Wall Flower

“Good morning wonderful, beautiful, little dragon!” shouted my best friend in the highest pitched, ear piercing, obnoxious way she could possibly manage. “It’s time to begin our classes and learn the ways of performing arts: the way of music, its history, art, and public speak -”

“How canst thou stand there and cry out unto the heavens with thine voice like the most annoying noise in our world?” I interrupted her. My voice was groggy with sleep. When I opened my heavy eyes I found two wide blue eyes only centimeters from me. “Dear God Almighty - !”

I tried to scramble away from her but she frightened me so much that I sat up too quickly: our craniums collided and, still trying to move away from her, I struck her head again with my hand. She meant to rub the spot where I hit her the second time and her hand accidentally bumped my large button-like nose.

The aftermath of our beatings: the two of us sprawled on my bed with damaged domes. It was double for Cassandra for she was struck on the head twice. I had a sore nose.

Her head was rested on my rib cage and her arm was across my stomach. She said, without looking up at me, “What a way to start off college.”

Since we were freshman we did not have the privilege of getting a dorm with a kitchen to cook an actual breakfast like returning students have. We were required to head to the cafeteria and get a complimentary breakfast for the first day of the new school year.

The food was all right; however it might have just been my plate: yogurt with oat clusters and cereal. Cassandra had cereal and a bagel. The bagel was divine; I had a bite. When other students (mostly in their first and second years) walked by with freshly cooked bacon, sausage, eggs and omelets, I knew next time I came here for breakfast I would get something cooked fresh instead of the prepackaged substances they provided.

I knew this morning, however, I would only be able to hold down half of my yogurt and most of my cereal because, as expected, I was nervous to begin my first day of classes on my first day at college.

My first class (and my first step to getting a major in music) was Music & Literature class where I would supposedly learn the ways the two were mixed together and how they’ve come together in the past and how they come together now.

I walked into the small classroom and found most of the thirty something students already in their seats. I chose this school because it had a great music program and because it had small class sizes. Even from the back of the room I could see what was written on the board without difficulty: “Mrs. DeLeana”.

The classroom was at a slight tilt. I walked down the first pathway between the far left rows of seats and the center rows of seats and tried to get a better look at what seats were empty and were free. It was filling in from the front and the four center rows were already filled. The three far right rows were mostly filled and the three far left rows – the rows I was closest to - were barely filled except for a few scattered people.

“Trying to find a seat?” someone asked from behind and I nearly died of whether it was - excitement or fear I didn’t know, I just knew he scared me.
“It’s rather difficult,” I replied quietly when I turned around to face Joe. I saw him holding one of the books required for this class; it was the same book I was clutching tightly to my chest while he held his nonchalantly against his shoulder bag. “You have this class as well?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled and held up his book. I looked down in slight embarrassment at my silly question. He walked past me and towards the front row of the left-hand rows. “Nicholas takes this class too.”

At the sound of his name Nick turned around and grinned at his brother. He noticed me and smiled wide. “Hey, I didn’t know you had this class.”

“I didn’t know either of you had this class,” I said.

“I’m sure my little brother won’t mind if we park it next to him,” Joe said as he placed his book on the desk against the wall (there were three desks per row) and his bag on the floor. He patted the desk in between him and his brother.

I grinned shyly and walked over to put my things on the desk, slightly glad that I had a class with Joe (and Nick, I remind myself. I’m glad Nick’s there too, though I haven’t spoken with him that much) and slightly annoyed that I was most likely going to be distracted by Joe, the man who I was associated with much too much lately.

I liked that class a lot and I liked sitting with Nick and . . . Joe, of course. Nick, I learned, was a highly focused individual. He remained focused on the class most of the time and it made me happy because I would not be distracted. Joe, however, was not as focused, though he answered questions correctly and had plenty of questions himself. He also had plenty of paper and things to say.

