This is going to be just a short story. It's about a young boy's love for a high-class girl. I thought of the idea when started to crush on this boy that was painting a house in my neighborhood.



1. Smile, My Love

I was just a painter.  A handy man, working for my family. You know, trying to help them out.  She was a rich girl in on of the neighborhoods I was working in.  She smiled at me, and from that moment on, I've been in love with her.


"Come on, Chico.  It's time to get up." My father shook me awake.

"I'm coming." I slipped out of bed and put my painting clothes on.  Today was was a big job for us.  Apparently, a good friend of ours recommended us to his neighbor for a painting job and a house washing. He lived in a nice neighborhood. 


"Morning, Mama." I said to my mother who was in the kitchen preparing breakfast for us.

"OH! You scare me! Don't you want breakfast?" She asked me while I was walking out the door.

"No, Mama.  Today is the big job, there's no time to eat."


We were in our truck and on our way up to the lady's house. 

"Papa, what do you think her house is going to look like?" I asked my father.

"Big." My father said simply.  My father was a man of few words and more actions.

We pulled up to the house and my father was right, it was very big.  We got started the moment we stepped out of the car.


A little ways into the job I heard a scream mixed with laughter.  It was two girls riding their bikes.  The one ahead had long brown hair and was a little bit darker than the girl behind her.  The girl behind her had brown hair too, but it was pulled back so that her neck line was showing.  She looked up and saw me looking at her.  I didn't want to seem strange, so I waved at her.  She didn't return the wave, but she did give me a small smile.  She looked beautiful when she smiled, even if it was a small one.  It made the whole street light up.


My father's voice broke my thoughts.  "Chico, don't get distracted.  She is probably smiling at you because she feels sorry for you.  Don't be maiot!" Maiot means stupid in my father's language   He was probably right; but just something about her keeps me wondering, wanting more.

The two girls were arguing about something.  It looked like they couldn't make up their minds in which way to go.  The girl with the hair pulled back made her way over towards the side of the street they just came from.

Then she whispered something to the other girl, laughed a bit and looked back at me.  When she did this she smiled again, bigger than the last.


I didn't care about what my father said to me.  I smiled and gave her another wave, hoping she'd wave back.  This time she gave a smile, bigger than the last one she gave me.  She also gave me a little wave back.  This time I knew she didn't feel sorry for me.


She had to feel it.  I knew she felt it.  I did.  The connection of we have.  The connection of love, it was so strong.


"Chico, what did I say." My father said, not asked.

"Sorry, Papa." I said lowering my head so I wouldn't have to look into his eyes.  Seeing my father disappointed me made me feel horrible.


A couple hours passed and it was getting hot outside.  I looked up and saw just the one girl, the one that I had been smiling at.  This was my chance to talk to her.

"Papa, I'm going to get some water from the truck." I said, not taking my eyes off of the girl.

"Okay." My father said, not looking up.  Good I thought, he wouldn't see me talking to the girl.


I came out to the street where the girl had come to a stop on her bike.

"Hello." I breathed out.

"Hi."  Her voice was like an angle.

"Would you like to dance with me?" Dance? What was I thinking? Oh ya, I wanted her in my arms.

"Dance? Okay." She said getting off of her bike.

We stepped together and started to dance.  It felt like we danced forever.  We were so close, so that if we were any closer I would be kissing her.  Oh, how I want to kiss her lips.  They look so soft.


Once we finished dancing I heard clapping from two different spots.  I looked over towards where my father was.  I thought he would be mad, but instead he was clapping with a big smile on his face.  I looked over the other way and saw a woman clapping in her front yard.  It looked like an older version of the girl.  It must of been her mother.


Gathering up the courage I looked back at her and kissed her.  She tasted like honey and her lips were soft as butter.

When she pulled back, I thought she was going to slap me.  Instead, she took the words right out of my mouth.

"I love you." She said.

She was my first true love.


That was eight years ago.  I am now happily married,  two wonderful kids and a job I love.  Eight years ago, I thought I would be a painter, but since then I found that dance is my true calling, my true passion.  Yes, it is because I danced with her, my first true love.  You may be wondering if my wife is that girl.  No.  She is not.  She died eight years ago.  She died right after she said I love you.  A car was speeding and did not see us in the street.  I broke almost every bone in my body trying to save her.  Her last words to me were, "Smile, my love.  It is faith."


Right now I was on my way to my fathers grave.  Yes, the man that said few words and called me Chico died trying to save me from myself.  For a long time, I had blamed myself for her death.  I tried to kill myself.  My father came in and tried to take the knife away from me.  I had let go and it plunged into his heart.


I wonder, no.  I know my wife knows that she is not my first true love, but she knows that I do love her.  But there will always be a place in my heart for that girl.


I come home everyday to my wife and kids and tell them to smile, my loves.


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