This is insane. Every couple minutes I stand up and start walking toward the exit, turn back around, and sit right back in my spot. Why did I think this was a good idea? I don’t know a damn thing about this girl and I’m meeting her in an old basement of building where we both have meetings with our support groups? I mean, really?!  I even Googled her and came up with nothing. When does that ever happen?

I decide sitting isn’t working for me and begin to pace the hall. Why the hell did I decide to come here? Sure the girl is unbelievable gorgeous, but who’s gorgeous enough to put my own well-being on the line? I’m pretty zoned out when I feel a light tap on my shoulder and just about jump through the ceiling.

"Holy shit!"

“Sorry… didn’t mean to scare you…” Spencer is standing in front of me, trying to hold back a smirk and failing miserably. I feel my cheeks burning as I mumble something about not being scared. To be honest, I have no idea what I just said. I’ve pretty much gone brain-dead looking into this girl’s eyes. God I’m pretty sure even trying to describe the feeling her eyes give me would result in an EPIC FAIL. However, for the sake of going on about those reflective blue pools, I’ll give it a shot.

When I was a kid, I was constantly doing things that my parents told me I couldn’t. Mostly to prove them wrong and sometimes just to get a rise out of them. My dad had a recording studio in our basement. Knowing my affinity for pushing buttons and twisting knobs, he told me I couldn’t go in there without supervision. But, really, who was going to stop me.

 I waited until he was away on tour before sneaking in. After I had my fill of playing with the equipment, I found one of his favorite guitars: a 1960 cherry burst Gibson Les Paul Junior… she was gorgeous, shrouded in the mystery that is music, and absolutely forbidden. I sat down next to her and just stared. I continued this little routine for about a week before getting up the nerve to pick up the guitar and strum a little.