───
I will always love you how I do,
let go of a prayer for you
───
Aurora, 11 years old
"Between my hands, class, lies a list of what the National Geographic contends to be man's five greatest innovations."
Aurora watches nervously from her seat as Mr. Conners roams the classroom in what seems to be an aimless manner, but what they know really to be him staking out his next claim.
"Five," he repeats, more softly this time. "Over the vast expanse of human existence... Any idea what they might be?"
The class remains silent, save for the rain pouring heavily against the second-story window. He raises his brows excitedly, as if trying to incite the same energy into the rest of them. "Mr. Depalma?"
Anthony Depalma's face pales visibly. He pulls at the collar of his uniform before turning to face Mr. Conners at the back of the class.
"One of mankind's greatest inventions, please," he repeats.
Anthony swallows nervously before stuttering out, "The... airplane?"
"Try again."
"The radio?"
"Wrong. Mr. Cravero?"
Joshua Cravero turns over his shoulder to face him, a breath of relief as the other sixteen students thank whatever God they believe in. He glances down at the wood-paneled floor, his mind working quickly behind his eyes.
"Vaccination?" Joshua offers, eyes wide with hope.
"Courtesy of Dr. Edward Jenner, 1796." Mr. Conners nods affirmatively, not bothering to look at the list in his hands. "A noble pursuit. But can anyone tell me what the purpose was, of the first vaccine? Miss Johansen?"
Lydia's eyes light up with the enjoyment which comes only from knowing an answer in Mr. Conners class with eighty-five percent certainty. One could never be more sure than that.
"To prevent disease."
"And how would it do that?"
"By creating immunity."
"For who?"
"Everyone."
"Wrong." Mr. Conners' voice resonates loudly through the classroom, as he offers a somewhat empathetic smile. "But thanks for playing, anyway. Who did vaccines create immunity for?"
Silence as the class glances nervously amongst each other.
Aurora tucks her shaking hands further into the fabric of her uniform sweater. Slowly, as to not attract attention. Her other classes at Concord Prep, the ones with the kids her age, they never made her so nervous like this.
She sees from the corner of her peripheral, Caspar shift uncomfortably beside her. She turns to face him, along with the rest of the class when Mr. Conners asks,
"Who did vaccines create immunity for, Mr. West?"
A pause. He fiddles absently with the ear piercing he is definitely not supposed to have until a tiny smirk teases his lips.
"The rich assholes who could afford them," he deadpans, and the class resonates with contained laughter.
"Precisely," Mr. Conners responds, and the class quietens.
He continues, "as a matter of fact, scholars, each and everyone of mankind's greatest inventions was only ever used by a mere fraction of the population." At this, he crumples the list in his hands into a ball, before tossing it in the metal waste bin beside his desk. He turns to the class. "All except one. Does anyone know which that might be?"
Aurora smiles, lifting her hand hesitantly from where she sits in the back of the room. Mr. Conners' eyes light up almost undetectably.
"Miss Davis?"
"Art."
"And who was art made for?
Her eyes light up excitedly because for once she knows this one.
"For the people, by the people."
"That is exactly correct."
Caspar reaches out from beside her to dap her up.
"In the words of Maya Angelou, great art belongs to all people, all the time." He nods, leaning against his desk with both hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks. "And with that, class, we have time for a few friends to present us with some works of great art . Any volunteers?"
Lydia's hand shoots up like a rocket.
"Miss Johansen."
She nods, sliding out of her seat and grabbing her portfolio folder before pacing to the front of the class. While she reaches up to clip her painting up onto the chalkboard, Mr. Conners speaks to the rest of them.
"If you haven't finished your portrait yet, I won't be collecting them, but I highly suggest you finish them before the college board's portfolio deadline in March if you still want AP credit." He turns to face Aurora. "Except for Miss Davis. You don't have to worry about that quite yet."
