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SONG FOR THE CHAPTER
❝ Welcome Home, Son ❞ by Radical Face
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RECCOMENDED START TIME
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I narrow my eyes at Casper and swat his hand away like a pesky fly, "What are you doing here?" I snap at him with a sense of bitter surprise.
"Getting some books to read," he answers calmly, "Isn't that what libraries are for?"
"Then you're in the wrong part of the library," I remark while pointing across the room, "The books with all the pretty pictures in it are over there in the children's section."
He smiles, "I missed that deprecating sense of humor."
While ignoring Casper, I continue gathering the books from the ground. I place them on the counter and then Agnes swipes them under the scanner. She notices one of my selections, "The Great Gatsby? You must have read this book a dozen times!"
"It's one of my favorites," I affirm, "F. Scott Fitzgerald is one of the best authors I've ever known. He writes with such passion - such poetic expressions of romance and tragedy. It's like his emotions are just poured out onto the page - his words are the ink. Certain quotes from his literature get stuck in my head for weeks. Fitzgerald really has made an influence on me."
She nods in agreement and hands me the towering stack of novels, "Enjoy your books, Chloe!"
I collect them in my arms and walk toward the back of the library. I make myself comfortable on the sofa in the lounge and prepare to sit here for the next few hours. With a novel in my hands, I glimpse outside the small window. It was very early in the morning and the sun was still hiding behind the distant mountains in the valley.
I exhale deeply to find a sense of relaxation. The room is silent and I had found my wonderful seclusion in the lounge area. After opening my book, I begin to read the lines within the withered, yellowed pages. The words are slowly decaying; the printed ink has faded from black to grey. The spine of the book is weak and the structure has deteriorated. The corners are bent, folded, and torn in some places. However, I believe it gives the book a special kind of quality.
As I turn one of the pages, Casper peeks over my shoulder, "What are you reading?"
Great... Just when I thought I had some time to be alone, the baby duckling incarnate decides to follow me. I sigh heavily and I don't bother to glance up at him, "Catcher in the Rye," I answer with a blank expression and a monotone voice.
Casper nods emphatically, "Ah, yes! I love that book. The way he just..." he pauses and clenches his fist, "Catches all that fucking rye."
I slam my book closed and glare at him, "Can't you be annoying somewhere else?"
"Not until 4," he replies with amusement, "What's your book about?"
I slowly open it and begin reading again, putting forth great effort towards not showing interest in the conversation, "I have neither the time nor the crayons to explain this to you," I tell him.
He chuckles at the sound of my sarcasm, "I was hoping you could recommend me something to read. I couldn't make up my mind in the book aisle."
"Why not? Are there too many Dr. Suess books to chose from?"
"I suppose," he shrugs, "I used to think I'm indecisive, but now I'm not so sure."
I almost laugh. I have to hold it in while attempting not to encourage him. As much as I want to hate Casper, I can't deny that he makes me want to smile. Something about him is charming. I find it obnoxious considering that I don't want to be charmed. I want to be left alone.
He hesitates for a moment, "Can I sit with you?"
Suddenly, it's as if I'm experiencing deja vu. When he asks me the question, it reminds me of my dream when we were on the beach; the playful banter, the tender expression in his eyes, and this weird chemistry between us that I still can't explain. I look up at Casper and try to assure myself this is real.
After a few seconds pass, he realizes that I'm staring at him. Casper waves his hands in front of my face to snap me out of my daze but to no avail. He tilts his head, "Earth to Chloe? Why are you staring at me?"
I blink and bring myself back into reality. I clear my throat and then my eyes dart away, "You have a spider on your shoulder," I announce mockingly.
"Very funny," he comments, "I was just trying to see if you wanted to hang out."
"Let's not and say we did," I advise him while turning my attention back to my book. I lick the tip of my finger and turn the page dramatically, making sure my gestures are exaggerated to showcase how much I want to resume my previous activity.
"Let's do something," he suggests briefly, "The weather is nice and cool since it's still early. Who doesn't love being outside in the morning?"
"I don't like morning people," I comment with a sour tone, "Or mornings... Or people..."
"I was going to have a picnic in the meadow by The Gray Coastline," he mentions before he gazes at me with those big, green eyes, "Care to join me?"
The feelings that I have towards Casper are amplified by the fact he keeps pestering me. His kindness, whimsical humor, and ever-present sense of joy send me spiraling into a devastating infatuation in which I might never recover. The nausea that accompanies all these emotions spews from my mouth in the form of word vomit, "Why is it so hard for you to understand that I don't want to be your friend?"
