Imagine Painting the Sky

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

“I’m tired,” I whined, rubbing sleep out of my eyes. 

“You’re just saying that because you’re bored,” Gabriel muttered, flicking another page by in the newspaper. 

“Fine. I’m bored and tired.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes and spooned another bite of cereal into his mouth, “go outside. Make friends.” 

“I don’t want to go outside. It’s too hot for fall here. It should be cloudy and rainy. Like at home,” I complained, rolling off the couch and onto the floor, “why does Isobel make us stay here when we could go drive and do something?” 

“Because when you say do something, it usually involves spray paint and some random man’s face.” 

“That was one time, Gabe, would you just let it go?” I groaned angrily, “he said he liked butterflies and the spray paint was in my hand, what did you expect me to do? Not give him a butterfly face?”

“Yes, Rowan! That’s exactly what I expect you to do,” Gabriel sighed, a hand pinching the bridge of his nose, like Isobel always does when she’s in a bad mood. 

I made a noise and rolled onto my stomach, my face dug into the living room carpet. I thought about everything. How stupid and boring Isobel was. So I made another noise, somewhere trapped between a groan of pain and a squeal of surprise. 

“Isobel is so boring. All she cares about is that stupid convertible and her red lipstick.” 

“Can’t argue with that,” Gabriel chuckled, smiling for once. I was trying to act happy. You know, fake it to make it. Or at least I was trying harder than I’d been trying before, that was for sure. But I was struck with an unshakeable amount of boredom that didn’t want to leave me alone. It crept up on me, and it attacked until I was satisfied. 

“Isn’t Jeff coming over for dinner?” I finally said thoughtfully. 

“Yeah, why?” Gabriel peered over the edge of his newspaper, “don’t get any ideas. . .” 

“I’m not. . . I just haven’t seen him since I was nine. That’s all.” I liked Jeff, he was interesting and smiley and not half as demanding as Isobel.

From what I remembered of him, I could clearly picture his strong jawline and high cheekbones that made him look so model-like. His eyebrows weren’t bushy, but shaped like funny, awkward rectangles that didn’t wish to follow his eye, but dangle over it instead. He had dark eyes, matching Isobel’s, but his were a softer version with some hints of laughter and happiness left in them. He was a tall man, broad shouldered and handsome with a head of buzzed short black hair and tanned surfer skin. He was one of the more handsome people I knew, but not quite as much as my Dad. Jeff was strange though, he wasn’t quiet, but there was always something about him that made some people uneasy. Dad never liked him much.

The thing about Jeff and Isobel, was the fact that they balanced each other so well. Jeff was so laid back and simple minded, hardly a care in the world, and Isobel the opposite. She was almost always complaining and bitter about life, never having enough material items or the ones she had were never good enough. However, if you were to look at them, they were a dream couple. Both of them fantastically beautiful people, holding hands and making the other happy. With Dad, it was never like that. They didn’t lover each other as much as they thought they had. 

“Isobel was talking on the phone with someone too. Some other couple is coming for dinner,” I stated, recalling the ridiculous and drawn out conversation Isobel had on the phone hours earlier. It went a little something like this: