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One sudden horrific moment shifts the entire trajectory of Atlas and Errol's lives, handicapping both young men in ways they could never have expected. A sculptor without his sight, and a piani...
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"I really can-"
"I'll be fine," Atlas replied, cutting his friend off. Or at least I assumed they were friends by how freely they spoke with each other. And it seemed like quite the two way street.
I was still trying to get over his last comment about not holding his breath, I almost missed the intense yet brief back and forth Atlas suddenly got into with Nyra, before she eventually showed herself out. There was a comment she made privately to Atlas before she left, and I swear to god I thought I heard her calling me hot. Atlas's reaction to that was pretty dismissive, as he kept telling her to go.
Of course that was a definite ego boost from someone as beautiful as Nyra, but Atlas's almost aggrivating disinterest today ruined whatever confidence that could've given me. Dare I say, he almost looked repulsed by the sheer mention of me.
And the rest of our conversation wasn't any easier.
"What did you want me to do?" Atlas asked, barely paying me any mind as I took a seat on one of the wooden chairs a few feet away from him. It was hard to pay attention to his words, and I couldn't quite figure why at first. For starters, Atlas never once stopped working on his sculpture to speak to me and I quickly realized that probably wasn't going to happen.
Then there was the issue of his wardrobe. His absolutely horrendous wardrobe.
It was as if the sun itself threw up on him. Yellow overalls stained with clay, yellow undershirt. Yellow fucking everything, and I couldn't rip my eyes away from the fashion failure regardless of how hard I tried.
"Anything really," I replied, dealing with the horrible struggle of just staring...
There was something about Atlas that specifically drew me in to his work. This time around I gave myself a little more time to get a good look at him, and not his choice of clothes.
His eyes were still the color of pale blue, but they hadn't bothered to dart in my direction at all. I just had this feeling of dismissal, which I never accepted from anyone. Well I guess Hendrix was an exception, but she was the only one. "I want something somewhat special- something kinda specific to who she was," I finished.
"I mean you're her kid. I don't think anyone could explain her better than you, honestly. You'll have to give me some direction here." Atlas replied, and I felt myself visibly cringe at his words.
Somehow someway, it felt like Atlas immediately picked up on my uncomfortable energy. I saw his legs shift, with his right foot still on the peddle for the wheel.
"I- uh-" words left my small brain almost immediately as I scrambled to describe what I meant. I couldn't explain why I suddenly landed on the truth of all things. "I wasn't the best kid. There was a lot I sorta tuned out, betting on the fact that I'd always have time to backtrack. To ask her questions I didn't bother asking when I was younger. That was a mistake made on my part, I guess."