She nods, returning his smile with a small one of her own. She was the baby of the class, having been moved up to the high school art program during the second month of school. Her previous beginning drawing teacher, Mrs. Rhodes, had accused her of stealing an older student's artwork after she turned in a watercolor landscape of Boston. When Aurora insisted she had painted it herself, Mrs. Rhodes took it to the dean, which led to Aurora having to repaint the landscape again with her teacher, her residence advisor, and the principal all in the room watching her. She hadn't spoken to Mrs. Rhodes since then.
Mr. Conners turns to face Lydia.
"Are you ready?"
She nods, tying her blonde hair back into a low ponytail.
"Could you remind the class of your prompt?"
She turns to face them. "The participants this week had to paint a self-portrait, highlighting their biggest insecurity."
He nods. "Go on, then."
She turns to face the class, her hands folded in front of her. "For my self-portrait, I decided to do a mixed-media painting using ink and watercolor," she begins, turning to face the painting. "I used watercolor for everything from the shoulders up," she gestures toward the painting, before pointing up to the focal point. "Then I used different colors of ink to draw in the freckles, since they're my biggest insecurity. I figured that the ink would make them more vibrant."
Mr. Conners scans the portrait thoughtfully before nodding his head, turning toward the class.
"How do we feel?"
The class is silent save for the creaking of desks and the rain against the window.
"A noble effort, Miss Johansen, you may be seated."
Lydia rolls her eyes, grabbing her portrait from the chalkboard and stalking back to her seat.
"Mr. West, can I put you out of your misery?"
A smirk teases the edge of Caspar's lips as he slides his seat out from behind him, the metal legs of the chair scraping obnoxiously against the floor. He grabs his portrait from his desk with one hand, waltzing up to the front of the class. He reaches up to clip it atop the chalkboard, a chorus of restrained laughter buzzing throughout the class at Caspar's still-drying self-portrait.
"My name is Caspar Elias West. I chose number two pencil, and acrylic paint, for my medium." He points the giant yardstick he stole from Mr. Conners' desk toward his painting. "My biggest insecurity is my artistic talent, and that's why it looks like shit."
More laughter echoes throughout the classroom. Mr. Conners nods, folding his hands in front of him and leaning against his desk.
"How do we feel, class?"
The laughter continues for another minute before finally dying down. Mr. Conners shakes his head, pointing toward Caspar's desk.
"You may be seated Mr. West." Caspar grabs his portrait from the chalkboard before sauntering back to his seat, pulling his chair out from beneath his desk and leaning back into it. He offers a wink at Aurora who giggles in response.
Mr. Conners glances at the clock before focusing his attention back on the class.
"We have time for one more presentation before the bell." His eyes fall on Aurora, who sinks slightly lower in her seat. "Miss Davis, would you like to show us your work?"
A pause. She bites down on the inside of her cheek before nodding hesitantly.
Her metal chair slides against the floor as she pushes it back to stand. And Caspar stands with her, grabbing her portfolio from her desk and accompanying her to the front of the class. She stands back while Caspar reaches up, using the metal pins to clip her portrait up against the chalkboard, but leaving up the thin sheet of brown paper which covers it. He turns, rubbing the back of her head affectionately before walking back to his seat.
Aurora buries her shaking hands further into the sleeves of her uniform sweater. She turns to face Mr. Conners, who looks at her expectantly as she gestures for him to come over. He does, stepping forward from where he leans against the desk before she gestures him closer still, bracing her sweater-clad hands against her mouth. He leans down in front of her, and she stands up on her toes to whisper in his ear.
"I think I might have misunderstood the prompt," she whispers, before standing back down, looking at him nervously. He thinks for a moment before gesturing for her to come closer so he can whisper in her ear.
"Why don't you go on and present anyway," he backs away enough to offer her a wink. "You can't possibly do worse than Caspar."
She smiles softly, turning toward Caspar, then back to him before nodding affirmatively. He offers her a thumbs up before posting up back at his desk.
"Go on, then," he gestures toward the covered portrait.
Aurora nods, reaching up for the brown paper which covers her painting before gently pulling it off to reveal her work. The air stills, followed by a collective intake of breath. She steps back, turning around hesitantly to see Caspar's jaw practically on the floor, before conversation erupts throughout the class.
