Status: Once a week, active
Phobic.
A staircase.
After being lead up a grand staircase, down a long hallway and up another staircase, I am stopped at curtained french doors, white light glows from behind the fabric.
"This is his little apartment"
Clarissa explains, taking out a key and unlocking the doors. She opens them up, the hallway flooding with light.
As I step inside, I see why there is so much illumination. The large, open room has floor-to-ceiling windows as one entire wall. The light reflects off the dark hard wood floors.
The room is separated by two posts and an iron, spiral staircase in the middle, that leads up to a little sliding door in the ceiling.
Furniture and decoration is sparse, only a black leather couch against one wall, and a red cushioned chair directly across from it.
There is a small kitchenette, on the other side of the room, consisting of black granite counter tops and dark stained cabinets with glass fronts.
"Matty! There's someone here to see you!"
The little door at the top of the stairs slides open slow and a pale face appears.
"Who is it?"
The way voices travels down to us nervously.
"It's a nice girl who wants to talk to you, she's a student at Donaldson, can you come down here and talk to her?"
Asks Clarissa kindly, smiling brightly.
"I don't want to"
He says quickly, shaking his head, brows knitting togethre.
"Well, you don't have to come all the way down, you can stay there, and I'll talk to you from right here if you want"
I declare gently, holding my arms by my side, palm facing upward, in an non threatening stance.
"I don't know, are you like the other ones?"
He questions, spitefully.
"No Matthew, I just want to talk to you, like a friend"
"That's what they said! Go away!"
He shouts, the room echoing as he slams the door of the opening shut hard.
I look uneasily over at Clarissa, who holds an expression of being lost, her shoulders declining into a slump.
"I was so afraid that would happen, I'm sorry Beth"
She bites her lip, looking at the floor and with what seems to be, a lot of effort to hold back tears.
"It's okay, I'll try to talk to him through the door from the stairs"
I reassure softly.
"If he's going to accept me or reject me, that doesn't change my promise"
She nods, turning and walking out to to the exit.
"I'll be in the kitchen, starting lunch if you need me"
She quietly closes the french doors behind her, leaving me along in the ringing silence.
With a heavy breath, I take a seat on the second step from the bottom, racking my mind for something to start off with.
Clutching my messenger bag tightly, I pull it off my shoulder and onto my lap.
"I'm right here, if you decide you want to come out and talk"
I call out, pulling a black hair tie from my bony wrist and yanking my loose mass of tangles into a messy bun.
A long, silent 5 minutes pass, before I lean up against the twisted, iron railing, taking out my new yellow notepad and rollerball pen. I click the top, bringing down onto the page. I work on a form of simple line-art to pass the time.
Soon my spine, pressed against crooked bar of the railing, is aching. I shift my position so that I'm leaning, propped up on an elbow, on the stair steps.
Pulling back the woolen fabric of my sweater from my wrist, I check my watch, only to groan quietly.
30 minutes has passed, my appointment with him will be ending 20 minutes, and I've gotten no where with this boy.
"Are you still there?"
I jump a little in surprise, sitting up, I quickly flip over the page of the notepad, readying my pen over a fresh template.
"Yes Matthew, I'm here, do you want to talk?"
"No"
He answers sharply, the loud stillness settling after a moment, just has before. I sigh, un-clicking my pen and gnawing on the inside of my cheek.
Placing notepad and pen back into my messenger bag, I swing it over my shoulder, prepared to wait out the rest of the appointment in complete silence.
After watching the little hand tick by the last minute of the appointment 19 minutes later, I stand up, cracking my back.
"Okay Matthew, I'm leaving now"
I call out, walking over to the french doors and pulling on open.
"Wait!"
I stop, turning around quickly, hope making my heart lurch into a quicker beat. The door at the top of the stars has reopened, and the face that was once there reappeared.
"Yes?"
"W-What's your name?"
He comes forward just slightly, allowing me to make out more features than before.
"Beth, Beth Tooker"
I reply, the corners of my mouth pulling up in a tentative smile.
"Are you coming back?"
His voice is very hesitant, on the verge of shaking.
"Do you want me to come back?"
"If it makes Clarissa happy, I don't want her to be sad, will it make her happy?"
He's voice is filled with strained desperation.
I nod, tucking a lose tangle behind my ear.
"Yes, it will"
"Okay, then you can come back"
With that the door slams shut and I'm left alone once again.
~@~
As I drive home, the radio off, the country rode empty. My mind drifts to the memory of his face, he has dark brown, messy hair, his face is slightly rounded, like a child's, his eyes wide, an unreadable emotion pooling in them.
Letting my head fall back onto the head rest, I let out a sigh.
Something about him seems to glue itself into my minds eye. Something about his eyes, not the color of them, but whatever mystery is behind them.