He passed notes. Most of them went like this: “I’m already hungry. Are you hungry?” He drew a picture of what looked like a burger under it. The next note had music notes drawn onto it, and they looked like the beginning of “Only Hope” by Switchfoot. (I knew it was that because I learned to play it on my piano back home) He whispered that it was and I smiled. Then he continued to draw pictures: stick figures of the three of us playing random instruments, a stick figure of Beethoven (using our book’s pictures as guidelines), and then random food items because he was hungry.

I admit I did write some notes back: “Not hungry, thank the Lord. When I’m hungry my stomach growls like a lion.” I drew a stick figure of myself with a lion as a stomach. Joe almost got in trouble for laughing. I drew the music notes to “Mary Had a Little Lamb” and drew sheep and Joe dressed in a bonnet. Nick saw and he laughed. He then drew the sheep attacking Joe and Joe drew my lion stomach attacking Nick.

We did not get caught and I thanked the Lord above for that. I did not want to imagine getting in trouble on the very first day of college.

It turns out I had more classes with Joe than I thought: I had my first class (Music & Literature), second class (Music Appreciation where we learn the structure of music and how to depict notes by sight and sound), and my fourth class (Music Auditioning & Recitals where we do just as the title says). I had every class (from my first course of Music & Literature to my general education courses) with Nick. Only the general education classes I had with Cassandra, and those were not many since I finished most of the general ed over the summer (a pain I must say) and she did not.

I had lunch with Joe, Cassandra, and Nick. (We were lucky that all of us decided not to have a class during this time.) I rather enjoyed myself, especially when teasing Joe for having the table manners of a seven year old. During lunch is when he learned of my dragon nickname thanks to a girl whom I lovingly and begrudgingly call my best friend. I had threatened to “Holy Slap” her with my Bible however I knew smacking her would not make Joe forget my nickname. He started calling me “little dragon” almost immediately.

One could imagine my mixture of feelings when I saw that I had so many classes with Joe – three out of my six courses – and all of them with his brother. It was as if God did not want me to forget about the man who confused and entertained me so.

Joe was in his junior year of college and was a transfer, meaning it was his first year at Houston College for Performing Arts as well as Nick’s, mine and Cassandra’s. That was why he didn’t have the same general education classes as I did because he had already gotten them out of the way at his old college. Also he was taking a lot of acting classes which Cassandra was taking a few of. Nick was taking a lot of music ones like myself but it was more for theatre than anything. I, being a piano player and partial guitar player, signed up for more music-oriented classes rather than theatre performances.

Joe wrote me notes in all the classes we had together. Nick would join in every now and again but he was more focused than I, which surprised me. During high school and junior high I never passed notes even if Cassandra was in the same class. I was still able to process and hold information during the class and was able to answer all the questions the teacher asked me; however I still found myself replying to Joe’s notes – and they were about nothing of importance! Random, they were, and I only replied to a couple.

When my last class ended, Nick, Cassandra and I walked out together, though my other two friends (I was already considering Nick a friend when usually I label people I am barely beginning to speak with acquaintances) were talking amongst themselves and staring at each other with what could only be described as “googly-eyes.” I almost ran into Joe watching them laugh at something I did not catch.

“Hey,” he said, not bothering to acknowledge bumping into him. “So, ready to go to Panera Bread?”

“What?” I asked with a perplexed look on my face. I remembered the note he sent to me about “taming the dragon-lion” with a picture of bread and a half-dragon half-lion (representing my growling stomach when hungry from our first course) breathing fire he sent the last class we had together. “Does that have to do with the dragon-lion?”

“Yeah,” he said in that well-duh-genius tone of voice. “I was asking you if you wanted to join me for Panera Bread. Nicholas” – he shoved the note (he had it in his back pocket) in his brother’s face – “You know what that means, right?”