Eventually, Mr. Conners clears his throat, waving down the class. "If you wouldn't mind, class, I'm sure Aurora would appreciate the same courtesy she gave Caspar's stick drawing." There is a bit of laughter at Caspar's expense before the class falls silent once again, and he nods toward Aurora for her to continue. She turns to face the class.
"I'm Aurora Davis, and I chose gouache as my medium," she turns toward Mr. Conners, who nods encouragingly.
Aurora tilts her head up almost ninety degrees to stare at her work. It's a stunningly executed, but overall pretty typical self portrait, until it reaches the neck. From her shoulders down, her body gradually disappears into the busy city background, until her mid section is almost entirely transparent.
"I'm not very good at lying, or keeping secrets," she explains, her fingers pointing to the section of her neck where the color starts to disappear. She turns to face the class. "One time, me and my friend Christian, we were playing catch inside the house and broke a window. When we tried to lie to his foster mom about it, she said 'I can see right through you, Aurora Davis.' And that's what inspired my portrait."
The class is dead silent as they wait for Mr. Conners, who opens his mouth, before closing it again, staring thoughtfully at the portrait. After a minute or so, he finally speaks.
"Do we feel something, class?"
"Yes," the word resonates unanimously amongst the class. Mr. Conners nods.
"Would you argue, Miss Davis, that personal insecurities manifest more deeply than physical ones?"
She buries her hands further into her sweater, glancing nervously toward Caspar who nods reassuringly, before turning to face him.
"I'm not sure what manifest means," she says quietly, shifting between her feet.
His tone remains hard, but his eyes soften a fraction. "To become a part of you."
She nods in understanding, staring at the table across from her as she focuses on the question.
"So, do I think that people feel more insecure about their personal flaws than they do about their physical ones?"
He is smiling now. Teeth and everything.
"Precisely."
She nods. "Yes. I think so."
"Why?"
"Because when we die, people remember us for who we are, not what we looked like."
Mr. Conners' eyes remain fixed on Aurora, long enough to make her shift her feet nervously and lower her eyes to the floor. Finally, his shifts his focus back to her painting.
"Aurora, I think you understood the prompt better than anyone else here today."
⋯ ⋯ ⋯
It's only four seconds after the bell, and already the Arts and Humanities wing of Concord Prep is flooded with students. Caspar slows his pace, enough for Aurora to keep up with him as they make their way toward east campus.
It was a fifteen minute walk at least, since all the primary classes and housing were at east campus, and the secondary classes in Aldridge Hall at main campus. And it used to be Aurora's least favorite part of the day, the walk from the high school building all the way back to her campus house. But having Caspar around always made it fun.
The brown-haired boy in question tucks his hands casually into the pockets of his slacks, glancing down at Aurora beside him, nudging her shoulder with his forearm. She tilts her head almost ninety degrees to face him, a smile poking at the edges of her lips.
"What?" she asks, gripping tighter the portfolio folder beneath her arm.
He shakes his head, his green eyes twinkling in that mischievous way they tend to.
"Does your brother know?"
Aurora tilts her head in confusion. "My brother?"
"Dominic."
She shakes her head. "Dom isn't my brother."
He nods, holding open the door which leads to an old spiral staircase, which leads to the ground. It's one of several "short-cuts" Caspar introduced to Aurora since joining her walk, one of several which turn the fifteen minute walk into a twenty-five minute one. Not that either of them minded at all.
"Does Dom know, then?"
"Know what?"
"That you're a child prodigy."
She glances up over her shoulder at him from where he walks down the stairs behind her, her voice echoing upwards through the steep, circular stairway when she says.
"I don't know what prodigy means, Cas."
"Exceptionally gifted."
She turns back, hopping down the last couple steps and pushing the large, wooden door open with her shoulder and stepping out into the rain. Caspar's hands are on her shoulders the next moment, pulling her back into the small entryway, draping his uniform jacket over her shoulders and opening his umbrella for them to share before walking out onto the wooded area, where Aurora likes to dip her hand in the water of the Walden River just to watch it turn red and then blue from the cold.
She lifts her shoulders in a shrug, stomping through the puddles which gather around the roots of the trees, and like always, Caspar never tells her to stop.