Although I expect Casper to be wounded from my scolding, he's anything but. It's as if my harsh response is nothing more than water under the bridge. He shakes his head, "I'll stop trying to be your friend when Spongebob gets his boating license."
I glance at him through the corner of my eye and chuckle wryly, "You're stubborn."
"I'd say optimistic," he counters with a smile, "Now will you hurry up and come with me? The coffee in my thermos is getting cold and I want to make it in time for the sunrise."
"You're going to stand here until I agree, aren't you?"
"Affirmative."
I close my book and let out a resigned sigh, "I'm coming for the free food," I insist with a tone of indifference while I stuff my books into my backpack, "Not because I want to dance and sing cumbia."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night," he teases, "Come on, let's go."
We stroll outside and are greeted by the cool morning breeze. Casper heads toward the bicycle stand. Surely enough, he has brought his rickety, red bike along with him. What surprises me is an acoustic guitar strapped to the cargo rack on the back of his bicycle.
"I didn't know you could play guitar," I mention curiously.
"There are many things you don't know about me, Chloe," he replies with a smirk, adding a playful wink to the end of his statement.
I roll my eyes and get on my bike. Once situating myself comfortably on the seat, I tightly grip my handlebars and shoot him a glance. Casper secures the picnic basket to the cargo rack and perches himself on his bike as well. He looks at me and nods. Then we start riding down the street, the wind blowing through our hair and the chirping of birds surrounding us.
♡ When we arrive at the meadow, we dismount our bikes and lean them against an oak tree. I sling my heavy backpack over my shoulder and grab the picnic basket. There is a part of me that is almost feeling a sense of happiness. It's both strange and delightful.
Casper carries his guitar and begins wandering through the grassy fields. I follow leisurely behind him, admiring the way his ringlets bounce as he walks. The dazzling sun has slowly begun to emerge from behind the mountains, however, has not quite risen yet. The horizon is the color of ripe peaches and the puffy clouds are canary yellow from the glowing sunshine.
We gently rest the picnic blanket on the ground and start unpacking the food. Casper brought a variety of fresh fruits, flavored yogurts, chocolate muffins, and warm cinnamon rolls. He relaxes on the blanket and gazes at the broad sky in front of us. After a few minutes of calm silence passes, he picks up a Honeycrisp apple and takes a juicy bite.
"An apple a day keeps the doctors away," he jokes while handing me one.
"An apple a day keeps anyone away if you throw it hard enough," I quip, while hungrily biting into the crunchy surface.
Casper laughs gleefully and turns his attention to the other foods. He grabs a spoon and begins to shovel some strawberry yogurt into his mouth. I finish my apple down to the core and set it down. I lick the sticky fruit juices from my fingers and then wipe the residue off on a napkin. I grab a cluster of grapes from across the blanket, carefully pick the grapes off the stem, and chew on them lazily.
I catch a glimpse of Casper being adorable while eating a cinnamon roll. His nose scrunches up when he chews like a little bunny rabbit. He doesn't eat very gracefully; he kind of just scarfs it down as if it's he's on death row and it's the last meal he's granted. That being said, he manages to make me swoon over the simplest things he does.
He's such a cute little fucker. I hate how much I love the way his eyes twinkle when it's sunny outside. I hate how much I want to run my hands through his curly hair that sways when he moves his head. I hate how much I hate not hating him.
Casper notices I'm staring and turns his head to the side. He stares right back, but with a keen sense of interest. He chuckles to himself, "All I want to know is what's running through your mind when you look at me..."
I gulp nervously and try to maintain my composure. After clearing my throat, I disregard his tenderness with sarcasm, "All I want to know is, can you cry underwater? Or why does a round pizza come in a square box? Or how come glue doesn't stick to the inside of the bottle?" I pause for effect and lean towards him, "But some questions just go unanswered."
He shakes his head in disbelief and his curly ringlets bounce slightly "You make me feel more ignored than the terms and conditions."
For a brief moment, the thought of my foster parents comes to mind. I think about how they don't listen when I try to explain myself and how they refuse to accept me for who I am. Sometimes I feel like I'm ignored too. The majority of our conversations result in arguments. Half the time we are miscommunicating with each other. I'm always miserable with them; in fact, these past couple of days with Casper has been the only time I'm not.
"Hey," he says while trying to catch my attention. Casper seems really concerned by my silence, "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I assure him, "I'm just not happy."
