EVE: A Short Unforgettable Love Story

Chapter Four

Kellan Porter POV

It’s Saturday. I worked as a part time helper in a Mechanic Shop in town owned by a fifty-two -year-old Mr. Gibson. I was working alone since there’s not much work to do and Mr. Gibson was out of town. I was too focused on work, grease coated on both my hands, smudges of black covered my shirt and my bare face, the scent of oil and gasoline was a familiar perfume, and the rock music from the radio and the clang of metals are the only sound. When, suddenly footsteps approached and the classic bell of a bicycle rang peered out behind me. When I looked back, it was Isabella, hair tied in a braid, wearing a pastel yellow dress and a bright red sneaker, that seemed impossibly vibrant in the dusty garage. She smiles, followed by her innocent voice, “Hi, Um, I think my tire is flat.” She spoke. I was left hanged, brows furrowed.

” Ah, I was passing by, then I saw you. So, I thought, maybe you could help me?” She said as she pointed her back then stare innocently at mine. “Sure.” I shortly replied. I pulled her bicycle then fix it. “Thank You.” She followed. As I was fixing her tire, she watched me. I stayed quiet. I was confused to think that I feel a little embarrassed for her to see me smeared with grease and dirt like this.

“So, you work here? “She said as she wandered her eyes. I just nod. “It’s cool. How did you learn to do stuff like that?” She asked. I was thinking of ignoring her question, but it felt a little rude. “I had a little training.” I replied. “Oh,” She found the wooden empty bench on the side, and decided to sit there as she flattens the flowy fabric on the back of her dress then glued her legs together. She moves so slow and so graceful. I was momentarily swayed by her. “How long have you been working here?” She asked again. “A year.” I spoke. A long second passed.

“Are you really that introvert?” She asked as he looked decisively at mine. “Maybe?” I said evasively. “Or, you just don’t like me?” She said. I didn’t expect that response from her. It’s so direct and bold. I dodged her question by focusing on my work. Then she started razzing a laugh. “You know, I totally get it. People sometimes don’t like me because of how honest and direct I am.” I stared at her, still giggling. I found myself, wanting to keep watching her sweet and airy giggles. Then, she spoke again, “I remember when my cousin said she wants an orange sweater on her birthday, but I gave her a pink. And when she asked why it wasn’t orange, I told her, pink suited her more, and orange color washes her out. And she hated me for that.” She laughed hard, as she covers her mouth and her eyes closed. It wasn’t that funny, but I subconsciously found myself smiling and listening to her random story, feeling my own usually stoic demeanor soften. She wiped the tears coming out of her eyes rooted from her laugh. “People don’t really like honest people. But it’s funny, my cousin started wearing pink after that day.” She followed.

“Aren’t you scared of being hated?” I asked. “Nope. I’d rather get hate than be called a liar.” Everything that she said, tattooed straight on my head, and it somehow sealed an impression in me- about how she approached life with such enthusiasm. I cracked up. She really is different.

I was amused by her when suddenly my drunk father appeared out of the blue. “Oh, what is happening here? Are you having a greasy, cheesy date son?” He spoke in his drunk voice. “Dad.” I stood instantly completely surprised, while Isabella stayed quiet. “Come on.” I pulled him. “I just want to visit my son.” He said as he stopped me from pulling him. I looked at Isabella, who’s quite anxious now.” What do you want, Dad?” He gazed at me. “Do you have any cash there, son?” I knew it! “I’ll give you my money, but promise me you’ll leave.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” I gave him fifty bucks that I have been saving for a week now. “Alright.” He spoke as he counted the money in his hands and with his devilish smile. “Thanks, son. See you.” He said as he left.

I came back at Isabella, who’s quite disoriented about what happened. “Are you okay?” she asked. “Yeah.” I spoke. For a moment, I saw fear in her eyes. But it wasn’t fear out of danger; it was fear out of concern.

She waited until I fixed her tire. She waited until my shift is done. She waited until noon.

“You don’t have to walk me home.” I said when I noticed her walking behind me, pulling her bicycle. “Maybe, it was also an accident that my house is also on your direction.” She spoke. She then walked beside me, straight eyes, biting her lips. “The weather isn’t quite happy today.” She then said. I looked up and found the forming dark clouds. “I think it’s gonna rain.” She said. “Then, why are you still walking with me, when you’re supposed to ride that bicycle, so you could go home faster.” I said. She just smiles at me. Rain started pouring down. “Run.” I shouted as I also sprinted on the side street. Then, in an instant I just found myself sheltered by an umbrella. I stared back; it was Isabella holding an umbrella, smiling at me. “You should use this. But, promise me you’ll give it back to me on Monday. I’ll wait for you.”

“How about you?” I asked concerned. Her smile blossomed even more. She let go of her umbrella, and let the cool, earthy rain drops soaked her. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I love rain. “She spoke with such nuance. With glistening drops, I watched her as she danced in the rain. She threw her head back, feeling the splashes of water on to her cheeks. A huge unbidden grin spread across her face- a laugh that felt so free and unrestrained. She looks so gloriously alive, so cozy, so vibrant, so beautiful.