I have to find out what that mystery is, and solve it, before it's far too late.
"This is his little apartment"
Clarissa explains, taking out a key and unlocking the doors. She opens them up, the hallway flooding with light.
As I step inside, I see why there is so much illumination. The large, open room has floor-to-ceiling windows as one entire wall. The light reflects off the dark hard wood floors.
The room is separated by two posts and an iron, spiral staircase in the middle, that leads up to a little sliding door in the ceiling.
Furniture and decoration is sparse, only a black leather couch against one wall, and a red cushioned chair directly across from it.
There is a small kitchenette, on the other side of the room, consisting of black granite counter tops and dark stained cabinets with glass fronts.
"Matty! There's someone here to see you!"
The little door at the top of the stairs slides open slow and a pale face appears.
"Who is it?"
The way voices travels down to us nervously.
"It's a nice girl who wants to talk to you, she's a student at Donaldson, can you come down here and talk to her?"
Asks Clarissa kindly, smiling brightly.
"I don't want to"
He says quickly, shaking his head, brows knitting togethre.
"Well, you don't have to come all the way down, you can stay there, and I'll talk to you from right here if you want"
I declare gently, holding my arms by my side, palm facing upward, in an non threatening stance.
"I don't know, are you like the other ones?"
He questions, spitefully.
"No Matthew, I just want to talk to you, like a friend"
"That's what they said! Go away!"
He shouts, the room echoing as he slams the door of the opening shut hard.
I look uneasily over at Clarissa, who holds an expression of being lost, her shoulders declining into a slump.
"I was so afraid that would happen, I'm sorry Beth"
She bites her lip, looking at the floor and with what seems to be, a lot of effort to hold back tears.
"It's okay, I'll try to talk to him through the door from the stairs"
I reassure softly.
"If he's going to accept me or reject me, that doesn't change my promise"
She nods, turning and walking out to to the exit.
"I'll be in the kitchen, starting lunch if you need me"
She quietly closes the french doors behind her, leaving me along in the ringing silence.
With a heavy breath, I take a seat on the second step from the bottom, racking my mind for something to start off with.
Clutching my messenger bag tightly, I pull it off my shoulder and onto my lap.
"I'm right here, if you decide you want to come out and talk"
I call out, pulling a black hair tie from my bony wrist and yanking my loose mass of tangles into a messy bun.
A long, silent 5 minutes pass, before I lean up against the twisted, iron railing, taking out my new yellow notepad and rollerball pen. I click the top, bringing down onto the page. I work on a form of simple line-art to pass the time.
Soon my spine, pressed against crooked bar of the railing, is aching. I shift my position so that I'm leaning, propped up on an elbow, on the stair steps.
Pulling back the woolen fabric of my sweater from my wrist, I check my watch, only to groan quietly.
30 minutes has passed, my appointment with him will be ending 20 minutes, and I've gotten no where with this boy.
"Are you still there?"
I jump a little in surprise, sitting up, I quickly flip over the page of the notepad, readying my pen over a fresh template.
"Yes Matthew, I'm here, do you want to talk?"
"No"
He answers sharply, the loud stillness settling after a moment, just has before. I sigh, un-clicking my pen and gnawing on the inside of my cheek.
Placing notepad and pen back into my messenger bag, I swing it over my shoulder, prepared to wait out the rest of the appointment in complete silence.
After watching the little hand tick by the last minute of the appointment 19 minutes later, I stand up, cracking my back.
"Okay Matthew, I'm leaving now"
I call out, walking over to the french doors and pulling on open.
"Wait!"
I stop, turning around quickly, hope making my heart lurch into a quicker beat. The door at the top of the stars has reopened, and the face that was once there reappeared.
"Yes?"
"W-What's your name?"
He comes forward just slightly, allowing me to make out more features than before.
"Beth, Beth Tooker"
I reply, the corners of my mouth pulling up in a tentative smile.
"Are you coming back?"
His voice is very hesitant, on the verge of shaking.
"Do you want me to come back?"
"If it makes Clarissa happy, I don't want her to be sad, will it make her happy?"
He's voice is filled with strained desperation.
I nod, tucking a lose tangle behind my ear.
"Yes, it will"
"Okay, then you can come back"
With that the door slams shut and I'm left alone once again.
~@~
As I drive home, the radio off, the country rode empty. My mind drifts to the memory of his face, he has dark brown, messy hair, his face is slightly rounded, like a child's, his eyes wide, an unreadable emotion pooling in them.
Letting my head fall back onto the head rest, I let out a sigh.
Something about him seems to glue itself into my minds eye. Something about his eyes, not the color of them, but whatever mystery is behind them.
I have to find out what that mystery is, and solve it, before it's far too late.