If you look over the balcony of the Walchestor Mall in this small town that no one has ever heard of, and look down at the far right corner in the food court, and three tables over, you will see a two heads in that exact spot every Saturday around lunchtime, and occasionally Thursdays after school when neither of those heads are working at the local creamery or trinket shop around the corner from the High School. If you look close enough and have good enough ears, you soon enough learn that these two heads only have each other in the world, and spend these days and afternoons at the mall being… rather creative. One of these heads is especially creative; the strawberry-blonde one with kitchen-scissor bangs and thick-rimmed glasses and much too many freckles. That, you will learn, is Abbie, a dreamer, and the younger sister of three. The brunette with short, cropped hair and bright blue eyes (you know, the one who looks like she should be sitting in a movie theater cuddled in some guys arms, or trying on expensive clothes, or partying, or whatever else the pretty people do) is the older, protective sister, the one who’s Abbie’s best friend and goes along with this creativeness, but at the same time knows they’re all just fantasies, and nothing like reality and life. This is Gabrielle. Now, in actuality, they are hardly any age difference, only about a year or so apart. Either way, Abbie is always the baby sister and Gabrielle’s always in charge. Except when they’re being creative at that table on Saturdays and sometimes Thursdays.
When they were being creative, it almost always had to be on the more empty days at the mall, or else it would be much too hard. Now, leaning over this balcony with your good ears and eyes, you see the blonde one lean over slightly and nudge the brunette.
“Okay, Gab, check out ‘fro over there,” she says, pointing one freckled finger at a guy four tables to the right of them, “He’s trying to get a good song put together, trying so hard to be the next big… Reggae star?” she hesitates, curls a lock of hair around the finger, biting her lip, before turning to her sister. Gabrielle smiles.
“Yeah, Reggae star for sure. Who else would dress like that?” the girls giggle, taking note of the red beanie trying to stay on the head of dark curls. His skin was charcoal and he was in a baggy brown t-shirt and shredded, worn-out shorts, topped off with Birkenstocks. Reggae star, without-a-doubt. After a few minutes, Reggae Star gets up and gathers the bundles of paper off the table, leaving.
This routine continues for little over half an hour, the girls finding Punk-Rock Wannabe, Rich Daddy’s Girl, Engaged-But-Having-An-Affair Beauty, Nerdy Guy With Dreams, Leather Jacket In Love, and many other odd figures. No, neither of them really knew anything about these people. They have never seen them before in their lives, nor heard of them. This is just what they do. Then they run home, take out notebooks and sketchpads, and document what they “learn” about the personnel of the Walchestor Mall. Today, a windy (but sunny), October 2nd, just happens to be a special day. Neither girl would have guessed it though; it just simply felt like a normal Saturday..
“Oooh, tall one to the left,” Abbie whispers.
“Mmmm, what do we have here?” Gabrielle teases.
“He looks like my type…”
“Abbie, you’re seventeen.”
“Eighteen soon enough, your point? What, am I too young to have a type or something?”
“No, but you are still baby Abbie,” she reminds her, stuffing a greasy fry in her mouth. Abbie rolls her eyes.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah… Anyways. I think he seems like the charming, romantic type. Like Noah.”
“Like Noah?!” her sister gasps, faking shock. They laugh.
“Yes, like Noah. And before we know it he’s going to turn our way, and see me, and it will be like love at first sight. I’ll be swept up into his arms, as we gaze into one another’s eyes, and there will be lovely dinners and phone calls and he can join us at our table on Saturdays,” by this time, both of them were near hysterics.
“Oh, gazing into those sparkling blue eyes, that would be absolute Heaven,” Gabrielle went along, giggling madly.
“Ohhh hush, he’s giving us weird looks now!”
“I say we stop by Smoothie King and get something sweet to calm our romantic mood?”
“Brilliant idea, Gab”
And with that, they left the table, and walked out to the parking deck of the Walchestor Mall. Never imaging what exactly they were talking about.
Now we should go about four years into the future, same mall, same table, same balcony, same two heads. Only this time, it’s a reunion between two girls who had been off in big-city colleges for the past two or three years. Abbie is Abigail-with-contacts, and Gabrielle’s cropped brown hair has evolved into a chestnut-colored ponytail down her back. They’re still giggling, however, and still creative. Not too much has changed. The two women sit at the table, catching up one another, Gabrielle talking about her Student-Teaching, Abigail showing off her painting portfolio, when a tall man, with brilliant blue eyes and dark wavy hair walks up to the table, tapping Abigail on the shoulder. Both girls are surprised as he hands her a portfolio much like the one she is holding, only much messier, something a teenage girl would put together, not a college student. The world goes to slow motion as he smiles and pulls out one sketch, a sketch of a strawberry-blonde teen being held by a tall guy with dark, wavy hair. She blushes deeply, and Gabrielle tries not to scream.
“I suppose you’re Abbie?” He tilts his head to one side, grinning, before setting the folder on the table, and pulling her in.
Fast-forward once more, a little less than a year later. A white wedding, beautiful and brilliant, as two dreamers and soul mates are bound by the rings on their fingers and the love between them. They kiss splendidly, run down the aisle hand-in-hand, and end up sitting by a lake at midnight.
“This is so unreal…” the bride whispers, in awe, her head resting on his shoulder.
“Unreal?” the groom questions, “How? Is true love unreal? Is fate and dreaming unreal?”
Abigail is silent and simply pulls herself closer.
“It’s just unreal that all those things I said, just joking around exactly four years ago today…Came true.”
They sit there in silence a little longer. Nothing more needs to be said, because he feels the same way. Who would’ve ever guessed that her paintings were the illustrations to someone’s storybook, someone who sat just to the left of her every Saturday, writing a book on those two little heads?
