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"That moment when you see your crush with someone else." -Tumblr
You're too pure for this șhit.
Too pure.
What the heck did that even mean?
Like a nun?
A baby?
A virgin?
Yeah, well, how did he know that? And since when being a virgin was bad?
I am a virgin and I am proud of it!
Yeah? Why don't you write a song about it?
Oh, shut it.
I rolled around in my bed, pushing the pillow in my face and screaming like a maniac.
What did he mean?
Does it matter? He doesn't want you. It's obvious, isn't it? He's beautiful. The most interesting boy you have ever met. He could have anyone he wants. What makes you think you have a chance with him? Just because he drew you once? Really, Parks? Your head is in the clouds again.
I just wanted to give him those darn cookies. And how rude was he when he practically kicked me out of his house? I wanted to think that he was just ornery and rude, but why did I feel like he was protecting me from something?
Maybe there's something wrong with your brain...
So I stayed away.
Partly because I was hurt, too. I had no right to be hurt. The only relationship I had of him was the one going on in my head.
I had ignored him all week. And then another week. And another.
It was quite pathetic or staggering— I was not sure which one yet—how a single encounter with a boy could change my life. I thought I was happy. I was happy, but I didn't realize there was another level of happiness when someone that was unlike anyone you have ever met entered your life. Someone so exciting, so mysterious, so intriguing... that they made you feel alive.
And maybe sometimes I wished that I had never met him, because he had burst my safety bubble—the bubble where I was blissfully unaware of his unforgettable existence. The bubble where I frolic in flowers and dance with unicorns and everything was alright in my world. But he had burst it, and now I knew that outside the bubble there was something more.
But he didn't want anything to do with me.
So I ignored him as much as he ignored me. Well, I pretended to. It was harder than I thought it would be. Other than that morning that felt like a hundred years ago, I didn't walk with Noah again to school, even after classes. He never even went back to the clearing, not when I was there anyway. I wasn't sure if he was trying to avoid me or he had somewhere else to go to after class.
In class, we ignored each other. Sometimes I felt like he was looking at me, but whenever I checked, he was looking somewhere else.
At night, I lay in bed and would see his light only come on around midnight. He was always out really late. Maybe he had a job in the city.
Or maybe he has a girlfriend.
You'll be the girl who is forever alone. Not even in the friend zone. You're just one of the girls he sketched once.
Every Saturday morning, I'd hear the lawnmower next door, but I'd just put my earphones on and go back to sleep. But sometimes, my willpower wasn't strong enough so I ended up watching him anyway. The cat came back all the time now and Noah always fed it.
This made me like him more. If only he was cruel to the cat, then I'd have a reason to dislike him. Or maybe if he had bad odor or bad breath, or a wart on the tip of his nose...
Was this what it felt like obsessing on someone? Oh God, I need therapy.
I don't think you can afford it.
I was walking down to Mrs. Garland's office to get the keys for the shed when I felt a prickle on the nape of my neck. I stood still, looking up. Here, the ceilings were higher than the rest in the building and the hallways were longer and narrower. It would have been a boring long walk but for the paintings displayed on the walls. They were all glorious, but what grabbed my attention was the painting on top of the doorway. It was a clearing.
It was a painting of my secret clearing.
No one was supposed to know about it. The only one I'd seen there was Noah...
Noah...
I walked closer it, trying to search for a signature, but it was so high up in the ceiling that I couldn't make out the writing.
In all the times I had helped Mrs. Garland, I had never been to her office. She was a gardening teacher as well as a part-time guidance counsellor. She usually gave me the keys to the shed at lunch break on Fridays, but she said she'd miss school tomorrow because she had a doctor's appointment, and asked me to meet her in her office today. I knocked.
"Ma'am, it's me Parker."
"Parker, come on in, sweetheart."
"Hi," I said, waving at her.
She was sitting in a lounge chair, looking comfortable and relaxed, a novel between her hands and a blanket on her lap. Her glasses were sitting on top of her nose, looking like they were in danger of falling off. She didn't move from her position when I came in, just waved her hand for me to take a seat.
Quietly, I sat like a lady in one of her big chairs, but the chair was one of those big old chairs that swallowed your butt when you sit in them, so I ended up leaning back, almost sprawling.
So much for sitting like a lady. Your mom will be so proud.
Mrs. Garland didn't look like she was going to be interrupted anytime soon, so I looked around her office without appearing too obvious.
Her office smelled like a garden, vases overfilled with autumn flowers such as asters, pink turtleheads, sneezeweed, and mums as colourful and jolly as a rainbow.
Unlike my mom, she loved clutter, and her office was decorated with the things she collected: salt and pepper shakers, angel figurines, pictures and drawings and letters from her students over the years. The Furoshiki my mom wrapped her cookies in were tacked on the wall.
Sometimes, my mom wrapped the cookies she baked in a Furoshiki, a traditional wrapping cloth in Japan using different kinds of fabrics like silk, cotton, and nylon. She usually only used this for big orders as a complimentary gift for her customers, but for Mrs. Garland, it was a definite.
I was so distracted and almost missed it if I blinked, but there on the wall, among the other art work, was a lovely sketch of my clearing. Without thinking, I walked up to it and looked at it closer. Surrounded by the trees was a woman sitting by a small bonfire, her back turned and her long hair swayed in the breeze. I felt a little squeeze in my heart as I recognized what the sketch clearly portrayed: Love.
On the right hand side of the painting was a signature.
NH
"It's lovely, isn't it?"
I jumped a foot and turned around guiltily. Mrs. Garland was sitting up now, smiling as she looked at me.