Casper looks curious but he doesn't pry into my business. Instead, he smiles at me with a genuine expression. Even though he doesn't know anything, he does know that's all I really needed - someone to acknowledge me. He inhales deeply through his nose and stares off into the distance, "Ernest Hemingway once said we are all broken, that's how the light gets in..."
There was truth in his words, that much I realize. Although I am impressed that he had the perfect quote for the situation, I am more impressed that he knows Ernest Hemingway to begin with. I suspected Casper was nothing more than a quirky boy with even quirkier tendencies, but maybe there's much more to him than that.
I stare off into the distance with Casper and sigh deeply, "Before Ernest Hemingway committed suicide, he said to his wife: Goodnight, my kitten..."
Casper's eyes dart back toward me, "That's a disturbing quote to mention," he says abruptly, with a hint of surprise in his voice.
I shrug my shoulders, "I kind of have an obsession with famous last words," I confess, "There's something fascinating to me about what people say before they meet death. When their mental state is deteriorating and they're slowly descending into madness - sometimes plagued by illness or fear - they're provoked by the reality that they're fading away into nothing. People reveal who they really are in their final hours; they speak the last thing on their mind and that's the most tragically beautiful thing I can imagine."
Casper gawks at me with an expression I can't identify. I'm not sure if he's startled, confused, disgusted, or all of the above. He looks like he just saw someone throw up in a hotdog eating contest. He raises his eyebrows, "That's awfully morbid," he states, "I never knew you were so... contemplative."
"I think it's obvious why I don't have many friends," I indicate with dry humor, "I'm not everyone's cup of tea, to phrase things nicely."
The edges of his lips curl upwards and form a subtle grin, "Well, it's a good thing I drink coffee then," he comments, while handing me one of his Thermos.
I twist off the lid and smell the fresh coffee. Luckily for me, he hasn't added the creamer yet. I take a long sip of the piping hot beverage and enjoy the best flavor in the entire world. If only there was a word in the English dictionary that could express how much I love coffee. I think the word obsessed will suffice for now.
I grab a muffin and pick off the pieces with the biggest chocolate chips. I chew on them slowly before wiping the crumbs off my fingers. I reach into my backpack and pull out my sketchbook with some pencils as well.
"I didn't know you could draw," he mentions curiously.
"There are many things you don't know about me, Casper," I reply with a smirk, adding a playful wink to the end of my statement.
He chuckles at the sound of me repeating his previous comment. I lay down flat on my stomach and open my sketchbook. I twirl my feet around in the air and tap my chin with the end of my pencil, trying to think of something to draw. When the idea comes to me, I start sketching the outline of my drawing.
Casper watches intently as my pencil drags across the paper in short, quick strokes. Then my hand movement changes as my pencil glides across the paper in long, smooth strokes. He cocks his head, "What are you drawing?"
"Your nose," I answer briefly.
"Why are you drawing my nose?"
"Because I found it in my business," I taunt mockingly, "Hasn't an artist ever told you that they hate being watched when they're drawing?"
The truth is, I'm insecure about my artistic abilities. I've loved drawing since I first learned how to pick up a pencil but I've never shown anyone my work. I think it's always been one of those things I just keep to myself. My drawings tend to be very personal, as they are an expression of my thoughts and feelings. While most people keep diaries, I keep sketchbooks.
Besides music and books, drawing is my only escape from reality. Somehow it makes life not suck as much. My foster parents never really understand why I'm alone so much; but the strange thing is, I never feel alone when I'm doing any of those things. I wish they could accept the fact that I'm not your average teenager. But instead, they condemn the fact that I'm prone to sleepness nights and isolation.
"How about now?" asks Casper.
I realize I wasn't listening to him again, "Hm?"
He repeats himself, "I said, are you happy now?"
My eyebrows crease in the center of my forehead, "Generally speaking?"
He nods in agreement, "Generally speaking," he reemphasizes.
I pause thoughtfully and think about my answer. These moments with Casper seem to be the only chance I have to feel slightly normal. It's the perfect illusion of happiness. But somewhere deep within me, I know it's not real. It's like my dream - wonderful, unusual, and suddenly gone once I get my rude awakening.
When I pretend to be okay, it's just a distraction - a beautiful lie. When I'm with Casper I feel like I'm not truly present, I'm only the shell of someone that wants to be. I feel detached from people because I'm afraid to get close. I'm drifting off into my thoughts so often that I rarely experience the moment for what it is.
Sadness will make you its bitch; before you know it, you have become so good at pretending like it hasn't.
I look up at the tall trees while their leaves dance in the summer breeze. Birds sing the dawn chorus from the branches. The clouds hovering in the atmosphere are passing slowly. I'm surrounded by flowers and the sounds of nature. Casper lies next to me with a smile that makes me believe there's nowhere else he'd rather be.
