PART 1

Love is just a subject of imagination invoked by good books and bad movies. It is a mere toy to play with for teenagers who have no awareness of reality. They fall for someone more than ten times which might actually be the reason for numerous teenage pregnancies. But that wouldn’t alarm anyone! It feels as if I am in my fifties just because of such anachronistic opinions. It is not that I haven’t “partially” fallen for someone in my current teenage years. It is just that time and my intentions didn’t permit any further meetings. And I just keep telling myself that it wouldn’t have worked just for my satisfaction. Otherwise I would have been miserable; a situation many in their fifties cope with every day for the rest of their unfortunate life. My “current” parents are in this predicament. I say “current” because there is no saying who my future father/mother will be. A cop, a pilot, a professor or may be if I am that fortunate a father/mother who is better than my current father/mother.
Unlike many of my peers and like few of my friends I always look forward to school. It is a place where every teenagers has a different life; a life in which no one tells us what to do except for the meticulous teachers, counselors, principle and other older “people” working in the school. The only job they have besides educating us is to do so by making us miserable. When was the first time that a teacher actually knew how to motivate their students? Never will be the answer of a wise man.
It was the first day of my high school junior year. And the teachers assigned us to our particular seats. By coincidence I sat right behind a fair skinned girl for most of my classes. She was gregarious even with a stranger like me who was fascinated by people and not by conversations. Thus at first, I didn’t value her presence and I did so by insulting her. But the insult turned into something drastically different. At the beginning of my chemistry class, she used to look back at me and talk and I listened with consciousness I never devoted even when my teachers talked, lectured or blabbed. She was normal and unlike the rest of the girls parts of whom were pedantic in an annoying way and the rest of whom were, how do I say this— unattractive. She didn’t have any plan to act upon in order to get her agendas passed unlike me of course. She was the exact opposite of me and that is why I liked her. I looked forward to the otherwise tedious day at school because I would be able to see her again in class. I considered her a flick, she was just a tool to play with and the funny thing was that she liked being that tool. It seemed as if she was content with everything and that disturbed me. No one can ever be fully content. The one who are content are either pretending or just ignorant of the world around them. No teenager can either be ignorant or have the quality of pretension therefore no teenager can ever be content. The one who are are freaks of nature. She was a freak of nature—someone with the kind of absurdity I have never seen before. And I always had a fascination for absurdity.
She did have a degree of insanity which made her do some abnormal yet funny things which made me ask what is life in high school especially without insanity? Sense and sensibility are two things which every teenager looses at some point in high school. Like a tree shedding and gaining leaves, life gets chances to be renewed with the numerous opportunities one gets in high school and the rest of the life. I don’t know if she was an opportunity or just a dream about to disappear like a puff of air. I only knew that I couldn’t resist talking to her. I didn’t bother myself with such rubbish as love but a clever friend of mine termed it as incipient love which still means the same things but I am always a sucker for décor.
The year passed quicker than I expected partly because of her presence. It was the time of the final exams that I felt I needed to tell her something before we depart. I didn’t know what that something was; I just knew I couldn’t let her go. The night before the last day of school I dreamt of talking to her. But one can’t always get what one wants. “Bye,” I said to her before I stepped out of the threshold of hades (school I mean). She reciprocated and that was it. The tone was as casual as that of two strangers’. A moment after I stepped out of the threshold, I reminded myself of what I intended to say to her. As I turned back it was too late. She left and in place of her was her decaying scent. I walked and unlike all of my peers and currently my fellow pedestrians who rejoiced for they will not sense the authority of teachers for the next two and half months, I repented and felt as if I was a puppet controlled by some strange and mystic authority. The path I was walking on felt as if it was the only lucid path of earth while the rest of it was filled with thorns. It might have been good in other cases but it this case I felt as if that only lucid path led to a prison.

PART 2

I stood by the window overlooking the sky filled with dark clouds. The events happened like sand grains slipping out of my hands; nothings can one do to stop those grains from being lost on the earthly floor. I could easily be compared to a pathetic fellow who was a coward and couldn’t confess his feelings to the girl he incipiently loved. But there was a slight difference between me and that pathetic guy. I was not in incipient love with the girl. It was just a game—a game of a teenager whose heart was physically present but emotionally absent. So in order to complicate things, I introduced a policy of use and dispose, exclusively applicable to girls, to a few friends of mine. The idea is simply to embroil a smart and sensitive girl into a trap of showing her inner self. Deep inside every girl lays an insecure and emotionally unstable soul. One simply needs to expose it (as I did with her) in order to truly know a girl.
The problem was that my friends didn’t approve of my policy. They believed that girls are simply. So I set out to prove them wrong. I picked the impossible and yet possible target—Meryl. She was impossible because she was smart, slick and quick with quips. But she was also possible considering one just need to be consistent. That’s the secret. Isn’t it? A wise man who has seen 250 movies with the same plot of a girl falling in love with a committed guy would answer my question with a yes.

PART 3

While overlooking the dark clouds, I received a call from Meryl. She confessed. “I think I am in love with you,” she said right before I hung up the phone. I took a deep breath and an attire of gravity covered my face. Then I smiled and texted my non-approving friends, “It’s done.” And I continued with the rest of my day. Apparently now there is a one less soul who does not believe in love and the credit for that goes to your truly, The Devil.