"There are more of those. That one he drew when he was..." she narrowed her eyes and tapped her mouth with her finger, thinking. "Ten years old, I think. He wanted to give his mama this pretty necklace he'd seen in the market, but he had no money. I told him to draw me a picture of his favourite place, and I'd give him the money to pay for the necklace. He made me this one," she said, looking like a proud grandmother.
"Some of the paintings in the hallways are his, aren't they?"
Her brows rose. "Why, yes, they are indeed."
I waited a beat.
"Noah's?"
She smiled, her eyes twinkling. "Yes, my dear."
"He's very talented," I said casually. I wanted her to keep going, to tell me a story about him, without appearing too obvious.
"Without a doubt. Got it from Esther, his mama. That's her on that picture. You don't see her face here, but what a very beautiful woman."
"His mom is an artist?"
She shook her head, a sad smile on her lips. "Oh, how I pleaded with her to pursue her dreams. She was my best student and I was friends with her mama. Esther wanted to finish high school then go to school to become a painter, but she fell in love, you see. The heart of a young girl is easily fooled by the thrill of first love. He was a bad apple, knew it the first time I laid eyes on that boy."
"Mr. Hunter? Noah's dad?"
She looked like she wanted to spit. "Promised her the world, he did. Never much a man of his word. He is a sad excuse for a man, that's what he is. I cannot believe that man is allowed to have children!" Her hands began to shake, but she pulled herself up and took a deep breath.
"My dear, I don't care much for gossip, which this town is very fond of as they don't know anything productive to do with their lives. They live boring lives and dream of an adventure, but will never have the guts to go for their dreams. Her boy Noah has adventure in his mind," she continued. "And he will follow his dreams, you watch. I will tell you this. No one I know deserves more from life than that boy."
"Mrs. Garland—"
"Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. You will hear no gossip from me, my dear. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She gave me a kind smile. "I'll tell you something. That boy has so much love to give it's bursting out of him, but he keeps it in check, you see. Keeps it locked in. Once a heart has been broken and whipped too many times, a person protects it by putting up thick walls. But you can tear a wall down if you keep at it now, can't you? Especially if you know that behind those walls is something special." She picked up her novel and carefully sat on the lounge, eyeing me knowingly. "You go on now, sweetheart. The keys are in the drawer to your left. You have a wonderful evening. Tell your daddy and mama I said hi now, understood?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Was it possible to forget someone who had touched a chord inside your heart?
Even at ten years old, Noah could draw beautifully and expressed his feelings with his sketches. I felt it. And when I heard from Mrs. Garland that he bought that necklace for his mom, I was a goner.
He's got you hook, line and sinker.
Still... he'd told me to stay away.
Well, you are never known for being obedient.
The next day, Professor Layton came in dragging a whiteboard with him. He positioned it in the middle of the class and sat on his desk, crossing his arms in front of him as he stared at the class.
"Take notes."
That was it.
"This is ridiculous," Ruth hissed under her breath. "He could have just given us a copy of this crap instead of making us write it. Get with the program, Professor."
I silently agreed.
"Why aren't you copying notes, Mr. Noah Hunter?" Professor Doom asked.
I held my breath when I heard Noah's name. Everyone in front of me turned their eyes toward Noah. I wanted to look, but I didn't.
"Well, professor, he still probably has his notes from last year, you know what I'm sayin'?"
There were ooooohs in the class as Drew yelled from across the room.
I felt angry toward these people. This time, I looked at Noah. He looked bored, and I noticed for the first time that he had a bandage around his hand. What happened? Did that wild cat he was feeding bite him? Maybe he had cut himself. He was always fixing something in his house.
But couldn't the professor see the bandage? He had hurt his writing hand.
His drawing hand. Oh no!
"Did I ask you to speak, mister...? What's your name?" Everyone knew Professor Layton had an obsession with knowing the full names of his students. This was an obvious insult.
I felt slightly appeased.
"Drew Mountain, professor," he replied tersely.
Ruth had told me Drew Mountain sold weed in our school. He drove an Audi and acted like he was the man and often spit, "You know what I'm sayin'?"
In my old school, weed dealers were usually very friendly, often relaxed guys who wanted to be friends with everyone, but Drew was a huge troublemaker. He also smelled weird, like old coffee and a hundred sprays of musky cologne as if he was trying to mask his smell. Probably the dope smell. He wasn't succeeding.
When Drew was properly chastised, the class resumed, but now I couldn't stop myself from looking over at Noah.
I had this ridiculous urge to protect him.
Ruth said Noah had a temper. If he did, he wouldn't have been able to ignore Drew... right?
The bell rang.
"I have to go to the city for my cousin's bachelorette party, Parks. And it's on a Friday, but I'm not sure which Friday yet. I'll let you know. Sorry, Parks," Ruth apologized.
I was in a bad mood all week and this just capped it off. She didn't wait for my answer, bounding off to her next class. Letting out a loud sigh, I grabbed my backpack and swung it behind me vigorously.
"Crap!" I yelped, hitting something behind me.
I turned around and found Noah, picking up his pencils on the ground. I had hit him and now his stuff was all over the floor.
You just levelled up your humiliation from Uranus to Neptune now, Parks.
"I'm sorry!"
I bent to help him and froze when I reached his notepad. It was lying open and a picture of a girl was sketched on the paper in charcoal.
And it wasn't me.
Was this how a broken heart felt like?
I had never experienced it before. There was an ache in my heart that felt like cruel hands were squeezing it.
I pulled my shoulders back and strapped on my big girl panties as I reached for the notepad, stood up and handed it to him. I didn't meet his eyes.
So much for big girl panties.
When he took it, I spun around and walked as fast as I could away from him.
How could I feel that I had lost something when it was never mine in the first place?
***
A/N: Who do you think was the girl on Noah's sketchpad?
Happy Valentine's Day, loves! Any plans today? :)