Some part of me wonders if the perfect illusion is better than nothing. Even if it only lasts for a short while, maybe that isn't such a bad thing. At least I have these small moments where I feel alive. This perfect illusion is so vivid that sometimes I forget it's an illusion to begin with.
Does that mean I'm not pretending after all? Despite it being nothing more than fantasy, the way it makes me feel is genuine; and that's good enough for me. I wish my dream about Casper was real but I'm almost glad it happened anyway.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks me when his curiosity was urged by my silence.
"I think there is a lot of happiness in this world," I tell him carefully, "I think one day some it may be mine to keep."
He frowns slightly, "Does that mean you're unhappy?"
I give him a cursory glance; it was both fleeting and meaningful. I exhale deeply and release all my troubles into the wind, "It could be worse," I mention briefly, "Not sure how... But it could be..."
He nods his head before looking at me with the most unfamiliar compassion I have ever witnessed, "I understand," he utters softly.
My eyes widen at the sound of his statement, "Y-You do?"
"I think so," he says, "You're hoping for the best but prepared for the worst. There's nothing wrong with that. In fact, that's the most beautiful kind of cynicism."
I'm baffled that someone actually understands me. Not only that, but he believes that my flaws are beautiful. I never thought that one day I would be accepted for who I am - cynicism and all. I've wanted to hear those words for such a long time. Although it's only validation from a boy with a rickety red bike, it means so much more to me, "I don't know what to say," I admit timidly.
"You don't have to say anything," he assures me gently, "Sometimes it's good just to know that someone is willing to listen."
I smile inwardly and resume my drawing while Casper lays beside me patiently. I squint my eyes and focus on a specific area of my drawing. I draw a jagged line and quickly erase it, wiping away the residue of rubber. The birds continue chirping and the sun gradually climbs over the mountains. It's such a wonderful feeling.
Casper flops over onto his back and stares at the sky. I peek at him through the corner of my eye and notice specks of tiny freckles dancing across his nose. His curly hair is sprawled across the blanket, his loose ringlets spiraling in all directions. While slowly closing his eyes, a wide smile stretches across his face as if he's drifting off into pure bliss.
"You're so fucking happy all the time," I remark, "You're like Winnie The Pooh."
"Yeah," he agrees, "And you're like Eeyore."
"Oh bother," I joke with a playful smirk.
Casper stands up quickly like he has made a spontaneous decision. I glance up at him to figure out what he's about to do. He grabs his heavy wood guitar and holds it in his hand, "Would you like me to play you something?" he asks with a broad grin.
I sit up and cross my legs into my lap, "Sure, why not," I answer while raising my shoulders.
He chuckles softly and strums his acoustic guitar strings. The single note melodies seem to linger in the air as he prepares his instrument. He gazes at me with consideration, "What would you like to hear, fair maiden?"
"Surprise me," I tell him.
He nods and positions the guitar comfortably against his body. He twists the machine heads slightly to change the pitch of the strings. He exhales deeply and rests his hand partially over the soundhole. With the strings under his slender fingers, he glides his hand across the neck of the guitar. His thumb presses down softly and his fingers move in different directions to form chords around the maple wood fretboard.
Casper performs a hypnotic, soothing melody that sounds like the musical representation of a sunset. The music is tender, honest, and almost lonely. Casper plays with such passion like the very essence of his soul is flowing through his fingertips. He plucks the strings gently to create a mellow rhythm. The tunes are smooth and he makes it look effortless.
I sway to the sound of his music and my hair floats in the breeze. Casper bobs his head softly, his curls bouncing and his shoulders moving to the beat of his guitar. I have to catch my breath each time he strums the guitar and my skin is covered in goosebumps. He's talented, that much I know. He plays so beautifully - like he's sharing a piece of himself with me.
Together it feels like there's nothing else in the world but us. Casper glances up from his guitar for a moment and locks eyes with me. His mouth curves into a smile before his gaze returns to his instrument. My heart skips a beat... but in a good way.
The morning sun has finally risen above the mountains, casting a warm glow on everything beneath it and right now, there's nowhere else I'd rather be.
The music gradually fades away as the song comes to an end. Casper carefully rests his guitar on the ground and takes a seat across from me on the blanket. He chuckles nervously, "So..." he begins with caution, "What did you think?"
I shrug, "Not bad," I tell him.
He presses his lips together and forms a weak smile, his eyes glancing away, "I'll take it," he says with a half-hearted chuckle.
