Tarnished Love by Bianca Borell
My long blond hair cascades over my back, as I swirl around, cutting through the freshly mowed grass while sun rays kiss my cheeks. But my attention shifts when I catch a dandelion growing all by itself. What happened to its friends and family? My eyes glance around at the endless amount of grass and red-colored roses ruling with grace over the garden. There is no other dandelion in sight.
I duck to pick it, whispering how sorry I am for harming it, and with all the air in my lungs, I blow on it, making a wish for my future. One day it will come true. Everyone tells me so. They are grown-ups, and I believe them.
Damien approaches me from behind, and I tilt my head, hiding my smile as his arms wrap around me. He always catches me.
“I’m faster than you, Bria, and I’ll always catch you. Why even try?” His eyebrows draw together, and a blush creeps up my cheeks. I slide my hands up and down my dress.
“Mommy told me it’s a game . . . the girl runs, and the boy catches her.”
He plops on the grass next to me, resting his elbow on his knee. “It’s stupid. Of course, he’ll catch her. He’s faster.”
I shake my head, biting down on my lip. “I don’t think she was talking about the speed, silly.”
He squints, his steely eyes bore into mine, and my breath catches in my throat.
“How would you know?”
“I’m a woman. I know these things. Mommy says we’re born being the smarter ones. But Daddy just smiles at her.” I shrug and then add, “One day, I’ll find out for sure, and then I’ll tell you too.”
“If you were a woman, they wouldn’t call you little.”
I rock on my feet and fidget with my hands. His words add to my confusion.
“I don’t understand.”
“If you were a woman, I would be a man. My daddy says it takes years and experience to become one, and I don’t see Daddy play. I like to play. It must mean I’m not a man yet. But one day, I’ll be ready to be a man.” He grins, and my heart does this strange thing in my chest, like fluttering.
“You’re funny.”
The smile freezes on my face as an awful thought clouds my mind. “But what if you become a man, and I am still small?” Fear rises inside me. He clasps his hand over mine, and everything eases as his face transforms in determination.
“If you don’t grow up, I’ll have to see how to make you a woman. I’m sure there’s some instruction manual somewhere, or I’ll just ask Daddy.”
“Yes. They must know, then we’ll become man and woman on the same day, okay?” I drop to my knees and grip his face. “Damien, promise me. If you’re a man, I have to be a woman.”
His eyes turn to that familiar assuring gaze. He could never say no to me, and the knot in my belly loosens.
Damien curls a strand of my hair around his fingers, playing with it. It started one day when he fell from his bike, and I rushed to his side. He said the moment he caressed a strand of my hair that the pain and everything else disappeared.
“I promise. But only if you tell me what you wished for when you blew on the dandelion.” He grins, and I huff. He always wants to know everything.
“If I tell you, it won’t come true,” I whine, and he lifts my chin. Those eyes and smooth voice compel me every time to spill everything.
“If you tell me, I’ll make sure you get what you want.”
“Promise?”
His answer is a firm nod.
“And you won’t laugh at me?”
He shakes his head, a flash of hurt passing through his eyes when he states, “Never, Bria.” I bite down on my lower lip and glimpse at him through my lashes.
“I wished one day when we’re older to marry you.”
I blush, and my heart squeezes in my chest. What if he says no?
“But why?” he questions, and his expression turns pensive.
“Because it’s what people in love do, silly. Look at Mommy and Daddy.” He rests his head in his hands, studying me.
“Hmm, what if you don’t like me when you grow up? What then?”
I like him now. Why would I stop liking him? I stare into the cloudless sky, searching for an answer. My daddy always tells me I’m brave and fierce, and I have to fight for what I want. With renewed determination, I snap my head in his direction, daring him.
“You’ll have to make me like you again, then.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes, that easy.”
We lay on our sides, with our hands interlaced, while he whispers, “Okay, then one day I’ll marry you.”
“Promise.”
He presses our hands together over his heart with our pinkies interlinked.
“I promise.”