“The ‘I heart Jesus’ thing?” Nick asked with one hand in his pocket, the other holding his Bible. “I think it’s pretty obvious -”

“No, the dragon-lion!” Joe shouted, pointing furiously at the picture he drew. He could have poked a hole in the paper. “Loraine drew the ‘I heart Jesus’ and I drew the thumbs up next to it – but back to the dragon-lion thing!”

“Oh,” Nick said, and after a few moments of us walking through the hall and to the exit doors he said to his brother, “I’m stumped. All I can see is a strange mix of two animals trying to bake bread.”

“It was me asking Loraine if she wanted to go to Panera Bread with me!” Joe shouted and threw his arms in the air. I was becoming accustomed to his outbursts and strange habits.

“I could see where you were going with it,” Cassandra added after examining the note herself, trying to make Joe feel like less of a goof. “You know, with the bread. . . .”

“She’s being nice, Joe,” Nick said to his brother and put a hand on his shoulder. “Nobody understood your note.”

“It was a pretty drawing,” Cassandra said once she saw Joe’s look of disappointment.

“Now she’s just patronizing you,” I muttered and Cassandra slapped my arm. “Well you are, are you not?”

“Nick patronizes me all the time,” Joe said as a matter-of-factly. “So I’m used to it.” He pulled his sunglasses from their spot in his shoulder bag. “So, you wanna go?” he asked me as the four of us walked out of the building and outside.

“I’ve never been,” I said, not saying yes or no. “I’m assuming they have bread there.”

“It’s bomb.”

“Will it explode in my stomach?”

“What?” he asked with a look on his face that he was obviously caught off guard.

“You said ‘it is bomb,’” I replied. “I think I asked a pretty legitimate question in response to your statement, though I have to admit your grammar was incorrect.”

“Joe, she’s being sarcastic,” Nick said slowly, annunciating every word to his still puzzled older brother. “You know what sarcastic is, right?”

“I don’t actually,” Joe replied, avoiding a collision with someone walking the opposite direction we were. “I grew up under a rock out in the middle of death valley with desert snakes for parents and a cactus as a pet.”

“Oh, that explains why you randomly stick your tongue out every now and again,” I said in response. “Is that why you cuddle your pencil? Because of the sharp tip at the end? It reminds you of your cactus, how cute.”

I looked forward and avoided running into the oncoming traffic of young adults walking back to their dorms. I received no comments from my little group, only silence, and I looked over at them to see why they were silent.

“Yeah I can’t top that,” Joe said before chuckling. “I still didn’t get an answer; you can’t keep avoiding it.”

I sighed. “Yes, I’ll go,” I answered, looking back at the crowd. “When do you want to go?”

“What time’s best for you?”

I thought about it for a moment, and as I did, Cassandra said, “I’m assuming you two are going by yourselves?”

“You can come along if you want,” I said too quickly. The thought of being alone with Joe frightening me for obvious reasons: The man has been making my stomach do flips just being near him. I was learning to ignore it because of our friendship status, however that was when his brother and my sister in Christ were around.

“I can drive all of us,” Joe added.

“I think Joe just wants a dinner for two,” Nick said and he grinned a grin far too similar to Cassandra’s evil grin.

“I think you want a dinner for two,” Joe retorted. “Too. See what I did there? I could have said also but by saying ‘two’” – he helped up two fingers - “’too’ I implied that you wear too-toos.”

“And what if I do?” Nick retorted.

Cassandra and I just looked at one another and sighed at their childish and brotherly banter. “I’ve got a private dance lesson to go to tonight so I’m going to be eating at my room, reading some assigned book for History of Theatre to let my food digest, and then heading off. So I’m out.”

“I’m not in the mood for Panera,” Nick added. “And I still have some boxes that need to be unpacked, so I’m going to be organizing our room, Joe. You’re going to like how I arrange things whether you like it or not.”

“Oh, I’m super excited,” Joe replied sarcastically. He looked at me. “Guess it’s just you and me, little dragon.”

“Fine, little snake child,” I answered back, and he laughed.

