Imprisoned

Infatuation

 He stood like he was unsure of himself, his posture submissive. But his eyes held something different. They were cold and unforgiving. The inconsistent emotions that he and his eyes give off made it seem as if he were hiding behind the charade of the sad orphan boy. I understood that because that’s what I have been doing almost my entire life.

            Despite that, the boy is quite easy on the eyes. He has feathery brown hair that, honestly, looks so soft to the touch. His strong jaw outlines o face of high cheekbones and sharp features, the best of which are his eyes. Aside from their cold gaze, they are a beautiful blue-green. In them is so much knowledge and hatred. They are a fascinating mixture of haunting and beautiful.

            As I ogle him, he turns and meets my gaze. For a split second, the boy’s eyes are unguarded and I see softness. But it disappears as quickly as it cam, and I am not sure I even saw it.

            It is unnerving, the way he looks at me, and I find myself turning away, cheeks aflame. He continues to look at me, but after a few seconds, pivots in the direction that the two mean headed earlier. Just as the boy reaches the door of the office, he comes to an abrupt halt, almost like he forgot something. He turns around, and with a voice like velvet tells me, “I’m Louis,” then continues through the doorway.

            I roll his name around in my mouth, liking the taste of it. Louis. Louis. Louis. Then, I think about the way he said it, so smooth and so soft. Louis. Louis. Louis.  So beautiful a name fits so beautiful a boy perfectly.          The rest of the day, I don’t pay attention to the younger kids pulling at my legs or the tutting of Addie as she scolds me. My mind is only Louis. Louis. Louis.

            When I fall asleep that night, my dreams are filled with blues and greens and the whispered name of a boy I can’t get out of my mind. But when I wake up go down, wishing so desperately to see him, he is not there. I wonder if he merely visited or really is here to stay. In my mess of thoughts, I forget about escape.

            To clear the chaos that is my thoughts, I paint. But this time I don’t look out the window. For the first time, I paint without thinking. I let the brush do the talking and do not try to fix a single brush stroke. Through it all, I do not think of the final outcome, and when I do finish, I step back.

            This is not just a painting. It is not an object or a place or even a person. What lies before me is a representation of all my recent thoughts. It is a beautiful abstract design of swirling yellows and blues and greens. I have created a beautiful mess out of my infatuation with Louis.

            Never before have I wanted so desperately to know someone as much as I want to know Louis. In fact, most of my life has been spent withdrawing from people. But there was something in Louis that intrigued me and made me wonder. That fascination was so great that he ended up being the muse of numerous art pieces.