Cheers to "Friends"

Desperate for changing
Starving for truth
I'm closer to where I started
Chasing after you
I'm falling even more in love with you
Letting go of all I've held onto
I'm standing here until you make me move
I'm hanging by a moment here with you

I moved my painting towards the light in rhythm to the music that was playing in the background. The picture was broken into four main blocks of primary colors: blue, red, yellow, and black. All of them consisted of the same content: a girl smiling yet not acknowledging the fact that she had been painted (or in my case, not knowing that I had taken a photo of her).

The girl in the picture was no one I actually knew. Yet, I still had a story of how I came to catch that moment in time. A couple of weeks ago; I was sitting on a bench in the park, and the girl? Well, she was on the grass with her, what I assumed to be, boyfriend. They looked so much like a couple. He was lying on the grass with his left forearm supporting half his weight around the girl. She was cross-legged, looking down upon him with hair half across her face. He seemed to have so much concentration on her, as if he had stopped staring she would have vanished into thin air. She on the other hand, was smiling… bashfully at him. That was the only way to explain her smile because there were so many other emotions whirled into it. It was hard to pick it apart.

That single bashful look had got me realizing; that is what I wanted in my life. You know, to be able to smile like that and not care what others around you thought; to feel purely happy and loved, like she was experiencing then. I guess that is what I wanted to show in my picture, that look she had on her face. I knew at once when I processed that film, that girl’s photograph would be something I wanted to draw; but probably never could, due to my usual emotions. It probably doesn’t make sense to you, right? Well when it comes to me and art, I have a particular style whenever I have a particular mood. So for example, when I feel sad yet uncomplicated I feel a black and white tragic acrylic piece suits me perfectly. That was kind of why I had postponed painting this picture for so long. I needed to be in a happier mindset to convey the happiness I saw in her eyes; and for some reason I felt that today was my “happier mindset” that I have been patiently waiting for.

Since yesterday night I have been on a permanent high. I could barely sleep last night due to the excitement, rushing in me after Kane had asked me to that party. Clips of me with Kane at the party were playing in my head. I even managed to fall asleep dreaming of Kane and me in a closet, playing a good old game of “Seven Minutes in Heaven”.

“Hey! That looks like that Marilyn Monroe picture that, what’s his name did?” Gavin informed me whilst snapping his fingers at the speed of sound from behind whilst I was admiring my work.

I tilted my head from left to right and squinted my eyes slightly. I slightly laughed at his forgetfulness at such a masterpiece. “Andy Warhol?” I suggested innocently.

“Yeah! That’s it! Did you know he did a lot of gay work as well?”

I sighed in exasperation. “Yes, you have told me that about thirty times. Everyone here knows that you are a proud supporter of gay people, Gavin.” I placed the picture in front of me and added one more stroke to the girl’s cheek in the yellow square. That certainly made the girl look better.

“Well, I’m just voicing how the rest of us homosexuals feel about Andy Warhol.” I looked at him and smiled warmly, “Hey! You know what I’ve realized? You’re happier and you’ve started adding more color to your art work.”

I realized who had the power to make me grin this huge, and just gave an even bigger grin as yesterday flashed before my eyes. “Well, I just feel happier today I guess.” I replied.

“Woooh! Might this smile placed on your oh-so-pretty face be by a bloke?” He asked cheekily. By now he was leaning over me waiting in eager anticipation for my answer. As I was still sitting, I placed my hand on either side of my cheek and plopped my elbows down; making sure that Gavin was incapable of looking at my -now cherry colored- cheeks.

He was obviously not fooled by this. “Oh, so it is a boy that’s making you look happier than a fish on crack. Who is he? Tell me, tell me, tell me!” he pleaded eagerly.

My cheeks went up another shade of scarlet. I looked around making sure no one was nosily listening into our conversation. Obviously everyone in class wanted to know, and were listening intently. There weren’t many people in on a Sunday afternoon. Hell, I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for my new found glee!

At most, there were 4 people in the class, including me. There was Gavin, whom was obviously very talkative. He and I would always sit together in Art as I loved his company. He would talk about things such as his boyfriend, Dave to the most random topics, such as different types of lined paper. Then there was Tyler whom was also painting his massive piece that took up two whole doors. He didn’t bother hiding how snoopy he really was; he just stared at us, stopping all signs of his work; waiting intently on my answer. The other girl was Sherrie; she was also staring fiercely at me, waiting for my reply.

My long –yet, what seemed to Gavin as a meaningful- silence had magically filled him in. With enlightenment he replied to his own urges “Wow, he must be one special bloke to flip you to a complete one-eighty.”

I squinted at him in a sarcastic “Ha-ha, so funny I forgot to laugh” look. I went back to scrutinizing my piece with a little smile across my face, as Gavin was still staring intently at me; like I was some kind of interesting alien; about to play the harmonica with my feet.

We were in one of the two art studios that Millfield had possessed. Most people who did art on the weekends had gone to the other art room as it was the newer one. I on the other hand, loved this art room to death. It was because of it’s archaic musk, to me the room smelled of old text books and wood. Nothing could beat that. The art studio had tables that surrounded a wooden rounded table that had the capacity to spin. Not much of us liked touching the round table because that was where supposed nude women and men would pose for body form art. All the windows were at a slant so people could look in. I had always liked these windows because the slants had reminded me of the apartment that my parents and I lived in at home. Mostly everything was covered in rich mahogany, except for the winding stars. They were metal. The banisters that supported to second floor were mahogany, the racks for people’s work were mahogany, and people’s work space were also mahogany. It looked like an old majestic library

I flipped over my art work, and scribbled my initials down. The writing didn’t seem like mine, as my usual writing was some what neat and compacted. My new writing on the other hand was floppy looking; my “a’s” touched my “r’s” and everything was so… spaced out. It looked as if my handwriting were literally breaking out of it’s (what used to be) confined space to a whole new persona.

In the midst of writing my name scruffily yet neatly at the back, Gavin - being the imbecile that he is - yelped in complete joy to his "new favorite song" and nudged my hand into a long squiggly path. If I were in my usual mood I would've probably coiled into the corner so he wouldn't do it again but at that moment, I wasn't concentrating on the long blue mark going across the back of my sheet but the song that Gavin, and everyone else was bobbing there heads to. I didn't know what the song was called, but I could tell it was R'nB. The only words I seemed to hear out of the -now blearing- speakers were "In this club". So I made the grand assumption and took it upon myself to name the song "In this Club".

Gavin was now dancing in glee as he edged towards the stereo by the "crip-walk". He obviously didn't think the music was loud enough and turned it up to full volume. It was funny at how in that moment of Gavin turning up the music everyone got looser, stopped what they were doing and started dancing. It was very much like when Gavin turned up the volume he turned up their boldness with it. By now everyone in the classroom were swaying to the music like they really were actually “in this club”!

I on the other hand just sat their with my art piece turned to the table staring at them in awe of how loose they became to those couple of words, sang in harmony repeatedly. It was a site for sore eyes.

About 30 seconds into the music, I was still frozen unto my place until Gavin decided to pull me up from my ice block and make me dance. Now, not many know this (partially due to the fact that I never go to clubs or dances… I try to steer clear from areas that require me to sway my hips to a beat), but I was never the type to be able to dance to like Paula Abdul or Janet Jackson for that matter. So when I came onto our makeshift dance floor everyone else had to pretty much teach me how to do such womanly activities.

30 repeats later, and I was on my own moving to the beat of the music. The rest of them had let loose and we were all dancing circles around each other. Everyone - including me – seemed not to have a care in the world, we had long forgotten about the reason why we were all in here in the first place.

I always had my theory as to the reason why people had personal preferences into different types of music. This was it: It wasn’t that people liked Hip Hop because “it had a good beat” or those others liked Rock because “the guitar riffs are awesome!” It had nothing to do with the artist’s talent, but more to do whether they could dance or not. You see, if people can dance they resort to the music with a beat; but if they can’t, they turn to music with a guitar which they can rock to. You guys probably don’t get it do you? Well, my whole theory is about whether you can dance or not. If you can’t, then you listen to Rock but if you can then Hip Hop is the mantra for you.

Obviously that theory has gone out the window because I seemed to be cheered on by the others around me. It was weird, this exhilaration I had. It was partially from trying something new and entertaining a crowd that actually loved what I did.

It was obvious that I didn’t feel like my normal glum self, and everyone could tell too from the way I was dancing (badly, but nevertheless dancing) with Gavin. He seemed not to mind and neither did I. It was weird, I would’ve never done this with the opposite sex; but I guess it was because he was gay that I was able to do such sexual things –like this- with him.

My hips and hands were moving to the rhythm. By now, 20 minutes of dancing had made me hot and sweaty so I took off my sweater. Usually it would’ve been roughly but I didn’t want to lose the beat I had already found. I tried to slide it off as slickly as possible still moving side-to-side.

Hip Hop songs seemed to get all of us pumping, and for once I didn’t seem to care how badly I was dancing; I was doing it regardless. Song after song came on until a song by the pussycat dolls really got all of us rowdy. Gavin and Tyler were jesting Sherrie and me on; to be a little bit more Pussycat doll-esque. This was where Sherrie and I took it on and tried to dance sexily as we could. We tried to bend down and come up slowly with our asses out; we also tried to raise our hands up and let our hands slowly come down our bodies whilst wiggling around. I have to say my dancing was fit for a Weird Al or Parody music video then a fifty cent one. I bet it was hardly sexy at all.