"I'm not a prodigy," she says over the rainfall, taking turns with him hopping from puddle to puddle. She holds her arms out straight, jumping off from one tree root to another, but not without her foot catching on one of them, her head scraping against one of the lower hanging branches before Caspar reaches out with the arm that doesn't hold the umbrella, catching her with an arm around her stomach and lifting her back up to her feet. She turns over her shoulder, smiling sheepishly before jumping into the next puddle.
He shakes his head.
"Your portrait today?" he speaks over the rain, trailing closely behind her. "Little girls don't paint like that, princess. Not even the talented ones."
Aurora shrugs her shoulders once again, east campus just barely coming into view as the trees clear out slightly. The primary section of the school is smaller than the high school, composed only of two historic brick houses and the three story residence hall. Beneath the darkness of the rainy sky, the lights from inside the dorm rooms shine like gold where they reflect against the wet grass.
"I'm not a princess, and I don't want to be a painter," she says, hopping over one last puddle and onto the lawn outside the quad. She turns to face him. "I want to be an astronaut."
An amused smile teases the edge of his lips. She thinks that if Caspar were like Dominic in any sense, which he isn't, it would be in the way they smile. Or rather, the way they hardly smile genuinely. Ever. She makes up for this lack of smile with a happy one of her own, her dark hair soaking nearly all the way through from the rain. She used to hate the brown-black color of her hair, until Dominic told her how it remind him of ocean water at night, they way it falls in waves against her back. Now she likes the way it turns black in the rain.
"You don't think I'm serious," she says playfully, facing him as she walks backward toward her dorm building. "But I could go to space if I wanted."
Caspar's eyes light up suddenly, in a way that has her tilting her head in confusion before a set of arms is circling her waist from behind, sweeping her up into the air and spinning her around one, two, three times and she is laughing because this set of arms doesn't wear a school uniform, and only one set of arms that she knows has tattoos creeping down to his wrists to his hands, the number 14 etched clearly onto his index finger.
When he is done spinning her, he is turning her around in his arms to face him, his dark eyes lighting up almost undetectably from the excitement in hers as he braces her against him underneath her knees.
"Hi baby."
"Hi Dom."
"Carter!" Caspar calls out from behind her, eyes twinkling mischievously and Dominic glances over her shoulder to face him. "What do you think of princess Aurora wanting to be an astronaut?"
Dominic sets Aurora gently to the ground. He sweeps the hair absently from her eyes, flattening it down against her head and tucking the loose strands behind her ears.
"I think that Aurora can be whatever she wants to be."
A thoughtful look flashes across Caspar's eyes, and he shakes his head, smiling as he waves goodbye to the two of them, starting back toward the dining commons at Aldrich Hall. And Dominic is lifting her back into his arms, something he used to do always, but now only did sometimes. She watches from over his shoulder as Caspar's figure disappears gradually into his "short-cut" in the wooded area behind the school, before resting her cheek against his shoulder. She likes to feel the way it tenses and untenses with each step he takes.
"What are you doing here?" she asks him. It's a Wednesday, and Concord was a thirty-five minute drive from Cambridge, where he worked. And she can tell he came from work because he smells like tires and smoke and coffee.
"I missed you," he says, rubbing down the hair at the back of her head before pulling his hand away and looking down at his palm. She feels his entire body tense up beneath her, and his pace quickens then, and once he reaches the campus house he is setting her down in the tiled entryway. He turns her to face the wall, grabbing firmly the sides of her head to examine the back of it in the light.
He pulls the strands away, his fingers running gently along the length of a cut there.
"You're bleeding," he says to himself more than to her. She reaches her hand back to touch the cut at the back of her head, which only now has started to sting painfully, only for him to clench her wrist gently but firmly in his other hand. He sets it wordlessly back to her side.
"I fell and scraped my head earlier," she explains, still facing away from him as he pulls gently at her hair. "It was when I was walking back here with Caspar."
"Why weren't you being more careful?" his voice is soft but his tone is hard.
She shakes her head.
"It was an accident."
