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Your introduction to Sydney




Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


The magic of first love is our ignorance that it can ever end. ~ Benjamin Disraeli

 

~`~

 

First loves...

 

Love period... the mess is scarier than Freddy Krueger, Jason Voorhees, and Norman Bates all jumping out of your closet at the same time and yelling, "Surprise." Better yet it's twice as frightening as the fear that wraps around your heart, constricts your lungs, and causes your stomach to flip the hell out while you're waiting on the plus or minus to appear on that Clearblue Easy stick. Whatever the case may be I still can't explain the meaning behind the dirtiest four letter word in the English language. After four years of college and three years of graduate school, I can break down the three and if you're picky the five Greek derivatives of love; passion, friendship, affection, desire, and divine love. Even with that knowledge and in spite of the websites, poems, and dissertations written on the subject, I can't find the words to properly relay the range of emotions I felt when my eyes met his and the first pit to the patter of my heart when I realized it wasn't like or lust, but that straight up bullshit called love.

 

I met Lincoln Dunn when I was fourteen years old. Long before the fat rolls turned into voluptuous curves and the B cups morphed to double Ds.

 

He was a smartass.

 

The class clown capable of making every teacher who engaged him in a round of verbal judo feel like the idiots they so obviously were.

 

We met during the second semester of our freshman year.

 

We were both enrolled in Mrs. Shards Basic Improvisation Class at the Gershwin School for the Performing Arts. Shards was the one and only teacher he didn't test, and I was never sure if it had something to do with the massive crush he had on the woman or the Swiss Army knife she kept on her key ring.

 

Regardless, I got stuck with Lincoln as my partner, and I bore the brunt of all his insults from 8:45 am to 10:15 am Monday thru Friday. I hated the prick and it had nothing to do with the various ways he called me fat in front of his crowd of friends and everything to do with that lopsided grin and wink he reserved just for me when we were sitting Indian style on the stage and working our way through a scene.

 

I fell hard and I haven't hit the ground yet. Sixteen years have passed and my heart still does a funky staccato beat, every time Lincoln enters a room. My mouth goes dry when he says my name or allows his eyes to drift in my direction. My breath escapes my lungs when I feel his fingers stroke the palm of my hand. It's wrong how my knees go weak when we kiss because my heart should belong only to him.

 

~`~

 

Perfection...

 

It's a term I only associate with Sydney Lane. The smooth opalescent skin that compelled me to touch her the first day we officially met. And that's not counting the entire semester before, where I stared at her like a perverted stalker in shadowy corners around the school. The girl's voice sent chills down my spine when she sung the scales in an attempt to warm up before a performance.

 

It's been almost two months since our last meeting. Not since my trip to Chicago and the big stand - up show at Second City. Life has kept both of us busy. I just wrapped a movie. She's been on the road; stages in New Orleans, San Francisco, and New York have held her captive for months on end.

 

Still, I find time, just for Syd every single day.

 

The CD shuffling through the playlist on my iPod is the one that she won four Grammys for in 2010.

 

There's a character in the screenplay I wrote who reminds me so much of...I'm doing it again, making myself sick over the past and regrets I can never amend. If I would have been honest sooner, given up on all the damn winking and smirking and just told her how I felt. Things would be different. Instead I sustain myself daily with memories.

 

The kisses, the ones we claimed were just for practice.

 

The first sexual encounter we shared, just so we could say our virginities were a thing of the past.

 

The day she left town to finally follow her dreams and the punk I let myself be, by remaining silent and never saying, "Sydney, I love you."

 

Shit, sixteen years is a long assed time to let a broad lead you around by your dick; especially when the woman doing the leading is not her.

 

Listening to Sydney now, at home on the stage in a smoky bar, I'm reminded of the past, our past. She sings of being lost, and desiring to be found by love. It's a plea I've heard too many times to count. She told me once she wrote the song for me, years ago; when she thought I was ignoring the lovelorn looks she tossed at me in a hapless attempt to gain a sliver of my affections. There was no ignorance on my part, just a slow build to the courage that never came and the cowardice that sent me down the aisle and into the arms of another woman.

 

The set ends and I anticipate my friend taking the seat across from me. She never answers the call for an encore, except tonight she does. The lights dim and I'm stunned by the simplicity of her beauty when one spotlight shines on Syd, and she begins to sing. An imaginary fist clenches around my heart with the first lyric. It's a classic, one she once sung when we were near strangers. At the time it was a prophetic declaration, promises to love an imaginary man come rain or come shine.

 

I had hoped to be the man; the bastard lucky enough to own Sydney Lane's vow to be with that man always, regardless of the weather, economic standings, or bitter betrayals that may hang between them.

 

One swallow was all it took to finish my drink and in that time, she bowed gracefully, accepted the love offered from the crowd, and snaked a path to my table.

 

"Linc."

 

Rich velvet encased my ears when she spoke my name.

 

"Syd."

 

And so the dance began.










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