When Dean returned home from the park he unlocked the old, splintering door and walked inside. The thud of his boots echoed off of the barren walls in his tiny house. There was only the bathroom, kitchenette, and bedroom. The white paint from the hallways were peeling off of the walls leaving chips on the dark wooden floors. The ceiling, too, was worn from pipes that seemed to bang endlessly and the many rainy days soaking through the broken shingles on the roof yellowing the cracks into his world. There was an old couch and dimly lit embers sizzling in the fireplace. They illuminated the imperfections in his home. One photo of his parents rested on the coffee table. It was thickly coated with dust that aged there faces and masked their smiles while the carpet on the floor only revealed the truth of drunken fits of rage. Dean spent most of his time outside and never cared much for his house. He reasoned with the fact that no one ever came over anyway. It was Wednesday morning when Dean moved from his couch onto his old bed. His fraying flannel sheets were not yet heated by his body and it took a dreadful while to fall asleep.


The loud chirping of the birds outside of his window woke Dean up with a startle. A cold sweat from his familiar nightmare drenched his white cotton t-shirt. With a sigh Dean swung his legs over the side of his bed and checked the time. (7:30? God damn birds.) But he did love the birds. They saved him from the profundity of his nightmares and pulled him towards daylight. He couldn’t wait to go and see Marilyn at the park and pretend to read “The Catcher in the Rye.” It was Wednesday. It meant his love would, without a doubt, be there doing her early morning run and if he showered quickly he might be able to catch the second half her routine. Dean got up from his bed and walked into the bathroom. The bright lights woke him as he began to run the water. His shower hissed to life as the heat poured out and into the basin of his stained tub. The steam swirled into the air and around the old circular lights. He hopped into the tub and began to lather himself. Within a quick five minutes he was out of the shower. When he opened the door to the bedroom, cold frigid air rushed in cooling his legs and parting the clouds of steam that hung low licking everything with its warm moisture . Dean picked an old pair of jeans and a navy blue shirt up from off of the ground and a large black pea coat from the hook by the door.

Once again he approached the familiar park. Today the lighting was especially beautiful so he grabbed his old film camera from the trunk (My love will come home with me!). Dean had to remind himself not to run as he approached his bench. It was particularly cold this fall morning and the park was almost empty. She was running her laps and carried a unique warmth with her as she did. Her lips and cheeks were a blushed pink against her pale white skin. Marilyn was wearing her hair up in a ponytail that cascaded down her neck and nestled into the nook between her shoulder blades. She looked so small against the park’s trees and so lovely on that particular morning. (It’s the lighting.) Dean steadied his camera to his eye and snapped a photo. The beauty of film was that Dean never knew what the photos looked like until he developed them. He could dream about what they’d be. Once even the man in the photo store had questioned Dean, “Who is this lovely lady here?” and with a smile that reached ear to ear Dean replied,
“My wife.”

When Dean was younger he always thought he would lead a life of solitude. He had lost all of his friends upon his return from winter break. He remembered his arrival like it had happened yesterday:
“ Mom, please don’t make me go! They will laugh at me! I look like a monster!” Dean threw his hands up to cover his fresh stitches.
"Honey, Dean, you will be okay," Mrs. Hunter had made a promise that would not be kept, "Its not that bad," yet another lie told by a struggling mother to her hysterical son.
After much resistance Dean dragged his heels against the pavement as he walked into his bustling classroom. From the moment his left foot crossed the threshold the class room became silent. Kids of all sizes stared at Dean with wide eyes and opened mouths. Not even the teacher was able to keep composed and she became tomato red at the sight of her once stunning student. With embarrassment she snapped out of it and spoke to the class, "Now,umm, lets begin the day with math. Hello Dean welcome back why don't you take a seat." Mrs.Lovern gestured towards the empty blue plastic chair between Holly and Samantha. Dean slowly walked over to his new seat in the back and sat down. Samantha who was on the left side of him scooted away quickly from the gash on Dean's face. (Stop judging me!) A large tear rolled down Dean's cheek and the salt stung his cut forcing more tears out from his crystal eyes. He pushed his seat back with a force and ran out of the room and into the office, "Please call my mom." Within twenty minutes Mrs.Hunter was at the school in her work clothes to collect her sobbing son from the ladies in the office. It went without saying, and the two Hunters got in the car and drove home.

