If Only I Wasn't Me
From A Far
I watch her from a far. I see her talk and laugh but can not hear the sound. I imagine that it is magnificent though. I take in the way she holds herself while listening to a story or how she gently brushes her finger tips along someones arm when she addresses them. I can almost feel the electricity playing in her eyes when she gets excited about something and I almost muster the courage to talk to her when I see that open, loving smile spread slowly across her lips. I never do though. I just watch her world from a far, never an active participant, just a nobody in the background. The bell rings and I watch her move along the hallway in a graceful walk. She moves like the wind. Soundless, astounding and magical. Her hair slowly sways in the breeze she creates herself from walking at a steady pace. It makes my heart stop and I've never wanted anything more in my whole life. I stand there in my place in the hallway and just watch until she turns a corner and disappears.
Once she's gone I have control over my muscles again and I walk toward my next class. It's art class. I wonder how this class is going to be and if we will be able to chose the projects we want to. I make my way to the room and slip in behind a couple of other students before the bell rings. I take a seat at the table in the back and wait for the teacher to greet us. I look around and make my judgments of the tables. Mine is going to be the geeky, quiet artists, the table next to ours is going to be the 'I hate my life' expressionists, and the last table is going to be the popular table. There's already a group of kids standing around someone, crowding, listening and joking around. I envy those kids sometimes. I wish it was that easy to fit in somewhere, to joke and have people laugh at what you say. To be noticed. If they would just notice me, just once, they'd see that I can be funny and caring. I can be sporty and cool. If only they'd take the time to look. I'm so distracted by my thoughts that I don't hear our introduction to the art room. I only refocus when attendance is being taken.
“Adams, Avery, Benvenuto, Bieber," I raise my hand at the sound of my name, "Callahan, Carlson, Colon, Davis, Dempsey, Ellis, Everdeen, Finkle, Gallo, Glaser, Gomez.” Mr. Orinski goes down the list and I can feel myself tense. Gomez? No, he must be wrong. My mind has to be playing tricks on me but then I hear her.
“I'm here, sir.” Even though I haven't ever heard her speak before I know this is her voice. It's gravelly and sexy. Like a dark angel. It's perfection in my ears and I know that I'll never forget that voice. I look over to where I heard it from and can now see that the group of kids that stood are now seated, right next to her. I've never been this close to her and I start to have trouble breathing. It takes all my strength to regain control of my lungs and half listen to the other names in the class. I look back over and am a little surprised to see that she's still there. The first day of class and we're already starting our first project. I thank God because this will help me think straight. I'll be able to think in general. Mr. O hands out what we'll be using for this project. All we get is a sheet of paper, a pencil, and different blending sticks. We will have to choose what to draw but I know what I'm going to already, well who I'm going to is more like it. I think about how I want to represent her. The girl I obsess over. The girl who is the epitome of perfection in my head. The girl with the dark angel sound. It hits me then. I know how I'll draw her now. I have the picture in my head and I take a pencil in my hand and just let it flow across my paper. I take half the period to crate the girl I see. Her mouth and eyes. All of her beautiful flowing hair. After I'm done with her. I draw white wings. They come from her back so it looks like she's an angel. I make it look a little more punky, the wings coming in an end in sharp points rather then soft ones. After all she my Dark Angel. When I'm happy with the result of the picture I smile to myself and stare at the picture until Mr. O comes over to our table, to my seat, and ruins everything.
“Wow, Mr. Bieber, this is an extraordinary piece of art.” He says this loudly and I can see the students slowly turn to try and see my picture.
“Thank you.” I say quietly trying to cover it the best I can. I'm not successful though.
