If You Only Knew

I set down my paintbrush, plopping down on my bed, grinning at the masterpiece I had created. A single eye sat in the upper corner – the lid pulled up high along with the brow in fear. The iris was a deep chocolate brown. The tan tones blended with the blacks and greys which I had etched patterns of musical notes and instruments underneath. A lone dove was depicted in the lower left corner, wrapped in broken guitar strings and slightly crumpled sheet music.

I released my hair from its loose bun, my light locks cascading down my back. I picked up my neon orange hairdryer, set the black knob to low and set to work slowly drying my masterpiece. My father wanted me to become an accountant like him, while my mother wanted me to become a lawyer. Neither of those options interested me. I wanted to be an artist. Sure they did not make nearly as much money as either of my parent’s choices – but it was what I loved. If someone wanted my sister to stop playing Rugby, she would not do it either.

I set the hair dryer down and undid the plastic wrap I had bought at work. I carefully wrapped it around the painting. I always hid my paintings in the back of my closet, waiting for the day that I could unveil them to the world. I slowly slid my masterpiece into the back of my closet as I heard pitter-pattering feet running down the carpeted hallway. I opened my door to see two gap-toothed smiling faces.

“No running in the house,” I said, shutting the door behind me and setting the lock.

[U&I]

I sighed, putting down my pencil. I just could not get it the gazebo over-looking the lake right.

“Hey you,” A scruffy voice pretty much ordered.

“Hey me,” I retorted, taking my eraser out of my bag so I could redo the line I had drawn for the willow tree which stood just to the left of the walk where a few canoes had been hitched up. The bench shifted as he sat down, leaning over his knees.

“Not gonna say anything else?” He asked, taking a silver tin out of his jacket pocket.

“What if I don’t want to say anything else,” I questioned, detailing the gazebo. Drawing in the chipped ivory paint.

Nick opened the silver tin, taking out a single cigarette, “Want one?” I stared at him. I had never smoked a single cigarette before.

“Maybe another time.”

“Suit yourself,” He shrugged, swinging the lid shut and depositing it in his pocket while in the same swift movement pulling out a lighter.

“Is there seriously nothing to do here, or were you just playing with me?”

“Nothing at all,” I said, returning to my sketch pad, “Unless you’re a high school senior who likes to get drunk and fuck random slutty cheer leaders every night. Then you might have fun in this town.”

Nick smirked - his brown eyes glinting, “I never would’ve expected you to say anything that vulgar.”

“It’s the truth after all,” I almost growled, accidentally darkening a portion of the gazebo.

“I take it you’re not the most popular girl in school.”

“I’m no where near popular.”

It fell silent between the two of us. I slide my pencil behind my ear, and took a small piece of charcoal from my drawing bag. Nick threw his cigarette to the ground and smashed it with his foot.

“What’s your name again,” He asked, standing.

“El,” I replied simply, shooting him a glance. The corners of his light pink lips turned upwards for a moment, “El Harris.”

“Nick. Nick Jonas.” I nodded, moving a stand of hair behind my ear. “I’ll see you around.”

“I guess so.”