The loud honk of a passing car snapped Dean from his daydream and he focused once again on the woman in the park. She now seemed to be breathing heavy which meant that she would be over soon. Dean snapped three more photos and left. He would return once again tomorrow with no distractions. Dean hung his camera around his neck and stuffed the book into his large pocket. The jiggle of his keys sounded like chimes in the quiet park and Dean quickly smothered the noise. (My love must not know I am here, not today.) The dew from the grass dampened the edges of his boots and cooled his toes. Within fifteen minutes he was at the local drugstore developing the photos that he had shoot in the park. The worker didnt ask any question when Dean payed for the prints but did however give him a very disturbed look. It seemed that the man behind the counter was somewhat more disturbed by the photos then confused. (He doesn't know. If he knew that I loved her he would understand.) When he got home he scurried to the linen closet that rested near the garage and pulled out an old heavy shoe box. He blew dust from off the cover and opened the lid. Inside laid dozens of black and white photos of Marilyn doing her daily routines. As Dean visited more and more oven the time gap between his photos would lessen from once a week to three to four times a week. Now every day. Dean pulled his most recent additions out of his pocket and stuffed them amongst the others. (I’ll get more tomorrow.)

Thursday night Dean made sure to arrive early and make sure that he didn't miss any of todays workout. Thursdays where Dean’s favorite because they were the evening workout. The crescent moon hung low in the sky but the park was still lit by the newly installed lamps. Dean sat down all bundled up and waited for Marilyn, (any minute now.) Several minutes passed before Dean saw Marilyns headlights protrude from the darkness of the residential street just like Mr. Coopers had right before that shard of glass had buried itself in Deans face that holiday night. Shaking off a sudden cool ness Dean felt his anticipation in his body pulsing all the way down from his head to his toes. Shaking now he was relieved when he saw Marilyn walk up and start her stretching. First the legs then the arms, just like all ways and then she began to run her laps. It was almost a quarter till seven when Dean noticed a dark mass emerge from around the play structure and walk towards the entrance of the park. It worried him.
To insure the safety of Marilyn Dean made sure to follow his “love” to her car when she finished her workout. She had parked where she always did but this time a large man was blocking the drivers door. “Hello can I help you?” Marilyn spoke bravely to the large man while her lips and hands trembled. Moments passed until the man finally spoke,
“Yes you can.” The man stood six four and even though her wore a black hoodie Dean knew that he he muscles rippling somewhere under all the cloth. Only Marilyn could see the dark, shadow covered, outlines of the mans face. His big eyes widened and he extended his arm out to Marilyn. She grew panicked and tried to avoid the man's grip. With no idea of what to do, the criminal gripped her throat in a fashion of intimidation but as his prey began to whimper he tightened his large hands. Dean grew panicked as he watched the scene. Marilyn was grabbing the man, twisting his hoodie shirt into knots. A soft whimper came from her and her hands dropped from his back. Dean sprinted from his hiding spot and tackled the man onto the cement. Without hesitation Dean started hitting the man. (Left, Right, Left.) Dean could feel the strangers nose compress as he stroke it. Warm blood flew onto Deans cold fingers and splattered onto the cement, the man was out cold and Dean stood over him. A victor.
Marilyn stared wide eyed at Dean before throwing herself into his arms and crying. She murmured on his shoulder in slurs while Dean whispered reassuring words, “You're okay. Shhh, its alright.”
“Thank you so much,” Marilyns cheeks were red and streaked with tears. Her timid voice grew far away as Dean was hit with another memory.
It had been christmas and Deans family sat around there modest tree staring at the surplus of presents the Mr. Cooper had brought for Dean including motor cars and a new gaming station. Mr and Mrs Hunter had tried to talk Mr. Cooper out of the purchases, “Its too much. Honestly we can't accept these.” Too which Mr. Cooper replied,
“I owe the kid a new Mercedes.” Back to the tree Dean stared at the new gifts with glazed eyes and a broken heart, “What's wrong sweetie. Don’t you like all of the gifts?” Mrs Hunter sat next to her son in the mess of wrapping paper and put her arm around his shoulder as Dean began to sob. “All I want is my friends back!”
Marilyn pulled her face off of Dean’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes and then moved to the track on his face. Her green eyes were fixated upon the scar and a look of awe eclipsed her fear. Dean notice her glare and immediately was enraged, he let go of the bewildered woman and took a step back and into the stranger on the ground. Noticing his mortification Marilyn quickly spoke, “Um thank you for what you did,” her face turned hot against the cold wind, “my name is Marilyn and I would like to take you to dinner and maybe get to know my hero.” A whisper of a chuckle slipped out from between her teeth and filled the silence.
“Thank would be nice.” Dean looked at his feet and let go of his heated temper (What was I expecting? For her not to look? She is human.) “Would tomorrow night work?”
“Yeah it would. I know I real fancy place on 21st, Paley’s Place, ever heard of it?”