Panera Bread was my kind of atmosphere: quiet music playing in the background, not too noticeable that one would feel compelled to comment on it but not so quiet that one would ask, “What is that annoying sound? Do you heart that or is it just me?” It also had people eithersitting with others and chatting casually or they were by themselves curled up in a comfortable chair with their laptops, with a book, or studying – all with either a meal of their sandwich concoctions or a pastry from Panera’s many selections and options of sweets.

Joe and I were the ones chattering and, having finished our meals (which were mouthwatering and divine), were now enjoying pastries.

“I knew you would like it here,” he said after our momentary silence. I took another bite of my scone and waited for him to explain, which he did with a smile: “I could tell once we walked in that I was right – actually, when you saw people relaxing and reading is when I knew I did good.”

I swallowed and avoided the urge to correct his grammar; it would be rude if I did. “I think I’ll be coming here a lot,” I responded. “The sandwich was delicious and this scone is almost as good as the ones I make.”

“I don’t know about that. I’ve had their scones before and they were the best I’ve had.” He leaned back in his chair with a smug smile.

“Mental note to self: bake scones using mind powers -”

“I knew it!” he shouted, scrambling up to a straight sitting position and with an expression of excitement.

“- due to lack of oven,” I continued. “You may have to wait until vacation so I can get an oven. I usually bake scones for the holidays, like for thanksgiving I make pumpkin spice or for Christmas I make them with peppermint.”

“Are you inviting me over to your place for the holidays?”

(Dear God, why did you create the process of blood rushing to our cheeks when dealing with emotions such as these? Of course, you’re God, so really whatever you say goes, but I just don’t see why I have to get this way around that guy sitting across from me. Please help me get over it and stop being impractical. In Your name, amen.)

I have two escape methods: one, hiding behind my hair; and two, speaking so quickly and saying so much in hopes that the person I goofed in front of would forget what I did and be distracted by speaking quickly. That is the method I used, and it surprised me so because that only happens with family.

“If the opportunity arises and you find yourself in need of something sweet baked by the hands of a tall, awkward girl with hair the color of carrots then my humble abode is open to you and your craving of something baked and starts with the letter that comes between ‘R’ and ‘T’,” I answered. My words came out of my mouth like a locomotive going down the tracks with full speed and without breaks. “Or, of course, if you feel as though you would rather have something baked by employees who work at a restaurant focused on sandwiches and their perfectly baked bread to satisfy your cravings for treats over the holiday season then by all means -”

“Loraine,” he laughed, holding his hands parallel to his shoulders. “I get it, I get it. If I wasn’t afraid of you passing out because you weren’t letting yourself breathe I would have let you continue rambling.” I reverted to my more favorable method of hiding and let my hair cover my face while looking down at my half eaten scone. “Darn, I think I just hit the mute button. Please don’t go quiet on me now. I like hearing you talk.”

“Sorry,” I muttered, moving my bangs slightly out of my face. “I didn’t mean to ramble.”

“It’s okay,” he replied before taking a sip of his water. “Just as long as you bake me some scones with your mind powers. Scones always come out better that way.”

I smiled at him. “Any time.”

“Cool,” he said.

As we were leaving the restaurant and going back to his car in silence, he opened the door for me and said, “Thanks, Loraine.”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that?” I asked and pointed to the opened door.

“I mean for coming with me,” he said. “Hanging out, I mean. I really like spending time with you.” He nudged me with his elbow. “And getting you to come out of your shell.”

“I like it too,” I mumbled before getting in the car.

He smiled at me before closing the car door.

Simple words
that touched her heart in a way
she could never have imagined

Simple words
that made her lips curve
into a genuine smile

Simple words
that made her wonder when his
words started to mean so much

The next morning as I was finishing my morning devotions I heard a knock on our front door.

“Loraine Jane Fontaine,” Cassandra shouted, though she was in her bed to the right of me. She lie there face down and sprawled out. “Get the door please.”

