I thought I would try my hand at this “Three Things Challenge,” created by Paula Light from Light Motifs II.
There are no restrictions on length or genre for this challenge, but we are encouraged to use at least one of the following three things:
Today’s prompt: busboy, flowerbed, Maryland
And since I am a Maryland girl, I had to give this a go!
The Boy With the Moon Tattoo
*Note, this is a piece of fiction. The places and descriptions are real, but the characters and plot are fictitious.
There is a place in far, Western Maryland that is like walking through the pages of a novel, where charming characters come to life, and the minute you step foot on the old, brick sidewalks, you take a step back in time. Each side walk is made from bricks engraved with names, dedicated to the residents of Garrett County that have come and gone. The business owners, the original founders, inventors, and every soul that made this town the charming place it is today. There is an old, romantic gazebo, that used to reside in Deer Park, and my mother’s memories are still etched in the wood. I can feel her spirit every time I set foot on that romantic gazebo. The old B&O railroad station still resides with an old steam engine sitting out front. If you capture a picture, you wouldn’t recognize it’s from modern day, and there’s something so charming about that feeling. It makes me feel closer to my loved ones who are no longer here.
Perpendicular from the railroad station sits a quaint little café that I frequently visit for London fogs, pumpkin lattes, and espressos. I have spent so many countless hours in this place, the walls hold my laughter and there is even a clarinet that hangs on the wall. If you walk through those doors, you will find me there, maybe not my body, but definitely my spirit. The dim lighting makes for the perfect date destination. Sit at the corner table, the one surrounded by a red, velvet couch, and black, leather, barrel seats, with a Gothic chandelier that hangs over head. Sit opposite your date and share an intellectual conversation over a deliciously hot cup of coffee; how could you not fall in love?
It was at this very café that I fell in love for the very first time. I was sitting, cross legged on that red, velvet couch, sipping an espresso, and reading “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.” If it hadn’t have been for the barista dropping a coffee cup, I wouldn’t have looked up from my book, and I would have missed the pair of hazel eyes smiling at me.
I couldn’t help the blush that crept across my cheeks, turning them as pink as the zinnia’s that were planted outside in the flowerbed, as he continued to hold my gaze while he cleared the table across from me.
He was wickedly handsome, not the typical type of redneck guy seen around Garrett County, and that difference drew me in. I couldn’t help the irrefutable, gravitational pull I was starting to feel for this stranger. I couldn’t explain it, it was as if I knew him somehow, as if my soul was connected to his, and I didn’t even know his name. There was no denying it, I was the moth, and he the flame. He removed his gaze for a moment, to grab the faded, red and white checkered rag from his apron before wiping off the table and I noticed the top of a moon tattoo peeking out from underneath his button up, plaid shirt.
“Hi,” he mustered, shyly, as he sat the tray of dirty dishes on the table next to mine, “I’m Marc.”
I shook his extended hand and introduced myself, I learned that he had just moved to Maryland with his family and he was working at the café for the summer. We chatted for just a brief while since he was working, but we exchanged phone numbers and made plans to meet later that evening.
We walked around Oakland, crossing the bridge to the Rotary Park, where we sat on the swings and shared intimate conversations about our lives. It was downright scary how quickly I opened up to him, but he made me feel safe and calm, and as evening turned to dusk, and dusk fell into night, so fell my heart.
We walked back to the café, where my car was parked, and it was there underneath the old, lamppost, where he kissed me, softly, and tenderly. I had fallen in love with the dark haired, hazel eyed busboy with the moon tattoo, and although we were standing in the place I was born and raised, it was then I found my home.
Thank you very much, Paula, for hosting this challenge!
Love & life lessons,