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About The Girl
She entered the room and paused, introspectively. I still didn’t know her name, although I had made several desperate attempts to look for a signature on her artwork, or a loose credit card or license. She was simply “She,” but without all of the ambiguous gray-space that came with the word. I turned back to my collage, wanting to remain unnoticed.
Her pastels and charcoals were hung up on the wall across from me, stunningly realistic for the medium She had chosen. They seemed so similar in their content to the rest of the classes’, especially because of the juxtaposition presented with my flat, static pen-and-inks to the right, but there was so much more mystery to them. They were both portraying the same still life - a wobbly, purple vase supporting a faded bowler’s hat, clumps of grass and flowers, and a rolling pin - and from almost the exact same angle.
She sat next to me. Or, I sat next to her. Maybe it was my over-eager imagination. Much less likely, it contained a deeper, more optimistic message. We arrived at different times each day, and there were plenty of other seats available next to plenty of other available people. I changed seats once, to test my theory. The whole test came crashing down when She arrived late and the only seat available was that next to mine.
We returned to our normal seats the next day.
It had taken three days to work up the nerve to make eye contact. Another two to speak to her. My clarity and fluidity had surprised me. It was like She brought out the best in me.
Nobody else could do that.
We had exchanged courteous, brief phrases. A few comments on each others’ works. But, I had done so with all of the others. I had made more contact with all of the other students, but it had all seemed so hollow and meaningless. The few words She had said to me contained more meaning than I could understand.
She took her seat next to me. We remained silent for the next hour.
The teacher took her seat at in her swiveling chair and slid into the middle of the students. She brought us into pairs and gave us instructions. We were to draw a simple portrait of the other. Medium of our choice. She left the room for the rest of class and left the subtleties up to us.
We went off to the easels in the corner and brought up stools. This was precisely the type of situation I had tried to avoid by signing up for this class. She would be staring at my face for the next hour. All the more time for Her to dissect each imperfection and lay it on the canvas, in case She forgot.
I had selected my inks, and She the pastels.
Everything about her stood out as perfect. Move one tiny bone, everything would collapse. Each fiber was a corner stone.
She finally declared that she was ready. I wasn’t close.
“I...am too.” I finally uttered. Time was a bitch and had it out for me.
She unclasped the portrait from the easel and handed it to me. I did the same, albeit with a great deal less grace. But still much more than normal. She brought out the best in me.
I sighed at the first site of myself through Her eyes. Completely realistic. Loose, bumpy skin. A thin nose that tapered out into unnaturaly broad nostrils. Short, vibrant red hair that seemed to glow. I was ugly. That wasn’t important. I was ugly through Her eyes. That was. She hadn’t commented and Herself yet.
But there was something else to it. Not like She was being to me. Like She wanted to hurt me. But like it was portraying me as who I am. It was glorifying me.
We talked. Lengthy conversations. It would have been impossible to determine what had caused it, but it had started and didn’t seem like it would stop. We talked over books, movies, philosophy, school, our lives. We were worlds apart, but still there was such an unspoken connection that I felt. I couldn’t tell if She felt the same.
One word stood out. “Unicorn.” She had said it. But it seemed like it was at such a stunning distance. She was my unicorn. Unreachable.
We walked down the path to the parking lot. The last day of class. Double or nothing. “I don’t even know your name.” She told me. I paused. I didn’t know what I wanted from Her. Everything seemed so unattainable. She wasn’t just a unicorn. She was a unicorn suspended in a far-away universe.
We stared at each other. I started to speak. She knew what I was going to say, and stopped me. There was something in Her eyes, like a degrading sort of pity.
Without so much as another word, she turned away from me and walked out of my life. Or, I stayed out of Hers. It still felt like she brought out the best in me. END!
Not much to say about it. A piece I did a few months ago, thought it worked out well enough. The events sort of happened...I met the girl in an art class but didn't get her number because I was in a transitional period between girlfriends. So now I regret it and it's just one of those "what if"s that's haunted me. The narrator is NOT me, I included the physical description to emphasis that point (if you knew me, you'd be able to understand).
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Overhead the albatross hangs motionless upon the air.
And deep beneath the rolling waves, in labyrinths of coral caves..
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