“Yes, oh mighty queen,” I replied and went to the door. When I opened it I was greeted with a pearly white, wide, friendly smile from my new friend. “Joe, hello. I did not expect to see you so early.”

“I brought food,” Joe said as he held up a couple bags with the school’s logo on it. He wore a plain white shirt and deep black leather jacket. I had a feeling he was one to wear leather jackets. “And tea and coffee – black chai tea for you, hazel nut coffee for Cass. Creamer and sugar are in the bag.”

“Wow, thank you,” I said. “It’s really sweet of you.”

“No problem.” He handed me the cup holder with my beloved tea.

“You want to come in?” I asked. “We two are decent, though Cassandra is being lazy and won’t get out of bed.”

“Nick won’t either,” Joe chuckled. He let himself in as I held the door open for him. “Where can I set this stuff down?”

I closed the door and pointed at the table Cassandra and I bought before we came to college. I set the drinks down as Joe set the food down and sat myself down. Joe pulled the food out of the bags and I saw plates with clear plastic coverings on them; I saw omelets, sausage, and hash browns.

My mouth began watering and my stomach felt empty. “Joe, this is great! How much do we owe you?”

“No hablo Inglés,” he answered with a taunting smile, placing a plate in front of me, in front of the seat across from me, and another in the middle, closer to the edge closest to the back wall (the table was at the corner where the wall left of the door and across from the door meet).

“¡Que rico! ¿Cuánto te debo, José?” I asked him, translating my question for him.

“Okay, I knew you were going to do that,” he said as he removed the lid from his plate. “I don’t know why I tried.”

“You felt as though you could somehow tease me and avoid a question,” I answered, though I knew it was a rhetorical question. “But you cannot avoid it. How much do I owe you, Joseph Jonas?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Joe said after he stuffed his mouth full of pancakes. “Just enjoy the food.” He swallowed and pulled Cassandra’s food slowly towards him. “Mm, this plate of food smells delicious. If someone does not come and claim this, I will just have to eat it.”

“Cassandra, comen,” I ordered her. “Ven aquí muchacha perezosa.”

“Hey, don’t call me a lazy girl,” she said, popping her head up. “Now, can you bring me my food?”

In Spanish I mumbled the many different adjectives that described her until Joe stopped me with his question: “You know there’s a church that’s not much farther than Hermann Park, the park with the zoo?”

I finished sipping my lovely tea. “Really? The only one I knew of was past that golf club . . . Green Meadows, was it? Yeah, I believe so. I think Nick mentioned them – the golf club and church, I mean.”

“Yesterday when I was checking online to see how far the zoo-slash-park was from here and saw that there was a Christian church just a little past it. ‘Bout a half hour away from here. Did you want to – I mean, you and Cass – want to go with Nick and I to the church?”

Ignoring the impulse to correct his grammar (it would have been more correct if he had said “Nick and me” instead of “Nick and I”) I watched as Cassandra used our computer chair to scoot her way up to the table. “Would you like to go to the church Joe found?” I asked her.

“Yeah, it fits our relationship with Him better anyway,” she answered. She means “relationship” as in religion, but Christianity is about our relationship with God, not our religion of Him. “The church she’s talkin’ about is a Roman Catholic church,” she explained to Joe, “and, though we have nothing against them whatsoever, we’re Christian, not Roman Catholic.”

“So yes,” I added, stabbing a fork into my omelet, which looked like it had everything I like in an omelet. “We would gladly go with you two to the church you found.”

“Great, service starts at ten and ends at eleven thirty,” he said with a smile. “You gonna be busy after?”

“Not really, no,” I said, thinking briefly of my classes and the potential for homework from my professors. “Of course it’s only Tuesday so I’m not exactly sure what homework I will have. Why?”

“You’ll just have to see,” he answered indifferently and sipped at his coffee.