It was Friday night and Dean was waiting outside of the bistro. His new shoes tapped on the sidewalk and he could hear the chit chat of lovers inside. (7:30, maybe she got held up.) Minutes later he heard the click clack of heels against the cement and turned his head to see ruby red pumps shine against the night. As his eyes moved up he recognized the pair of legs and was astonished by the beauty of Marilyn. Her hair was tied up in a bun and she was wearing a black dress with a empire waist and a flared bottom. Her eyes were widened by a layer of mascara and glimmered against the night. Their green beauty meet Dean’s icy blue eyes. Dean looked down at his new out fit, shying away from her glare, and was glad he didn't opt to wear his old suit. “Shall we go inside?” Marilyn’s voice was smooth (I couldn't have a better one.)
The two sat at an intimate table in the corner of the restaurant with a bottle of wine and a heavy flow of conversation. Marilyn and Dean were blown away by the nights well going and how their conversation just, well, worked. They shared many passions and made each other laugh throughout the night. Marilyn noted his love for photography and was very impressed to meet such an artistic man. According to Dean he grew up with an old polaroid.
It had been his twelve birthday when he received his own camera. His parents were concerned about the countless hours that he was spending alone in his room. Little did they know that it was a state that was forced onto their son. Although Dean was used to it, the little child inside of him longed to go out with his friends and shoot the s*** at the local hang outs. It had been two years since the accident and Dean Hunter hadn’t been talking to his friends, more so, they were not talking to him. Dean was the victim of plentiful playground jokes and the topic of whispered discussions during lunch break. He was almost used to the loneliness but every once in awhile it would hit him when he was sitting alone at a table or left partnerless during science projects. When he got the camera from his parents he was very excited. It came in an old shoe box and his parents read the disappointment on their son's face. “Open the box Love.” Ms. Hunter smiled ear to ear.
“Thank you! Thank you!” The young boy jumped from his seat and imbrassed his parents in a large bear hug. Mrs. Dean blew her nose and left the table with tears of joy running down the side her cheek. Ever since the accident she had never seen her sons tainted face so happy.
The next day Dean ran to the park after school and began taking photos of the flowers and trees. After many pictures of inanimate life around the park he was bored and decided to snap photos of the families in the park. He was jealous of the children and their friends (Their unmarked faces.)
As the night wrapped up Marilyn wrote her phone number on a napkin and tucked it in Deans suit pocket while staring into his crystal eyes. She has fallen for the man that saved her. Dean was her hero and that in its own was enough to make any girl fall in love. When they said their goodbyes a hug was shared and a plain was made. Next Friday, four o’clock at the Portland Art Museum on Park Avenue.
As Marilyn walked back to her car she thought about her and Dean’s conversation. He was a pleasant man who definitely had a way with his words. She was shocked by his passion for little things like cameras and how he would only use film, of course she was unaware of the reason. She got in the car with a smile on her face. Something about the evening left a warm feeling in her that lasted through out the night. Her heart was thudding in her chest as she layed down to go to bed, even the thought of Dean excited her and forced out a girlish chuckle into the dark room.
When Marilyn fell asleep she dreamt of the stranger in the park. His rough hand around her delicate neck. In her dream the man wore no face, the only thing she could see was a vast darkness underneath his hood. She could feel her windpipes being smashed and woke up gripping her throat. She screamed and took a few minutes to shake off the nightmare and moved to the bathroom. Marilyn’s tears had pulled the mascara off of her long lashed and dragged it down her face to the purple bruises on her neck from the attack. Suddenly frightened she called Dean (It’s only one, he said he’s a night owl.)
The sharp ring of the unexploited phone that rested on the nightstand woke Dean up from yet another nightmare. Rubbing the sleep from his eye Dean grabbed the phone, “Umm,” he licked his lips, “Who is this?” Small breaths came from the other line.
“Hey Dean it’s me, I mean Marilyn.” Dean sat up straight and got worried. (Why is she calling so late?) “I was having a nightmare, “ (Oh) , “Its childish. Im sorry I should just let you go to bed.” As she bent to put the phone back on the receiver she heard a voice call out from the phone.
“Wait...Marilyn.” She slowly pulled the phone back up to her ear and listened to Deans heavy breath (What is he all tied up about?) “Marilyn you there still?” Dean sat quiet and waited for her voice to dance through the receiver of the phone.
“Yeah I am here.”
“You know what? I was up anyway and was about to go out for a drive, I’ll be on the way.” Marilyn felt the blood rush to her cheeks as she blushed over the phone. Sure it was direct. (But I like that in a man.) Little did they both know that this was the start of the rest of their lives.

