"What the hell is this?"
I turn around to see Harry holding up a medium sized canvas with a painting I did about two years ago. There is a large tree filled with kittens on the branches. The lower part of the tree is on fire and the kittens have no way down. There is a fireman at the bottom with a ladder, prepared to save the kittens. Only in the world of this painting the fireman has a wooden latter that has also caught on fire. So the kittens are screwed.
I can't help but laugh at Harry's face as he asks me the question. He looks absolutely horrified. Not that I can blame him considering his obvious love for cats. It is a pretty depressing picture and honestly I can't even remember why I made it. I only remember feeling extremely sad at the moment and I guess I had to take it out on kittens to feel better.
"Umm," I try to think of a way to explain it someone who talked about cats for an hour straight when we were drunk a few days ago. But between my fits of laughter and Harry looking at me like he's about to cry, I find it impossible. "It's art, Harry."
He doesn't seem to agree with me as he continues to grip the painting and shake it around a little, "This is not art, Ellison," he tries to look genuinely upset and I can't keep a straight face as he gets so worked about a painting of kittens. "I mean it's beautifully painted, but Elle, this is concerning."
I'll admit it's a slightly disturbing picture. Harry's right though, it is beautiful.
"What?" I glare back at him. "Are you trying to say I should start going to therapy? Maybe we can go together since you're such an expert in that realm."
Shit. Did I just say that? There isn't anything wrong with going to therapy. I mean my parents forced me to go for months and the only thing that was embarrassing about it was how terrible my therapist was. Harry goes or went, or whatever, for a much different reason than I did. His reason seems a lot more legitimate. And while what I just said was supposed to be a joke more than anything I worry that it's going to hit him somewhere harder than I anticipated. Fuck, I probably shouldn't ever speak.
I'm expecting Harry to yell, go completely silent or at least walk out of the room. He doesn't. Instead he does something I wasn't anticipating in the slightest. He laughs. Not a nervous uncomfortable one. Not a soft giggle. It's a loud, head thrown back, belly laugh.
"Wouldn't that be fun," he manages to say through his loud laughter. I'm surprised he hasn't fallen over yet. "I think it'd be quite the bonding experience. Maybe then I would finally understand you and your kitten killing mind."
The thing is Harry already understands me and my kitten killing mind better than anyone else I know. He doesn't need a thousand dollar shrink and an hour a week of bullshit talking for that.
I watch him set down the painting back in its place on the wall in the corner of the studio above the garage where we've been for the last hour. He came over this morning and ate almost a whole box of cereal, even though it was the gross health stuff my mom is still set on. Then we sat in the kitchen for about twenty minutes trying to decide what to do. I didn't feel like venturing outside with it being even hotter than normal and I was feeling kind of lazy because my body has been having a difficult time trying to recover from a few nights ago. So I decided to show him the studio, plus I wanted to work on my welcome to hell sign.
Harry has been walking around the room for the last ten minutes and besides questioning my cat picture he's gawked at everything else. It's nice to feel like someone actually enjoys what I make since half of it I refuse to show. He was even so caught up in looking at this watercolor that he knocked over a huge shelf of paint brushes. After yelling at him about it and him saying sorry about a thousand times we put everything back and he even organized the brushes which is something I hadn't bothered to do in months. Luckily nothing else was knocked over in the process.
It's been a good morning though. I've been working on my sign with Tom Petty blasting in the room while Harry walks carefully throughout the rest of the room, paranoid that he's going to knock something else over.
It's strange having someone else in this room with me. Besides my dad occasionally stopping by and every once in a while letting Ethan use some of my older brushes to paint on computer paper, I'm almost always here alone. It isn't bad though. Harry's mostly quiet except for his occasional commentary about something he comes across or pointing out that I just got a huge glob of paint into my hair. It feels weird that I'm getting used to Harry's presence in my life. Although it shouldn't be unexpected considering that we spend almost every day together.
I don't know how this happened. I went from trying to avoid people as much as possible to spending almost every moment with some curly haired British boy. And even though he's annoying, knows way too much about me, knocks things over, and can't appreciate my kittens in a burning tree picture I kind of enjoy having him around.
This room is large. It was originally meant to be one of those 'mother in law' apartments in the first place. This room is messy. Not only are there paintings covering almost every inch of wall space and half of the ground as well but there are splatters of almost every color imaginable on the worn down wood floors. Broken pieces of scraps I've found around town along with a weird statue of a dog that was thrown in a dumpster outside city hall are just a few of the strange things I keep in this place. This is room is loud. The speakers are blasting music loud enough to slightly shake the room but its real purpose is to block out any noise from the outside world, possibly even my mind.
