Sing it for the Girls.
Cierra.
Hazel eyes peered into my blues, with his lips locked tight. I quirked an eyebrow and sighed, staring a bit deeper into his pupils. This boy hadn't talked for seven years. He could, he used to talk all the time, and sing. Boy, did he love to sing. Maybe having kept quiet for so long, he forgot how to talk....
“Gerard?” I asked, in a quiet, hush voice.
He looked up at me, from behind his sketch pad, cocking an eyebrow in a questioning manor. I tried to peek at what he was drawing, but he tightened it in his grip and smacked it to his chest, hiding it from my vision.
“Say something?” I begged.
Gerard shook his head and shut the drawing tablet and sat it down behind him. He yawned and stretched his arms up, underneath the weeping willow tree, whose vines blinded us from the outside world. We were safe here, he could talk to me …. Couldn't he? I had been his friend for some years. Not as long as Frank, or Ray, or his brother even, but I had been here, every day, for five years.
“Why not?” I asked.
He shrugged then, and stood up, grabbing his brown satchel bag, and slipping his book in to it. He wasn't going to leave just because I was pestering him about talking, was he? I frowned, and chewed on the inside of my lip as he put the bag over his shoulder.
“Gerard, don't go.” I told him, petting the grass next to me, wanting him to sit back down and stay a while longer. He looked down at me, and just stared. “Please.” I begged a bit more and he sighed, setting back down, but not taking his bag off of him. “I'm sorry, I'll shut up about it, if you would like me too.”
He nodded and I frowned even more. He pulled out his sketchpad again and flipped it open to another page. Not the page he had been previously drawing on, but a different drawing, one he had already finished. Gerard turned it around and held it out to me.
Taking it in my hands, I looked it over. I scrunched my eyebrows together as I looked down at the white paper with the pencil marks on it. It was a boy, a little boy. Ten, maybe? Singing, or trying to sing, on a stage in front of a crowd. His mouth was open, and Gerard had drawn breaking, and shaking, music notes coming out. Was he failing at singing? Messing up? The crowd had “Ha Ha!” marks up above their head, and some were throwing things. Tears caressed the boys cheeks.
I looked up at Gerard, “Is this what happened to you?” He never told me what had happened seven years ago. I had just been told that something very bad happened to silence him. He nodded, biting his lip, he wouldn't look me in the eyes. “Gerard....” I shut the book and hugged his shoulders tightly. “I bet you sing wonderfully...”
He shook his head and clung on to me. I frowned even more and stroked his hair, lovingly. “Why don't you sing for me, and I'll be the judge of that?”
Gerard opened the sketchpad one more time and scribbled down, 'I can't.
“Gerard?” I asked, in a quiet, hush voice.
He looked up at me, from behind his sketch pad, cocking an eyebrow in a questioning manor. I tried to peek at what he was drawing, but he tightened it in his grip and smacked it to his chest, hiding it from my vision.
“Say something?” I begged.
Gerard shook his head and shut the drawing tablet and sat it down behind him. He yawned and stretched his arms up, underneath the weeping willow tree, whose vines blinded us from the outside world. We were safe here, he could talk to me …. Couldn't he? I had been his friend for some years. Not as long as Frank, or Ray, or his brother even, but I had been here, every day, for five years.
“Why not?” I asked.
He shrugged then, and stood up, grabbing his brown satchel bag, and slipping his book in to it. He wasn't going to leave just because I was pestering him about talking, was he? I frowned, and chewed on the inside of my lip as he put the bag over his shoulder.
“Gerard, don't go.” I told him, petting the grass next to me, wanting him to sit back down and stay a while longer. He looked down at me, and just stared. “Please.” I begged a bit more and he sighed, setting back down, but not taking his bag off of him. “I'm sorry, I'll shut up about it, if you would like me too.”
He nodded and I frowned even more. He pulled out his sketchpad again and flipped it open to another page. Not the page he had been previously drawing on, but a different drawing, one he had already finished. Gerard turned it around and held it out to me.
Taking it in my hands, I looked it over. I scrunched my eyebrows together as I looked down at the white paper with the pencil marks on it. It was a boy, a little boy. Ten, maybe? Singing, or trying to sing, on a stage in front of a crowd. His mouth was open, and Gerard had drawn breaking, and shaking, music notes coming out. Was he failing at singing? Messing up? The crowd had “Ha Ha!” marks up above their head, and some were throwing things. Tears caressed the boys cheeks.
I looked up at Gerard, “Is this what happened to you?” He never told me what had happened seven years ago. I had just been told that something very bad happened to silence him. He nodded, biting his lip, he wouldn't look me in the eyes. “Gerard....” I shut the book and hugged his shoulders tightly. “I bet you sing wonderfully...”
He shook his head and clung on to me. I frowned even more and stroked his hair, lovingly. “Why don't you sing for me, and I'll be the judge of that?”
Gerard opened the sketchpad one more time and scribbled down, 'I can't.
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