It was Friday night and Dean was waiting outside of the bistro. His new shoes tapped on the sidewalk and he could hear the chit chat of lovers inside. (7:30, maybe she got held up.) Minutes later he heard the click clack of heels against the cement and turned his head to see ruby red pumps shine against the night. As his eyes moved up he recognized the pair of legs and was astonished by the beauty of Marilyn. Her hair was tied up in a bun and she was wearing a black dress with a empire waist and a flared bottom. Her eyes were widened by a layer of mascara and glimmered against the night. Their green beauty meet Dean’s icy blue eyes. Dean looked down at his new out fit, shying away from her glare, and was glad he didn't opt to wear his old suit. “Shall we go inside?” Marilyn’s voice was smooth (I couldn't have a better one.)
The two sat at an intimate table in the corner of the restaurant with a bottle of wine and a heavy flow of conversation. Marilyn and Dean were blown away by the nights well going and how their conversation just, well, worked. They shared many passions and made each other laugh throughout the night. Marilyn noted his love for photography and was very impressed to meet such an artistic man. According to Dean he grew up with an old polaroid.
It had been his twelve birthday when he received his own camera. His parents were concerned about the countless hours that he was spending alone in his room. Little did they know that it was a state that was forced onto their son. Although Dean was used to it, the little child inside of him longed to go out with his friends and shoot the s*** at the local hang outs. It had been two years since the accident and Dean Hunter hadn’t been talking to his friends, more so, they were not talking to him. Dean was the victim of plentiful playground jokes and the topic of whispered discussions during lunch break. He was almost used to the loneliness but every once in awhile it would hit him when he was sitting alone at a table or left partnerless during science projects. When he got the camera from his parents he was very excited. It came in an old shoe box and his parents read the disappointment on their son's face. “Open the box Love.” Ms. Hunter smiled ear to ear.
“Thank you! Thank you!” The young boy jumped from his seat and imbrassed his parents in a large bear hug. Mrs. Dean blew her nose and left the table with tears of joy running down the side her cheek. Ever since the accident she had never seen her sons tainted face so happy.
The next day Dean ran to the park after school and began taking photos of the flowers and trees. After many pictures of inanimate life around the park he was bored and decided to snap photos of the families in the park. He was jealous of the children and their friends (Their unmarked faces.)
As the night wrapped up Marilyn wrote her phone number on a napkin and tucked it in Deans suit pocket while staring into his crystal eyes. She has fallen for the man that saved her. Dean was her hero and that in its own was enough to make any girl fall in love. When they said their goodbyes a hug was shared and a plain was made. Next Friday, four o’clock at the Portland Art Museum on Park Avenue.
As Marilyn walked back to her car she thought about her and Dean’s conversation. He was a pleasant man who definitely had a way with his words. She was shocked by his passion for little things like cameras and how he would only use film, of course she was unaware of the reason. She got in the car with a smile on her face. Something about the evening left a warm feeling in her that lasted through out the night. Her heart was thudding in her chest as she layed down to go to bed, even the thought of Dean excited her and forced out a girlish chuckle into the dark room.
When Marilyn fell asleep she dreamt of the stranger in the park. His rough hand around her delicate neck. In her dream the man wore no face, the only thing she could see was a vast darkness underneath his hood. She could feel her windpipes being smashed and woke up gripping her throat. She screamed and took a few minutes to shake off the nightmare and moved to the bathroom. Marilyn’s tears had pulled the mascara off of her long lashed and dragged it down her face to the purple bruises on her neck from the attack. Suddenly frightened she called Dean (It’s only one, he said he’s a night owl.)
The sharp ring of the unexploited phone that rested on the nightstand woke Dean up from yet another nightmare. Rubbing the sleep from his eye Dean grabbed the phone, “Umm,” he licked his lips, “Who is this?” Small breaths came from the other line.
“Hey Dean it’s me, I mean Marilyn.” Dean sat up straight and got worried. (Why is she calling so late?) “I was having a nightmare, “ (Oh) , “Its childish. Im sorry I should just let you go to bed.” As she bent to put the phone back on the receiver she heard a voice call out from the phone.
“Wait...Marilyn.” She slowly pulled the phone back up to her ear and listened to Deans heavy breath (What is he all tied up about?) “Marilyn you there still?” Dean sat quiet and waited for her voice to dance through the receiver of the phone.
“Yeah I am here.”
“You know what? I was up anyway and was about to go out for a drive, I’ll be on the way.” Marilyn felt the blood rush to her cheeks as she blushed over the phone. Sure it was direct. (But I like that in a man.) Little did they both know that this was the start of the rest of their lives.