Twisted Symphony

I can’t enjoy my classes. Johnnie has made that emotionally impossible. Instead, I’ve been playing Sherlock Holmes for the past two days. I’m never in my room. I’m always rushing to class, and if it isn’t the crack of dawn you will not see me. It’s not as if he’s that special and I’m going out of my way to avoid him, it’s just the fact that I really don’t want to deal with him beyond music theory and Fitz’s class.

I spend nearly all my time in the library or practice rooms, which are two places Johnnie never goes. I honestly don’t even know what he’s here for. Things also seem to be going south for him and Kayla these past couple of days. She’s grown eagerly possessive and I find him constantly warning her that he has no intentions of labeling their relationship.

She cries. A lot. It’s so bad that I can barley understand the words that are coming out of her mouth. At first I felt sorry for her. Here I was thinking that this poor girl has been used and abused her whole life, but she’s the one that makes herself susceptible to douche bags. It’s one things to be approached by them, that’s something you can’t handle, put my pity for her that once went strong, only now comes in short spurs. After all, she’s the one that deems the way he treats her acceptable.

“I just don’t get it.” Kayla whines, as the light from her bed side table illuminates her face.

“He’s a tool! Do you not understand that?” Mercy has gone short. It’s three o’clock in the morning and I want to go to sleep.

“But he’s my tool!” She grabs a pink throw pillow and holds it to her chest longingly.

“No actually, he’s not! That’s what makes him an even bigger tool! He’s not anyone’s to manage.” I pull my pillow over my face.

“So how could I make him mine to manage?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Have his love child? I don’t know!” I hiss. I’m obviously annoyed and she obviously won’t shut up.

“Like, not use protection?” Her eyes go wide.

“There’s just too much stupidity in one room for me right now. I can’t handle this.” I slap a hand to my head and pull my comforter and pillow off of my bed. Enough of this.

“Hey! Where are you going?” She yells after me as I lock the bathroom door behind me, opting for the bath tub. Anything is better than hearing her voice.

Considering, I have Fitz tomorrow and have been avoiding Johnnie like the black plague, it should be a wonderful day.

“Good morning.” Johnnie smiles over me as I pull the covers higher.

“Shut up.” I groan.

“We have to get to class, so we can show off our chemistry,” He winks. “Nice sleeping quarters, by the way.” Before I can even suspect it he turns on an ice cold shower, and I let out a shriek that could awaken Australia.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” I scream, but he’s already running. I’m trying to get out of the shower, but my reaction time is slow and I’m drenched and freezing within moments. “Do you have any brain cells at all?!” I run, and tackle him to the ground in the hallway. He’s smiling, because I’m somehow straddling him; then pull back my fist and swing right for the baby blues.

“You crazy bitch!” He clutches his eye and pushes me off of him.

I slap a hand to my mouth. I had no idea I was capable of serious injury, and suddenly I feel like a terrible person. My eyes go wide as everyone in the hallway begins to howl. Johnnie McNally just got decked by a girl.

It’s easy to assume that the rest of my morning did not go smoothly. In fact, before I know it I’m standing on stage in front of Fitz while Johnnie and I have our backs to each other. His eye has turned a nasty purple and by now everyone, but Fitz knows exactly how he got it. He doesn’t even look angry at our lack of communication, he’s amused.

“Either of you care to explain your lack of cooperation this morning?” I scrunch up my nose. “Fine. Turn around and face each other.”

“No.” Johnnie refuses. I stay stiff, not moving an inch.

“Gabrielle punched Johnnie in the face!” Someone in the classroom shouts. Fitz covers his mouth to muffle the laughter that’s about to escape. “I know I’m not suppose to condone violence, but that’s pretty damn funny.” A smile begins to crawl onto my face.

“Hysterical.” Johnnie says mockingly.

“Cold read. Do a cold read of the piece I assigned you.” Fitz shrugs.

“Fine.” I sigh.

“Whatever.” Johnnie still won’t face me.

“I’m sorry, Johnnie, but that would require you to face her.” Johnnie turns and snatches the book from my hands, it’s open to the page.

“No. Absolutely not. I’m not doing this scene with Mohammed Ali over here!” He points towards me.

“So you’re not man enough to do the balcony scene of Romeo and Juliet with me?” I take a step toward him.

“Maybe I don’t find you women enough.” His face goes tight.

“Do you want to be deemed my bitch now or later?” I laugh.

“You need to-” Johnnie takes a step closer to me.

“Stop!” Fitz takes the book from Johnnie. “Scratch the scene. Gabrielle, I like your enthusiasm.” Fitz calls me cursing enthusiasm?

“Thanks.” I nod.

“Frank O’Hara. Having A Coke With You.” He pulls a crumpled piece of paper from the pocket of his slacks and hands it to Johnnie. Then, he runs over to his messenger bag and pulls out a small book, flips to a page, and hands it to me.

“Alternate and Recite.” I skim over the poem. “For a grade.” He glances between the both of us. “Now.” I nod at Johnnie. “For a grade!” He says louder. Inches apart, Johnnie begins to read.

“Having a coke with you is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irun, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne, or being sick to my stomach on the Traversa de Gracia in Barcelona.” His eyes lose all conviction and grow warm.

“partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian” I begin to uncoil.

“partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt.” He stares at my mouth.

“partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches.” I breathe and look straight into him.

“Partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary.” An Intensity flows into his eyes and radiates off of him.

“It is hard to believe when I'm with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o'clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles.” I start to bite my bottom lip.

“And the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them. I look at you
and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world.” He recites and takes a small step backward and I feel as if he’s taking me in for all my worth. And my stomach tumbles over my chest.

“except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it's in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven't gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me.” I smile.

“and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn't pick the rider as carefully
as the horse it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it” He finishes and takes a deep breath. As if for a moment no one else existed at all, but then it’s over.

As we look through the room everyone is mesmerized, as if we’ve just entranced them with our ammeter poetry recital. Boys look baffled, but intrigued, and girls look as if they’ve waited their whole lives to see something like that; with longing still lingering in their eyes. And Mr. Fitz is smiling, because he was right.