The next moment, Miss Nora is rounding the corner with five children's raincoats braced between her arms. The twenty-something year old smiles warmly at the two of them.
"Aurora, I didn't know your brother was visiting," her brows knit together in concern at the state of Aurora's head. "Oh dear, did we take a tumble in the rain?"
A tense silence as Aurora focuses her gaze on the polished floor, her face turning a deep red.
"Afraid so," Dominic answers for her, nodding politely at Aurora's residence director.
The young woman nods, glancing around thoughtfully. "Give me one second to set these down in the coat closet, and I can see if we can track down Nurse Stacey-"
"There's no need," he cuts in politely, shaking his head. "I got her."
Her eyes widen with uncertainty. "Oh, I'm really not supposed to allow you upstairs with her past visitor hours-"
"But I'm sure you can make an exception this once," Dominic cuts in softly, flashing her a smile that Aurora hardly ever sees on his face, the kind that closes trade deals. "I'll just get her patched up quick and be on my way."
The residence director's face is flushed as she considers this.
"A-Are you sure?"
He nods assuringly, his hand falling to the small of Aurora's back to prompt her toward the stairs. "If you can direct me to a first-aid kit, it won't take longer than a few minutes. I do it all the time."
Miss Nora relents then, her eyes beaming in a way that makes Aurora want to gag. "Well, if you're sure," she smiles. "If you turn toward the left at the second floor entryway, there should be one hanging on the wall to your right, next to the achievement board. Let me know if you need any help."
He nods, guiding Aurora up the stairs and offering a tight-lipped smile over his shoulder.
"Thank you, Nora."
... ... ...
Dominic, 18 years old
She sits between his knees on the floor of her bedroom, her legs curled up underneath herself as he washes the dried blood from her hair with a towel soaked in warm water, wringing it out between strands and soaking it again. Each time, she tries to turn to see how much blood soaks the towel, but he turns her head to face the door again.
"Don't look," he says for what seems like the eight hundredth time. This part doesn't hurt. It's just boring.
He works with surgical precision while she picks absently at the seem of his pants, from where his legs are propped up at the knees on each side of her, caging her in to the torture that is cleaning a cut. All too soon he is setting down the warm towel and now she knows exactly what comes next.
She leans away from his hands, pressing her face into his knee.
"I don't want to, Dom."
He says nothing, only holding her head between his hands and pulling her back to center once again. His frustration never grows or lessens, his grip remaining firm but gentle.
His fingers work expertly, applying pressure to the portion of the cut which lines the bottom of Aurora's little head in order to clean the outside. His heart constricts painfully every time she flinches in pain but he doesn't stop.
He soaks another cotton ball with disinfectant, dabbing it gently against the center of the cut where most of the bleeding occurred. Her breath catches in her throat and she grips his leg tightly between her hand, shaking her head frantically.
"Shh, you're almost done," his voice is hardly above a whisper, his strong hands holding her head in place.
He dabs another cotton ball over the last portion of the cut, before tossing it and shutting the first aid kit, placing it on the floor by his desk. She lets out the breath she'd been holding, sinking back into his chest.
Aurora covers only the span on his chest and abdomen when she sits like this. She is way too little, especially for her age, but this is only made more apparent when she leans against him. He watches from above her as her eyes flutter tiredly, the rhythmic pulsing of his heart lulling her gently. He smooths down her hair, tucking the loose strands away from her face before running the same hand soothingly up and down her little back.
It is a wonderful feeling: holding such a small, yet powerful thing.
Could he forget the burdens of his life and just hold her forever? Would she always depend so fully on him, trust in him, believe in him? He would do anything, he thinks, as she leans her delicate frame against him entirely, anything to make it happen.
"I know why you're actually here," the melody of Aurora's words meets Dominic's ears before the meaning does. His brows knit together in confusion as he leans down to meet her eyes, only for her not to lift her head at all.
"You're here to tell me that you're leaving."
His heart constricts painfully in his chest, but he remains quiet. He presses her tighter against him, glad just now that she can't see his face. The NYU early admission letter sits between the books inside his backpack like a sellout.
