In Your Own Words

9. SUBJECT: I'M AN IDIOT

Anyway, I sat down, already bored, to paint my bowl. We talked while we painted, and she kept telling me how glad she was that we were doing this.

I was awkward with the paintbrush and my bowl looked like shit, but I figured since Rachel was so excited I'd pretend I was excited to eat cereal from the damn bowl.

There was one little girl there with her mom. The mug she was painting looked about as good as my own piece. The kid whined about being bored and wanting to go to the pet store next door.

It was weird, you know, relating more to a five year old than the girl I was dating.

The studio kept the paint near the cash register, so if you needed more you had to walk across the room. About halfway through the evening, I get up to get more blue. It was fairly crowded, and this one lady pushed her chair back while I was behind her. I moved back quickly to avoid collision, but in doing so knocked into the table with the little girl. The table jostled, and her mug fell into two pieces on the floor of the store.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry!" I shouted.

Shouting was not the best idea. Swearing was just stupid.

The kid's mom was nice, and she told me not to worry, but her voice was drowned out by the endless wail coming out of her child's mouth.

I was frantically trying to shove the bowl I made into the little girl's hands, telling her she could have mine, but her wailing continued.

I couldn't even look at Rachel.

I felt like I was going to pass out, from both the blood rushing to my head and the kid's endless crying. I offered to pay for it. I asked if I could take her daughter to the pet store while she finished painting. I'm pretty sure I even offered the kid a five-dollar bill from my back pocket. I also apologized about eighty times.

"Please, don't worry. Go back to your girlfriend." That lady was nicer than my mom.

The kid cried for the rest of the hour we stayed, and everyone else who was painting kept staring, not at her, but at me. Some of them looked sorry, like they knew it was an accident, but some people looked angry. Most of them looked angry.

Rachel told me that it was their mistake to have left the mug so close to the end of the table, which was sweet of her, but also bullshit.

"Art just isn't my thing I guess," was all I said.

I ended up giving her the bowl as a graduation gift.

Right now, I'm sitting on Lena's couch. After Peter came into my room this morning, he fell asleep in my bed. I went to the gym, and he was still there when I got back home. So now we're hanging out and watching a movie about the end of the world. Nobody seems to be paying any attention, though. Lena is complaining about clothes that look like they have pockets and could have easily been made with pockets, but are in fact, pocket-less.

I'm writing to you.

Peter is staring at the screen, but I don't think he's really watching the movie. I'm a little bit worried about him, if I'm being honest.

Later,

Wes

. . .

Texts Sent February 18, at 12:00pm:

Simon Idzik: Sarah just told me that you're going out with Lucas King tonight. Why am I only hearing about this now?

Cassie Belford: It seemed like the best way to go about it.

Simon Idzik: Don't do this.

Simon Idzik: He calls me Simon Wonder. He explained that it's a play on Stevie Wonder. He EXPLAINED that to me. So, he said it, and then decided it was worth elaborating.