I roll my eyes and nudge his shoulder playfully, "It was good," I assure him, "Really good."
"Thanks," he replies, his voice is mellow but he seems flattered, "I learned to play guitar when I was younger. It's always been a pleasant escape for me. It's something I can use to channel my energy, my emotions, and my thoughts. I would say music saved my life, but really I just think it gave me the strength to save myself."
I hold my sketchbook against my chest, "Yeah, I feel the same way about drawing."
"Is it finished?" he asks while eagerly reaching for my sketchbook, "Let me see!"
"Over my dead body," I blurt out and quickly slap his hand. I pause for a moment and think about the possibility, "Well... Maybe one day..."
"I'm gonna hold you to that," he promises.
For some odd reason, it sounds like I can still hear the music. It's like the melody has seeped into my bones. There's something so beautiful and haunting about Casper's guitar playing. It's almost magical. I've never heard anything like it, "When you play guitar it's like you become the music," I comment without hesitation.
He nods in agreement, "Typically, I find myself getting lost in the music."
"Why only typically?" I question.
"Instead, I found myself getting lost in you," he reveals before gazing at me with admiration, "I wasn't just playing guitar... I was playing guitar for you. That makes it all the more special."
My cheeks blush into a rosy pink and I turn away to hide my embarrassment. From my peripheral vision, I notice that Casper is staring at me. His expression makes me believe that rainbows aren't the only rare and beautiful thing on this planet. When I see him I feel butterflies and he smiles because he knows.
"What?" I finally manage to ask.
His emerald green eyes are gleaming from the sunlight that's shining down on his face. After tilting his head to the side, he studies me tenderly, "People write songs about girls like you," he whispers to me.
Suddenly, I think about my dream and how Casper said No matter how nice I am to you, it's never enough to receive even the smallest smile...
I slowly build up the courage to give him the one thing I never thought I would. After taking me on a picnic and playing me the most wonderful song, Casper deserves at least that much. He actually said he understands me. He actually wants to be my friend. Gradually, the corners of my mouth bend upwards into the most subtle and awkward smile the world has ever seen.
Casper laughs with surprise, "Do my eyes deceive me," he asks with an overly dramatic tone in his voice, "Is that a smile?"
"It's supposed to be," I answer once my face returns to a frown, "It's the closest thing to a smile you're ever going to get, Casper Collins..."
"That's fine by me," he says cheerfully.
"But do you actually mean that?" I question with abrupt skepticism, "Someone once told me that I'm defensive..."
"Who would ever say such a thing?" he teases.
"Someone that might know me well," I respond as my eyes cast down to the ground, "Tell me, is it possible for you to enjoy the company of someone that's like Eeyore?"
Casper smiles at me softly, "Weeds are flowers too, once you get to know them."
I blush, "Oh, bother..."
He stands up and begins putting the remains of our food back inside the picnic basket, "I should probably head back home in time for the morning cartoons. My family and I watch them every Sunday when it comes on television," he stops for a moment to look at me, "Can I have some paper from your sketchbook?"
I tear out one of the pages and hand it to him. Casper takes my pencil and jots something down. With a wide grin plastered onto his face, he returns the paper, "That's my phone number," he clarifies, "Just in case a miracle happens and you want to call me."
I snort through my nose, "If your phone doesn't ring... It's me."
He chuckles, "I figured you'd say as much."
I continue to help Casper pack up the food and fold the picnic blanket. It suddenly hits me that my perfect illusion is crumbling apart once again. We slowly amble away from the meadow and back towards our bicycles. Once all his belongings are strapped on his cargo rack, Casper mounts his bike and pauses. He stares at me for nearly a minute like he's thinking about something profound.
Casper smiles in the way that gives me butterflies, "I can make you happy if you just give me the chance," he says candidly.
I look at him and nod silently. My mind says: who cares? But then my heart says: You do, stupid...
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AUTHOR'S NOTE
Hello, my wonderful, marvelous, and beautiful readers!
By the chance that nobody told you today, I'll be the first to tell you that you are amazing and I appreciate you so much! If you're feeling down and blue, I want you to know that you have still made someone very happy. That person is me! It makes me smile when you read my chapters and I have the opportunity to engage with you.
I can't thank you enough for your support, nor will I ever stop expressing my gratitude. I will continue to write these messages in my author's notes until my fingers break, haha :D
On another note, what are your thoughts regarding this chapter?
Which part was your favorite?
Let me know in the comments! I look forward to reading them!
Yours,
Paris
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《 Published October 22nd, 2018 》
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