She shuts her eyes tightly, knowing that Dominic heard her and chose not to respond. She continues anyway, torn between pushing against his chest until he lets go or gripping him tighter and never letting him leave. Instead she does nothing, just laying slack in his arms as he holds her tightly against him.
"Miss Amy told me about the scholarship."
He shakes his head, pressing his lips firmly against the top of her precious head before sinking back against her desk where they sit on the ground. He grips her impossibly tighter to him, like she might disappear between his arms.
"You hate school," she says, more quietly to herself.
Dominic nods from above her.
"This is how we get ahead, Aurora."
"Ahead of what?"
He is silent then.
She shakes her head, pressing her face further into Dominic's sweater in hopes that it'll keep the tears from falling. "I know you'll forget about me. And Caspar and Miss Amy. I know I won't see you anymore."
He pulls her suddenly to sit in front of him, leaning his head so she has nowhere to look but directly at him.
"I never want to hear you talking that way," he says, his tone hard again. "Never again. Understand?"
A single tear makes its way down her cheek, but she doesn't bother wiping it away.
"Answer me."
"Yes, Dominic."
His large hands come up to cup the sides of her face, his thumb wiping away all trace of any tears. "I'll come back. And I won't ever forget about you."
She shakes her head from his hold, backing away.
"You'll become just like my father."
His eyes flash with something that looks like hurt before hardening again. "I won't."
"Pour your entire life into money and greatness, and you will."
A pause. He grips her jaw gently in his hand and turns her gaze on him.
"Don't talk like that. It isn't true."
She shuts her eyes.
He sighs, lifting her in his arms and walking over to her bed by the window. He sets her down gently on the mattress, grabbing her small hands in his and kneeling down in between her legs.
"I'll call you. Everyday. And you'll have Miss Amy, and Junie... and Caspar. It'll be just like you being at school, you'll hardly notice I'm gone."
She shakes her head. His voice softens, his grip on her fists tightening. "Everyone is telling me it's the right thing, Aurora. My counselors, my teachers, Miss Amy... We have to trust them, you and me, okay?"
She cuts him off, pulling her hands from his and wiping at her watering eyes. When he reaches for her, she tucks her legs underneath her and shifts away from him. She shuts her eyes, turning her head towards the ceiling and taking a deep breath.
A heavy silence settles between them and when she turns to look back at him, her chocolate eyes and lashes are brimming with unshed tears.
"You won't be the same when you come back."
He shakes his head.
"Maybe not. But I'll still love you."
"You won't even know me anymore."
"Aurora, baby, please-"
"Is it right," she says, wiping at her eyes, "to do something only because everyone else is telling you to?"
He swallows the doubt that burns in the back of his throat. Aurora is only a child; she doesn't understand.
"It is right to do what I know is best for you, Aurora."
She untangles her legs and lies back, curling herself up in his blanket, letting the scent and warmth envelop her. She turns her back to him and faces the window.
"You staying here is best for me," she whispers under her breath, but Dominic hears.
He stays on the ground, pressing his warm hand against her shoulder. She flinches away.
"Aurora-" his voice is so quiet, almost helpless, in a way she has never, ever, heard him sound before.
"I want to be alone right now, Dom."
He shakes his head. "I won't leave with you upset like this-"
"I'm asking you to leave, Dominic."
A tense silence fills the dark room from one wall to the other. Dominic stands, walking quietly to the second floor hallway before stopping in the doorway, turning over his shoulder.
"I promised you I'd get us out of here, Aurora," he says, his voice resonating softly in the otherwise quiet room. "And I love you too much to stay here and be no one for you."
She doesn't answer, the cut at the back of her head pulsing softly as her tears soak the comforter beneath her.
"I love you," he says, no longer hoping for a response. "I'll be at the station on Friday to pick you up."
He stares back at her, the gentle rise and fall of her back as she breathes lightly. He waits for an answer that never comes, before turning back around and shutting the door softly behind him.
She turns her head to face the closed door.
"I love you too, Dom."
Four months later, he's on a train to New York.
───
5.16.18
5230 words*
godspeed- frank ocean
until next time xx