This room is like the insides of my brain. Large with possibilities, messy with conflicting ideas and loud with thoughts. This is the closest someone could get to understanding what goes on in my head and I'm letting Harry in without much concern.
I try not to think much more into it as I refocus my attention on the sign in front of me. I'm crouched on my knees with paint spread out across next to me as I dip the brush into a dark shade of red. I have to work this evening but I have at least a few good hours to paint away. So as long as Harry doesn't knock anything else over I might be able to finish the outline on the words.
I notice that he sits down on the ground next to me but I don't bother to look over, already too consumed by the paint spreading across the wood of the sign. We do this for I don't know how long. I paint and Harry sits there watching. I'm not sure how he doesn't get bored of it. I barely acknowledge that he's there but I know he is. I can feel him watching and it's strangely nice.
"How are you not bored?" I ask quietly when there is a break in the music. I don't take my eyes off the work in front of me but I know Harry's heard me.
"I already told you, Ellison, I like watching you paint," he breathes out and I can hear him shifting around where he sits next to me. "Besides if you are right and this friendship is temporary I'll take any moment you aren't trying to force me away."
...
I think everyone has gotten used to Harry constantly being at Annie's. He's even beat the old man George, who shows up most of the days of the week in the morning to drink coffee, on often he's here. Even Humphrey has warmed up to Harry and he doesn't seem to care nearly as much when I give him free food.
I honestly don't understand why Harry would want to sit around for hours while I work because I don't even like to be here that much and I get paid for it. I don't mind it though because he always has some story about a person he talked to while eating or something about a family and the arguments they have while waiting for their food. Plus, when it is slow it gives me someone to talk to since Gerdy is always occupied with Homer.
"Why don't you ever hang out with Matt?" I ask him as I push the wet wash cloth across the counter in between us. If I'm going to stand around talking to him I try to at least attempt to make it look like I'm working. "I'm sure it would be more entertaining than hanging out here every time I have to work."
"I do hang out with Matt," he says as he watches some man shove a huge sausage into his mouth a few chairs down from us. It's kind of disgusting to watch but it's like a car crash and it's hard to look away. "But he's been with Monica a lot lately and I don't really like to be around for that. They have a hard time remembering that I'm in the room," he can't stop staring at the guy with the sausage. I don't even think the man has actually taken a bite of the thing. He seems to be sucking on it more than anything. "Do you see that guy down there?" Harry whispers to me and he points coyly with this thumb at the man.
"Yes, Harry," I whisper back, "I see that man making love to the sausage. I think he's trying to say something. Haven't you seen him look at you every once in a while?"
"He has not," Harry's eyes go wide. He doesn't believe me that the guy's eyes move over to Harry's every few seconds. I'm surprised Harry hasn't noticed himself.
"Oh yeah," I nod, smiling a little. "He definitely has."
We continue to stare at the guy going to town on the sausage. This is wrong, so wrong. Just then he looks back over at us. He keeps his eyes on Harry for a moment longer still sucking on the thing and then shoots him a wink. That's all it takes for me to start cracking up. Harry looks back over at me with his mouth open and terrified eyes before he starts laughing loudly too.
"He so wants you," I try to say it as quietly as possible but it's difficult between the laughs. I'm sure the man's caught onto our amusement with the situation already anyways.
Harry doesn't look back over at the man for the rest of the night but he still ends up getting a crinkled piece of paper with a number scribbled on it with a winking face with the words call me underneath. I force him to keep it just in case he ever needs it even though he repeats to me about fifty times "Elle, I'm never going to need to call that guy. Ever." In which I respond, "Harry, you might get sick of your hand someday and he definitely looks proficient in blow jobs, you never know," this results in Harry flipping me off for about five minutes and me laughing for the entire time he holds up the obscene hand gesture.
Harry sticks around while I close the diner. Humphrey is somewhere in the back and even though I'm sure he doesn't really want Harry in here after hours, I don't give a fuck. The only thing keeping me motivated right now is Harry trying to analyze what just happened to him with the sausage eating man.
"How have things been with your mum?" he asks as I push the chairs into the tables.
We haven't talked much about that besides the night that I finally started speaking to him again. I think Harry didn't know if he should bring it up and I've been trying to push most of it out of my head. Things with my mom have been shit. Possibly the worst they have ever been. I don't have any want to make them better though yet and she sure hasn't made an effort. I haven't even seen her since that night, let alone heard anything close to an apology for insulting me or Harry.
