This is not a stroke story. It's a story that builds with each chapter submitted. If you want to get your rocks off, go somewhere else.
I hope you enjoy the first chapter.
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The alarm went off, pounding through my sleep fogged brain, ending a delicious dream I was having. I rolled onto my right side and opened one eye and glared at the offending object. My hand snaked out from the covers to slap the off button on the top of the clock. It was just another day like any other, another glaring morning that affronted my sleep laden eyes.
My morning ritual was the same Monday through Friday. First I contemplated doing serious damage to my clock while I dragged myself into the shower. Then I dressed the bottom half of myself, took five minutes to style my short hair, dressed the upper half of myself, made sure the cat was fed, and ran out of my house with my jacket half on while tangled within the straps of my book bag. Traffic was always a bitch to drive. So many people buy showy V8 engine sports cars, but do not know how to drive them. Twenty minutes of yelling at people to push the gas peddle, I arrived on campus.
As I jogged the half mile to get from the parking lot to campus, I called my best friend, Tabitha. "Good morning, Alex!" Her cheerful voice made my teeth grind in annoyance.
"How many times do I have to tell you? Mornings are never good. There's nothing good about them, never will be. Now, I'm just crossing the road to get to campus, what do you want from the coffee house?" It was the same ritual we had every morning. We started it at the beginning of the semester and coordinated our schedules for the next semester so we could continue it.
My best friend was thirty-years-old finishing up her degree in Art History. She was single with the hots for one of her past classmates. They talked everyday, but she never had the guts to tell him what was on her mind. She was a cute woman of average height. The few extra pounds had only made her look more adorable. Her chocolate brown eyes could sweeten any man's disposition and her pouty lips could sweet talk a cop out of a speeding ticket. The color of her hair changed with the weather, but she had it cut to her shoulder blades and it fell around her face in soft natural curls. Her personality was always cheerful yet she was fast to worry about the minor trivialities of life. With all her bravado and out-going ways, she was always timid with men she had a sexual interest in. Even with her sunny mood in the mornings, I thought of her as my sister, and swore to lay down my life for her. I knew how hard it was to find true friends in a world where deceit was common.
On the other end of the spectrum was me. I was taller than most women with a few extra pounds of my own. The combination made it a nightmare to find suitable clothing. My green eyes were hidden behind slightly tinted glasses. Their purpose was not only to help me see better, but to diminish the damaging effects from long-term computer use. My short cropped dark brown hair was always arranged in a civilized mess. The civilized mess was not of my choosing, but was a direct result of my constant nervous habit of finger combing. My lips were elegant with the upper lip being slightly thinner than the bottom lip. They had a fondness for frowning.
I had a sarcastic and cynical way about me. Most of the time, I preferred books to humans, Tabitha was the only exception. Because of my overwhelming passion for books, I chose English Literature as my major. After several years of finding myself in college, I settled for passion over money at the age of twenty-six. Being the cynic that I was, I loved my single status. Men had no room in my life and would only hold me back.
The University coffee house was packed with sleep deprived students craving their daily IV of coffee to get them through another day of classes. The line always ended out the door, which was why I always allowed a half hour of extra time before classes started. The usual people stood in the line: classmates moaned about an upcoming test, girls who barely qualified as adults giggled about the awkward girl that stood in front of them, couples held hands, and a group of boys boisterously commented on the highlights of last night's party. The pattern of where these people stood changed with every morning; I had the misfortune of waiting behind three boisterous boys.
I stood a good distance away from them as they acted out their favorite parts of their night using exuberant gestures. Even my cautious thoughtfulness to let them have their fun, earned me an accidental whack from these gestures every so often. The tallest one of the group was always vigilant when his friends whacked me. He constantly apologized and subtly reprimand his friends. That was a change from other mornings when I would stand behind a group of such boys. In the past, I got angry to where I would glare at them and make them gradually uncomfortable with my silent wrath. It was amazing what a heartfelt apology had on my normal character.
The line was steady moving and I ordered Tabitha's drink, the workers had memorized my usual drink a few semesters ago. It took little time to procure the hot drinks and grab what I needed from the prep station. When I turned to leave, a stray hand from one of the boisterous boys hit the drink in my left hand. It splattered the front of my shirt, managed to miss my pants, and the rest landed on my shoes. The breath rushed out of my lungs as the hot beverage saturated the worn cotton of my t-shirt; all I managed was a squeak of surprise.
The entire population of the coffee house seemed to freeze for that split second in time before peels of mirth and unwanted snide comments spewed forth. Two of the boisterous boys joined in the fun. In my embarrassment, I was angry to see that the culprit was one of the fun seekers. The tall, apologetic boy was mortified. He was able to snap out of his momentary stupefaction and jumped to my rescue.
I was happy that someone came to my rescue because I was frozen in embarrassment, unable to fully take in what just happened. His assurances calmed my discomfiture bit by bit. I was happy that someone was not laughing at me and trying to help me out. He led me to the woman's restroom and handed me his own t-shirt that he dug out of the gym bag he was carrying. Before I went in to change my shirt, he took everything that I was carrying and promised that he would look after my stuff while I changed. Without a word, without a question, without one of my usual sarcastic comments, I went into the bathroom.
The women in the bathroom surreptitiously glanced my way while fixing their hair or washing their hands, I paid them little attention. My brain was struggling to assimilate everything that had happened to me in a short span of time. What tripped up my well-oiled mind was the tall apologetic boy that came to my aid. Niceties, especially coming from men, were few and far between. They usually seemed to have a motive for being nice; they either had a greedy purpose or the woman was just too hot to pass up. I had neither money nor current fashionable visage.
The wet t-shirt peeled off me without much effort. I thanked a higher power that it was not white which would have been an added embarrassment. As my emotions and thoughts calmed, my mind wandered to my "knight in shinning armor." It was automatic that I called him "boy." Not many people in college were as old, if not older, than I was unless they were a graduate student. He was a man; there was nothing boyish about his physique. The features of his face held the maturity of a full grown adult, not a young adult fresh out of high school. He was lean with some musculature and well groomed. The most striking feature that caught my attention were his eyes. For years, I had believed the eyes were windows to the soul. His were deep pools of blue with a shimmer of life experience. I guessed that he had some military experience by the way he carried himself. That would explain the military cut of his dirty blond hair.