“Hey,” Sherrie whispered. “You know those two banisters over there? I think we should dance around them!”

“What?” I said with shock laced within my voice.

“Aw, come on Tara! It’ll be fun!” Both Gavin and Tyler approved. They must have been straining to hear what Sherrie said, or maybe men are genetically designed to be able to hear dirty words from a mile away. The cheers had given me even more confidence to walk over to one of the banisters whilst Sherrie took on the other; and use it as an imitation pole. More hoots came our way and we started dancing around the banisters.

At one point I had danced with the pole rubbing the sides of my hip against the cold metal surface. My midriff could feel the coldness of it biting away slowly into my camisole; but I didn’t care, I was enthralled by the guys’ applauds. I had never really noticed, but for the past hour a smile was permanently on my face and it was starting to hurt my cheeks. The smile didn’t stop though, I couldn’t turn it off. My next move was the grind; I faced away from the pole and started moving the back of my hip against pole.

More cheers than usual were being made. I looked at the boys who were in the art room and they didn’t seem to be making any noise at all. That was funny, who’s making the noise, I though. I had slowed down my dancing to look profusely for a sign that I wasn’t going crazy, and actually heard people screaming both Sherrie’s and my name. I realized everyone else in the art room had stopped what they were doing and was looking around too, so I wasn’t crazy after all.

More cheers and shouts were jested and I followed the direction of sound towards one of the windows. There were fourteen boys all ogling our dancing, but one boy caught my eye. He was the boy with the brown bed head that had taken me out yesterday. I could feel my smile widening even more (just when I thought that my smile couldn’t get wider. I bet I looked like a clown now.) when I saw his signature smirk.

All of a suddenly I realized why they were all staring at us and abruptly stopped my dancing with embarrassment written all over my face. I wonder how long they had been there watching us doing our simulated freak dancing. I was also wondering why they were in this part of school in the first place. I scoped out what they were wearing to see any tell-tale signs to help me. By the soccer ball in one boy’s hand, I knew they were going out for a friendly soccer game with each other.

There were “boo’s” coming out from the window as we all stopped dancing and we could all tell they wanted more of Sherrie’s and my dancing. My new found confidence to dance in front of the crowd was not up to par with dancing in front of more than ten people. So instead I tried to walk seductively across the room to the window to the blinds. I found the string to the blinds and prayed that this time the blinds would obey me. For –what I hoped would be- the last time I saw them, I stared at Kane. I blocked everyone out of my mind, all the cheering, the music, and just stared at Kane. The gaze was intensified as the seconds went on, and to break it off I raised my eyebrow in a challenging demeanor. I even gave him one of his famous smirks to top it all of.

I tugged at the blinds and let go, as I did so I turned around walked away. The sound of the shades came down in an annoying screech. I could hear the boys outside making disapproving noises, as I walked back to where I was before and resumed my dancing with a smile still on my face.

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I dragged my art file into my room. I really needed to empty this thing out! It felt as if I had dumped my entire contents of my closet in here! As soon as I heard the door to my room slam, I jumped onto my bed and let out a huff of air to let what happened today wash over me. I walked over to my desk to grope for my notebook that was in one of my desk drawers. As I tried the lowest draw a small piece of paper that I didn’t remember on my desk was under my cheek.

I stopped what I was doing and I scrutinized the hand writing that didn’t belong to me. It had my name written on the top in block capitals. So it was written to me, I looked over the other side and read the block capitals that were written in black ink:

TARA, I CAME UP TO YOUR ROOM THINKING YOU WOULD BE HERE TO TALK, BUT YOU'RE NOT. CALL ME WHEN YOU GET BACK FROM "ART", MY NUMBER IS 07893769283

KANE

P.S. WHEN WE GO TO MY MATE'S PARTY YOU'RE DEFINATELY GOING TO HAVE TO SAVE ME A DACE OR FOUR WITH YOU.

I finally got my notebook out and fumbled for my phone. I opened my book to where I last wrote, and wrote down today’s date: “Sunday June 11th “as I was doodling, I swiftly pressed the numbers that had belonged to Kane’s mobile on my own mobile. I heard the tone of the phone to tell me that I got through.

“Hello?” the person’s familiar voice on the other end said. I smiled at the way he said it so smoothly and wrote quickly in my own notebook:

I’m a bit of a cynic, but I know you can change it.

“Hello?” he prompted.

I smiled again looking down at my notes that had just rolled off the top of my head and replied with a “Hi”.