The Golden State

The Golden State Edited, again

Nothing great came into my life until she had. School, life, everything was bland. I was chronically emotion and lifeless, ever since the day my parents informed me of the "Big Move." Migrating from the mountains of North Carolina to New Port, Orange County, due to my father's engineering career taking off, might sound heavenly, but it meant the end of my fifteen years of everything and everyone I knew and loved.

Months passed after transfering to New Port High and I certainly missed the misty chills and high elevation of the mountains, okay grades, okay friends, and okay people consisted of my new found life at New Port. Most of the kids here spoke of surfing, taning and a countless amount of other native O.C. recreational activities, none fitting into my character; biking, hiking, and jogging along frosted roads. Since I had differed from most of the school's population who were tall, tan and with super model-like, and few knew of my name; Bennett James. My name was also the first thing that drew me to her; she knew it.

I remember that day clearer than any other after leaving the Carolinas, she walked --- or rather, waltzed gracefully into my Geometry class, shoes clattering on the cold, tile floor, making music to my ears. It was her first day, but to the contrary, she composed and carried herself as if she was all ready fimilar to the large, castle-sized school. I thought of her as beautiful; angelic face, sweet sounding voice, and very kind, so my instincts told me to approach her. She had beat me to it.

"Hi, my name is Summer," she said, beaming her soft-blue irises towards me. Her gold-like hair and bright smile did make her resemble a human version of my favourite season. The season where, back at home, I could walk outside, finally not needing a coat or sweater, and with awesome birds, heirs, and deer roaming along while I took my weekly stroll across the big, woodsy neighbourhood.

Summer being in my presence, let alone speaking to me, make me jitter with nervousness, especially since everyone else around me tended to be immersed in their own conversations with friends, making it impossible for me to pretend like I had distractions. "I'm Bennett," I finally let out.

"Bennett James, I know." Summer replied, grinning, showing her perfect smile. How? How could she have all ready known my first and last name? I'm no Mr. Popular, I thought, word around the school could not have traveled. How did she know, or known of me?

Not that I wasn't delighted that she wanted to talk to me and all ready knew who I was, but one of the things that was flattering also puzzled me. Summer knew me, how? "How did you know that?" I asked, scratching my auburn covered head in confusion.

"I'm from the mountains of North Carolina," No way, I said silently. I should have noticed earlier, she didn't speak like the rest of the Californias I was forced to habitat with. Same as I, though, her Southern accent was not very apparent in most of her speech, but she didn't use the same terms and lingo as the rest of "them," thats what I called the natives. "My mom works with your dad, we moved here after and my step-father divorced. My mom had told me all about a co-worker, also from where we used to live, and his son my age." She continued on. I sighed with relief and stupidity, clampping my hot, sweaty palm over my forehead. No air-conditioning and a really pretty girl was not the best combination for me, I found out. I thought she was either telepathic or a stalker. I later laughed at my absurd speculations, how could a girl so cute be a freak?

Soon after we first met, Summer and I grew much closer, I learned that she also enjoyed a lot of the things I did, and she was also an outdoorsy person. We spent countless weekend days walking on the beach, sand between our pale toes, and even the occasional piece of sea-shell, and many nights talking for hours on the phone, bugging both my father and her mother. She was the best friend and girlfriend I had not expected to gain while living in the blistering hot, sand-filled state of California.

Five whole years after I met my "Sunny," (a nick-name I gave to her,) five years of induring the burning heat last year, and also on my last semester of my senior year of college, I had planned on giving Summer the surprise of her life. The ultimate surprise. I narrowed down the two best-choice of rings while gazing out of the glass container inside the small jewelry store, it was tiny, but very up-scale. One of the rings was white gold and I began to think that was the right ring fer her. I remembered the first day I had met my love, life, and soon-to-be fiance', her long, blonde hair had caught the attention of everyone in Mrs. Hawkings class, but mostly me. This ring, now a significant piece of nostalgia for the both of us, was held in my khaki's pocket inside of a velvet, red box.

I'm sure you all know the rest; I bowed on one knee on the beautiful beach and into the wet sand, clamped open the tiny box of the ring and resited the words, "Summer Elizabeth-Shannon Gardener, will you marry me?" The answer she gave is obvious. Whose practice wedding dinner is this? The crowd of seated family and friends laughed, some even, nearly choking on their red wine and lobster.

Bennett James finished off his speech,smiling broad and eyes filled with glee. Her face was also gleaming, still making her features match her name and still the favourite time of year of the man she sat by, loved, and soon-to-be husband. Now in that time of year, instead of strolling in his old neighbourhood, he spends it with her. The times he had when he was younger is nothing compaired to being with the woman he had loved for a long time, and it would not trade her for cool, snowy nights anyday.