Sami's Kisses

Three

I woke up not from an alarm, but from a large discomfort I was feeling on my back. Stretching and opening my eyes, I realized the cafe was still dark and the sun had not yet come up. Sitting up, I rubbed my back. The sofa in the shop was old and lumpy, not very well suited for sleeping.

Yet again, I didn't have much choice these days. Squinting at the clock on the wall, I realized it was 5:30 and time to get my day going. Looking outside and noting the dark clouds, I figured it'd be the perfect day to throw on my brother's old, worn out grey sweater over some black leggings.

It's the most comfortable article of clothing I own. It's a wide neck without a hood, and since my older brother was much taller than me, it's long and loose. In big red letters it read "Stanford."

It's days like these I thank goodness my hair is mostly straight and I don't have to do anything to it. I can just let my honey colored hair down and know it doesn't look like complete poop.

Leaving the lights off so as not to burn my eyes or draw attention to the store, I went behind the counter and grabbed myself a nice scone. Additionally, I made myself a cup of hot chocolate in a to-go cup before stuffing my duffel bag back in the cupboard and leaving the shop. With my backpack in tow, I locked up the shop and began my trek to school.

The sun still hadn't rose when I arrived at school, and there was only the faint glow of morning sun lighting up the dark sky. The school hadn't opened yet, since it was just past six o'clock, so I made my way to the football field as I usually do on these early mornings. I make my way to the top bleacher and sit down.

Our football field is set in this magnificent location where if you look to the left, the sun rises, and in the evening when you look to the right, the sun sets. It's quite marvelous in the morning, and that's because it's most peaceful then.

When the sun is peaking over the horizon, I finally take out my notebook and black pen, and begin to doodle.

Doodles, sketches, drawings -- whatever you want to call them. Of the spiral notebooks I have, this one is dedicated solely to my art. I discovered my passion for drawing back in the eighth grade, and now I seem to frequently feel this compulsive need to discard my soul onto a piece of binder paper.

I scribble out a girl in a dress. She is being lifted off the ground by the wind, and it's swirling around her like a tornado so that her long hair and dress are twisting about her. The only piece of her face that is seen is part of her eye, which is closed, and a portion of her mouth, which is shaped into a slight frown.

It's not a masterpiece by any means, and after fifteen minutes or so, I glance down at my work and grimace. Something about her makes me feel wildly unsettled, even though she is my own creation.

On that note, I slam my notebook shut in sudden frustration. Staring at the now risen sun more deeply, I sigh before uplifting myself off the bleachers.

I trudge through the halls that are now filling and force a smile on my face. One thing I've come to notice is that if you force a smile long enough, it soon starts to become more and more genuine.

My converse are beat up from the years they have trekked through these halls, but that doesn't stop them from carrying on. If I ever need reassurance, I remind myself that if my converse have lasted this long after all they have gone through, then I can make it too.

Yeah, it might be a little crazy, but it actually works.

Today, I felt the need to really put an effort out into my school work. I found it to be a lot more draining than anticipated, and by the time Art came around six period, I was spent.