot before school and get caughtby the principle because his clothes reeked of the stench, but that was just thebeginning.I was no perfect angel either; I did most of those things with him. We were alwaystogether during school, after school, and on the weekends. We never got tired of each other, not like a lot of our friends would. So many times I watched my friend’sget their hearts broken and I also watched them break some as well. I didn’tunderstand it, how you could say you love someone one day then hurt them in themost awful way the next.I didn’t tell Dean I loved him for a long time, I think it was six months before I saidthose three little—but very precious—words. He actually said them first; it was verysweet seeing it was coming from him. Dean is tall, 6’4, and built very athletic,always has been. He never played sports or worked out to keep it that way, he justis. He has a very manly bravado about him and he makes sure everyone knows it. You wouldn’t expect him to be sitting next to his girlfriend down in the boondockslistening to My Best Friend by Tim McGraw and Faith Hill in the back of his old F150with a blanket wrapped around us. But he did, and he did it often.He told me he loved me around five months in, I think. We were in the back of histruck by the Columbia River that divides and follows Portland and Vancouver, thencontinues East and West for who knows how far. It was our spot—the boondocks—and I did not know what to say. I told him I wasn’t really sure what love meant. Hewas sweet about it and told me he didn’t want me to say it if it wasn’t true and thathe wanted me to know that he did. I cried on his shoulder that night and he held mewhile we watched the sun set, promising us another day together.
I was his equal part, we got into trouble together, we were praised together and wehad all the fun in the world together. Until the day I got put into Juvenile Hall. I hadto stay in there for 22 days and my 14
birthday consisted of a round table in alocked box with my sister Vicki, my nephew Micah and my mom. The only thing Igot was a king size Kit Kat and a 2 liter of Barqs Root Beer from one of the guards.Let’s just say I got a rude awakening and I took it for what it was.I never wanted to be put back into captivity again, I was determined to turn my lifearound and be the square girl I knew I could be. I told myself on many occasions, onmany of the nights I stayed awake crying in my cell, that I was going to change. Iwas going to be serious about school, no more drugs and no more alcohol.It was easier said than done.When I got out and changed my habits, one thing didn’t change with me, Dean. Hewas mad more than happy for a long time. He is stubborn and pretentious but I lovehim with every ounce of my being. I cannot, no, will not imagine a life where hedoesn’t exist. He is the air in my lungs, the beat of my heart and will forever be myone and only.I told myself that a lot during high school and that’s when things got bad. Deanstarted to drink heavily, and use drugs on a daily basis. He didn’t stop talking to meand I let him binge his life away. I could have said something but I didn’t want tofeel like a hypocrite so I kept my mouth shut. I attended too many house partiesand keggers to count on all my fingers and my toes and probably some of his and Ididn’t even drink. But Dean was going with or without me and I wanted to be withhim more than anything.It went on like this for all of ninth grade and half of tenth. I was growing tired of being his caretaker; that is pretty much what I was in those days. He would get soshit- faced drunk that he would be incapable of taking care of himself. All of hisfriends would be too high or too drunk themselves to do anything about it. Not that Ineeded their help to take care of him, it just shows they have no clue whatfriendship and love really means.By this point I knew and felt firsthand what love was; there was no doubt about that.I felt it every day in the way he made my face heat up every time he smiled hisbreathtaking smile, or every time he complemented me on how beautiful I was. Ifelt it in the way my body did unmentionable things when he held me close to himand the way my knees always seemed to buckle when he kissed me with passion. Iwas completely and unconditionally in love with Dean, but I couldn’t keep up withhis antics anymore; I was exhausted.I’ll never forget the night I told him; it was the most frightening day of my life until277 days ago.

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