Here is the first chapter of the story I am currently writing... let me know what you think.
This is the story of how I fell in love with Ben Clover.
I.
I have always enjoyed the smell of snow. The crisp tingling feeling that hits the tiny hairs inside of my nose, and sends a shiver up my nasal passage and cools my racing brain. It is almost like peppermint. How when you take the first sip of your peppermint mocha, it is painful, but as it travels down your mouth towards your inviting throat, it is calming. You can feel this trail lead through your body, gliding through each organ until it rests in your rewarded stomach. I love the scent of freshness that comes with the first snowflake that lands on Pittsburgh soil. This smoggy town needs a few more of these, to clean up the infectious past this town has of mining.
I don’t remember how I ended up here--in such a unique town like Pittsburgh. I mean, besides the University, why did I choose to move up north and study in a town full of cloudy days, raining mornings, and depression controlling it all. But the bizarre thing is… I love it here.
I love the cold--on days that it isn’t so bitter that my tears that keep my eyes moist freeze, creating complications in blinking. I love to bundle up in sweatpants, a sweatshirt and my delicious dark grey pea coat (that my mother insisted on buying for me on my 18th birthday, even though I would have much rather enjoyed riding in a brand new Silver Volkswagen Beatle), when I know that I am completely covered, and not the slight breeze of the twenty-four degree winds will find a sliver of bare skin.
But most importantly, I love the people I met here. Each extremely different from the one standing next to them, a different race, gender, ethnicity and outlook on how life should be. I’ve met people from all notches of the diversity scale. Burnt-out potheads, that do nothing but sit on the hill behind the Arts building and smoke a joint as they watch their lives being slowly ripped from under them, to the intensively study-aholic that has a permanent residence at The Oak Library on campus, and whose only means of survival is the buck-fifty crappy coffee that The Oak has in the lobby, and a granola bar.
I have met the overly enthusiastic African-American girl that feels she must tell you every inch of “her peoples” backgrounds-- even though you have studied it in high school for four years by your again overly enthusiastic African-American woman teacher who only teaches because of Black History Month-- and still you don’t give a shit because there is nothing you can do about the past but you listen to them continue on because you know all they want to hear is their own voice showing up an innocent white girl. (Now don’t get me wrong, I am in no way racist or whatever. Its not because they are black or whatever, more power to ya, but rather that I have hear this speech over and over again since I was 4, so excuse me if I am annoyed with it.)
I have also met the stereotypical rich daddy’s little girl, who secretly is a sleazy whore but attempts to cover it up with a Burberry scarf and her light blue Northface and Uggs. They all seem to gather by the door to the gym in my dorm building, like the should go in and run .3 miles, but they must finish their venti-sized Caramel Macchiato first.
I have run into the entire football, baseball and soccer team while attempting to walk to my Psychology class that was mistakenly placed in the Athletic Training building. I never understood why someone would want to be an Athletic Trainer. I guess so they can tape up super good-looking football quarterback’s ankles, and rub the backs of the All-star soccer goalie. I guess that is something worth majoring in. But don’t they also have to deal with hyperextensions, broken legs and arms, and questionable rashes. If so, I’ll pass.
It was at this very moment, rushing into the questionably dirty glass doors of Berkin’s Hall that I made eye contact with him. The six-foot blonde, green eyed, European-type twist to his complexion like he has spent all his vacation this summer on the beaches of Italy, and showcased perfectly aligned dark eyebrows that gently outline his brow bone. The captain and wide receiver of our football team, the Homecoming King of 2007 and the winner of Greek Best Bod competition 2007, Ben Clover.
Thoughts?
-Alli
My roommate read me this quote, and I instantly fell in love with it. It remains on my desktop and I must catch myself reading it a couple times a day. It is simple, yet complex at the same time. The things that we love in this world, destroy our bodies, yet with out them, we don't have a body to then destroy, but rather our minds would deteriorate. We live our lives from one material thing to another, one passion to another, but we don't stop to think how these things, catching up to us, can hurt us. How they things we love can also be our kryptonite. How sometimes, the person we love, can also be our kryptonite. 
