True Story: The Little Red-Haired Girl

The Little Red-Haired Girl
     Where are the words, the perfect words describing a first love. Picture this ! Sun streaming through our cabin windows while dust dances on the lightbeams hitting the windowsill. This four year old was ready for a day of play. So, I gingerly tiptoed past my sleeping parents sprawled out on the hide-a-bed in the corner. I gently swung open the cabin door, stepped off the porch heading for the fishing shack by the lake.
     Then lightning struck. The mysterious love bug bit my tender heart. Stopping dead in my tracks, I stood motionless staring at her. The little red haired girl sat on the cracked concrete stoop in front of our lifeless cabin. Georgeous, red spiral curls spilled over her shoulders while her angelic face glowed a pure, creamy white.
     I mustered up all the courage a four year old could muster, deciding to break the silence. Cautiously, I inched closer, first one step then another. I could'nt believe it! Finally, I was standing two feet away from the little red haired girl resting on the concrete stoop. I swished the stone cold sand back and forth with my bare foot. "Hi, what's your name."
     Sheepishly, she looked up at me with a pair of sparkling blue eyes that glimmered in the sunlight. This angel fell from heaven and landed on my concrete stoop. My eyes gazed at her youthful beauty, my thoughts constantly trained on her. I hung on her every word. A heart captured without a fight, looking forward to tommorrow when we would meet again.
     Morning came quickly. I bolted out the cabin door looking toward the cracked concrete stoop. No little red haired girl! Where was she? Patiently, I waited on the concrete stoop. The hours passed like molasses in January. I peered up and down the beach-no little red haired girl. I raced through our cabin, out the front door hoping that she was playing in the front yard-no little red haired girl.
     An old 57 merc pulled into the driveway of the cabin next door. My heart pounded heavily in my chest. Was it her? The rusting car door creaked open. A leg poked out hitting the ground with a gravelly crunch-no little red haired girl! Sadness gripped me like a vice as I ran to the cracked concrete stoop. I plopped down on the stoop. My head resting in my hands, rivers of tears streamed down my pudgy cheeks. The little red haired girl of my dreams was gone. Memories of her red spiral curls, pure, creamy white face, and a cracked concrete stoop are all that's left. Memories