“May I?” Mr. O takes my drawing without an answer to his question and holds it up. I feel the color rise in my cheeks as he makes his way to each of the tables telling everyone that this is what he excepts from everyone. Creativeness with the smallest of supplies to use. I want to die when he gets to her table. He shows it to her and I see her look over at me. I drop my head in my hands and think about how to kill myself with a blending stick. The bell rings and I don't move. I don't want to face the others as we walk out of the classroom. As someone passes I fell a light brush on my arm. I wait a moment then look up. It's my drawing, I look at it. It's my picture but there is something added. Words in a very fine, neat hand writing. It says I love this. Thank you. ~Selena. I read the words over and over for the rest of the day. She liked it. She didn't think it was creepy or stalkerish. She loved it!
Once she's gone I have control over my muscles again and I walk toward my next class. It's art class. I wonder how this class is going to be and if we will be able to chose the projects we want to. I make my way to the room and slip in behind a couple of other students before the bell rings. I take a seat at the table in the back and wait for the teacher to greet us. I look around and make my judgments of the tables. Mine is going to be the geeky, quiet artists, the table next to ours is going to be the 'I hate my life' expressionists, and the last table is going to be the popular table. There's already a group of kids standing around someone, crowding, listening and joking around. I envy those kids sometimes. I wish it was that easy to fit in somewhere, to joke and have people laugh at what you say. To be noticed. If they would just notice me, just once, they'd see that I can be funny and caring. I can be sporty and cool. If only they'd take the time to look. I'm so distracted by my thoughts that I don't hear our introduction to the art room. I only refocus when attendance is being taken.
“Adams, Avery, Benvenuto, Bieber," I raise my hand at the sound of my name, "Callahan, Carlson, Colon, Davis, Dempsey, Ellis, Everdeen, Finkle, Gallo, Glaser, Gomez.” Mr. Orinski goes down the list and I can feel myself tense. Gomez? No, he must be wrong. My mind has to be playing tricks on me but then I hear her.
“I'm here, sir.” Even though I haven't ever heard her speak before I know this is her voice. It's gravelly and sexy. Like a dark angel. It's perfection in my ears and I know that I'll never forget that voice. I look over to where I heard it from and can now see that the group of kids that stood are now seated, right next to her. I've never been this close to her and I start to have trouble breathing. It takes all my strength to regain control of my lungs and half listen to the other names in the class. I look back over and am a little surprised to see that she's still there. The first day of class and we're already starting our first project. I thank God because this will help me think straight. I'll be able to think in general. Mr. O hands out what we'll be using for this project. All we get is a sheet of paper, a pencil, and different blending sticks. We will have to choose what to draw but I know what I'm going to already, well who I'm going to is more like it. I think about how I want to represent her. The girl I obsess over. The girl who is the epitome of perfection in my head. The girl with the dark angel sound. It hits me then. I know how I'll draw her now. I have the picture in my head and I take a pencil in my hand and just let it flow across my paper. I take half the period to crate the girl I see. Her mouth and eyes. All of her beautiful flowing hair. After I'm done with her. I draw white wings. They come from her back so it looks like she's an angel. I make it look a little more punky, the wings coming in an end in sharp points rather then soft ones. After all she my Dark Angel. When I'm happy with the result of the picture I smile to myself and stare at the picture until Mr. O comes over to our table, to my seat, and ruins everything.
“Wow, Mr. Bieber, this is an extraordinary piece of art.” He says this loudly and I can see the students slowly turn to try and see my picture.
“Thank you.” I say quietly trying to cover it the best I can. I'm not successful though.
“May I?” Mr. O takes my drawing without an answer to his question and holds it up. I feel the color rise in my cheeks as he makes his way to each of the tables telling everyone that this is what he excepts from everyone. Creativeness with the smallest of supplies to use. I want to die when he gets to her table. He shows it to her and I see her look over at me. I drop my head in my hands and think about how to kill myself with a blending stick. The bell rings and I don't move. I don't want to face the others as we walk out of the classroom. As someone passes I fell a light brush on my arm. I wait a moment then look up. It's my drawing, I look at it. It's my picture but there is something added. Words in a very fine, neat hand writing. It says I love this. Thank you. ~Selena. I read the words over and over for the rest of the day. She liked it. She didn't think it was creepy or stalkerish. She loved it!
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:) What'dya think??