"We aren't speaking," I shrug. "But that isn't that new or surprising. I haven't seen her since then and I don't think I really want to."
"She hasn't said anything about it?" he seems shocked. I guess he's used to his mother who probably actually gives a shit about him. It doesn't surprise me though, even if my mom did give a shit she has an absolutely terrible way of expressing it.
"No."
"I'm sorry, Elle," he shakes his head, thinking about it. He's not the one who should be sorry.
I keep walking around the almost empty diner, trying to finish the rest of the closing responsibilities that way I can get out of here and attempt not to think too much about it. Maybe it isn't meant to be with my mom and me. Maybe it will be just like how it is with my grandma and her. I understand most of my actions in the past have done nothing to improve our relationship but it also shouldn't be that hard to get my mom's attention.
"Oh and thanks," I try to speak loudly enough so Harry can hear over the screeching noise of the chair getting pushed on the linoleum floor. "I never said thank you for you standing up for me to my mom and being there that night." I never said it because I was too busy trying to get Harry to stop caring about me.
Harry looks about as surprised as I feel that I just said this. I try to think of the last time I thanked someone and meant it in a genuine, non-sarcastic way and I can't remember a single thing. I mean it though. I'm not entirely sure what I would have done without him there.
"Of course, Elle," he smiles at me after staring shocked for a few minutes. "You don't have to thank me though. It's what friends do."
"Yeah," I smile back at him. I guess he's right but I'm still trying to get used to the whole thing. He looks so incredibly happy that I just thanked him that it's possibly the biggest smile I've ever seen on his face. "Don't get used to this nice thank you side of me," I point over at him, trying to change my voice to sound more demanding.
"I wouldn't dream of it," he smiles again before helping me finish cleaning the tables.
The ride to Matt's house goes by quickly between Harry changing the radio station about every thirty seconds from whatever song was playing and him talking excitedly about a recent conversation he had with his sister. It's not that late in the night but I have to open tomorrow morning so I decided to bring Harry home before I get any ideas of things that could possibly keep us up most of the night and most likely get us into trouble, since I'm pretty good at that.
When I pull into the driveway he's still going on about how his sister made fun of him for half of their conversation because he couldn't remember what an ostrich was and he thought she was making it up. He quickly realized that yes, ostriches are not mythical creatures but I guess his sister didn't let him get off easily for his forgetfulness of the bird and made fun of him until they got off the phone.
"How could you not remember what an ostrich was?" I look over at him confused as I put the car in park. "They are pretty much the coolest birds out there."
"You sound like Gemma," he shakes his head still obviously embarrassed that he couldn't remember. I have no clue why they were talking about ostriches in the first place but it's sounds like a semi-interesting conversation.
He doesn't get out of the car, which I'm waiting for so I can go home and this slightly annoys me. He stays right where he is sitting still buckled up in his seat, staring at me from across the center console. Suddenly this car seems even smaller than normal and even with the air conditioning blasting I feel like my body is about to explode from heat.
"Well are you going to just sit there?" I move my eyes away from his. "Because I'd really like to get home and if you don't get out in about three seconds you'll be sleeping in my car tonight."
He smiles at my rude comment which comes as no surprise. "You are just so charming, Elle."
"I know," I can't help but smile a little. "Now get out!"
He laughs again, taking every word I say as a joke. For the most part this is true but I still want to get home. I guess if he did end up staying in my car, it isn't that far of a walk back to Matt's.
"Easy Elle," he pushes the air below with his hands like it will somehow calm down my mostly make believe irritable attitude to why he is still sitting here. His hand reaches to the buckle and he releases his seat belt before continuing. "Hey, do you think we could do something tomorrow night?"
"Like what?" Harry and I rarely make actual plans but we still end up spending most days together.
"Something I want to do."
"Are you saying that we only do things I want to do?"
"No!" he's quick to respond. I'm sure it's somewhat true. I do tend to kind of call the shots on things. "It's just you always have these great ideas and I guess I thought of something that might be fun. I felt like I could contribute to our spending time doing stupid things together."
I am intrigued so I find myself nodding to his suggestion. I would be lying if I said I wasn't curious of what Harry's potential plan is.
"Yeah, sure," I shrug. "You can stop by after I get off work."
"Okay," he smiles again and reaches for the handle to the car door. "I'll be there. Goodnight, Ellison."
"Goodnight."
Then he does something unexpected and he leans over the center console of the car and kisses my cheek. It's so quick that I almost think I'm imagining it. I don't have time to say anything because by the time I process it Harry is already halfway to Matt's front door.