Seeing
Zack.
“If you could have one guess, what would you say she’s thinking about?” Johnny asked quietly.
“Flowers…us.” I murmured, unblinking. What was she doing? What was going through her head?
“That was two.” Johnny snickered.
My eyes, if possible, widened as she moved. She stood, and in a moment’s time, bounced to her porch. I couldn’t help but chuckle. Her emotions were so obvious, yet you could never tell exactly why she felt what she felt.
My breath hitched. She looked back at us…she looked back at me. She took the time to acknowledge me before she left; to say goodbye in a sense. I knew I wouldn’t see her again until Monday. She never came out on the weekend for some reason. Sometimes I found myself sitting out here with Johnny, just waiting for the moment that she’d pop out and surprise us with her presence.
It never happens.
“Did you notice she forgot that book she always brings out?” Johnny snapped me out of my daze.
“Did she?” I asked, furrowing my brow. I hadn’t noticed…
“Yeah, see?” He quickly stood and jogged across the street, breaking the unwritten rule the moment he set foot onto the soil of her property.
I’m sure that if I had been in some sort of children’s cartoon, there would have been smoke coming out of my ears.
“Johnny!” I hissed, waving my arms frantically. He didn’t see. He was too busy picking up the book, which she had in fact forgotten. He couldn’t hear me. My voice was too quiet. I don’t know why, but I felt that if I was any louder, even though she was inside, the girl would hear.
Johnny quickly tucked the book under his arm and sprinted across the street once more. When he was close enough, I stood, grabbed the book with one hand, his shoulder with the other, and shook him violently.
“You idiot! You shouldn’t take her stuff! Whatever’s in there…is...” I faltered, my eyes locking on the book its self. On the cover of the book, in almost unreadable handwriting, it read:
“And since you know you cannot see yourself,
so well as by reflection, I, your glass,
will modestly discover to yourself,
that of yourself which you yet know not of.”
A smile crept onto my lips. I could barely feel Johnny slipping out of my grasp. She liked Shakespeare. I don’t know why that was surprising to me. She certainly didn’t seem like the uneducated, unbearably ignorant type. She was quiet, I think. Hard to figure out, but I was determined.
So then there was the book. Her journal, I assumed. I could feel the desperation sinking in almost immediately. My fingers gripped the edges of the pale, rose colored book more tightly now. If I happened to let it slip from my grasp just long enough for it to fall open – for it’s contents to be exposed – what would I find?
“Zack, man. You okay?” Johnny snapped me back to reality once again. My eyes wandered away from the book, and eventually found him, staring at me like he thought I belonged in a mental institution.
“Yeah. I gotta go home and practice.” I mumbled, trying my best to inconspicuously tuck the book under my arm. My eyes shifted toward the girl’s house, and though what I was doing was immoral in every sense of the word, I felt no guilt.
Only curiosity.
“Flowers…us.” I murmured, unblinking. What was she doing? What was going through her head?
“That was two.” Johnny snickered.
My eyes, if possible, widened as she moved. She stood, and in a moment’s time, bounced to her porch. I couldn’t help but chuckle. Her emotions were so obvious, yet you could never tell exactly why she felt what she felt.
My breath hitched. She looked back at us…she looked back at me. She took the time to acknowledge me before she left; to say goodbye in a sense. I knew I wouldn’t see her again until Monday. She never came out on the weekend for some reason. Sometimes I found myself sitting out here with Johnny, just waiting for the moment that she’d pop out and surprise us with her presence.
It never happens.
“Did you notice she forgot that book she always brings out?” Johnny snapped me out of my daze.
“Did she?” I asked, furrowing my brow. I hadn’t noticed…
“Yeah, see?” He quickly stood and jogged across the street, breaking the unwritten rule the moment he set foot onto the soil of her property.
I’m sure that if I had been in some sort of children’s cartoon, there would have been smoke coming out of my ears.
“Johnny!” I hissed, waving my arms frantically. He didn’t see. He was too busy picking up the book, which she had in fact forgotten. He couldn’t hear me. My voice was too quiet. I don’t know why, but I felt that if I was any louder, even though she was inside, the girl would hear.
Johnny quickly tucked the book under his arm and sprinted across the street once more. When he was close enough, I stood, grabbed the book with one hand, his shoulder with the other, and shook him violently.
“You idiot! You shouldn’t take her stuff! Whatever’s in there…is...” I faltered, my eyes locking on the book its self. On the cover of the book, in almost unreadable handwriting, it read:
“And since you know you cannot see yourself,
so well as by reflection, I, your glass,
will modestly discover to yourself,
that of yourself which you yet know not of.”
A smile crept onto my lips. I could barely feel Johnny slipping out of my grasp. She liked Shakespeare. I don’t know why that was surprising to me. She certainly didn’t seem like the uneducated, unbearably ignorant type. She was quiet, I think. Hard to figure out, but I was determined.
So then there was the book. Her journal, I assumed. I could feel the desperation sinking in almost immediately. My fingers gripped the edges of the pale, rose colored book more tightly now. If I happened to let it slip from my grasp just long enough for it to fall open – for it’s contents to be exposed – what would I find?
“Zack, man. You okay?” Johnny snapped me back to reality once again. My eyes wandered away from the book, and eventually found him, staring at me like he thought I belonged in a mental institution.
“Yeah. I gotta go home and practice.” I mumbled, trying my best to inconspicuously tuck the book under my arm. My eyes shifted toward the girl’s house, and though what I was doing was immoral in every sense of the word, I felt no guilt.
Only curiosity.