Writing Exercise. . .

I could barely see him over the pile of books I was juggling in my arms.  As I listened to my white capezios tap, tap, along the cold terrazo my palms began to sweat.  I slowly moved closer.  I could smell his cologne.  He had jet black hair that complimented his big brown Italian eyes.  A ripped bandanna was tied around his head like Rambo most likely torn from an old gray sweatshirt.  A red and white football jacket hung neatly on his broad muscular frame.  Then I looked in his eyes.  Then I remember where I first saw him.

I was neatly dressed in a red and green plaid uniform climbing the stairwell of St. Peter’s School.  I noticed a boy quickly walking down past me looking very shy as if he were hiding something.  His head was tilted to the left.  With my childlike curiosity I strained my neck to see his face.  I gasped quietly to myself noticing the dent around his left eye.  The skin was multiple shades of red and purple.  There were no eyelashes with only half of a brow.  The eye appeared to be protruding from its socket.

 Rachael ran up to me giddy with excitement demanding that I put my books down.  As I bent down hoping my black pants held together I heard

 “Cathy, this is Paul, and Paul this is Cathy…ok, now talk!”

 She had tried to prepare me, told me how handsome he was and then sternly warned me a few days earlier.

 “Do not stare at his left eye.”

 “Why not?”  I asked as my eyes grew wider.

 “Because he has a lot of scars from sugeries.  I don’t know the whole story but just don’t do it okay?”

 “Okay, don’t worry, I won’t”  I repied as I wondered if it was the same boy.

 My eyes slowly gazed up and caught his smile as he reached his hand out to greet me. . .

I will occasionally be posting writing samples for a new project I am working on and would love to have input from you guys!