chapter ten,
oh , isn't he lovely.
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[unedited] 10.
it had been two days. two days in which i had done absolutely nothing but mourn my future and listen to my mom mumble about my hand (which had healed to a certain extent.) today, i was planning to mourn some more, but an unexpected picture popped up.
my flower drawing. i found it in my closet, under my laundry basket, all crumpled up. it hurt me to look at.
i picked it up, folding it into a small square and putting it into my sweatpants's pocket. all while, there was a knock at my front door. i jumped, knowing that my mother was out of the house and i was the only one here.
alone.
i peered out my window, trying to get an idea of who was responsible for the knocking and if they were worth my time.
i saw the edge of black converse, and knew my answer.
i slowly walked down the stairs, dreading each step of which i'd knew i would have to see darryl. he was my weakness. something about him was just too powerful.
he knocked again, quieter this time. "coming." i yelled, unlocking the door and opening it.
in his hands, he held a basket of red and white colored roses, saying, "hey. i'm darryl. i live right across the street, right there." he pointed behind him, smiling, "it's a pretty nice place, i'd say. it's safe, and the people here — from what i know — will change your life." he sniffled, the flowers giving him a small allergic reaction, "even with all your flaws, they'll find a perfection to outshine them all. i think that's pretty damn nice." he handed me the flowers, his perfect smile never leaving his face, "i'm sorr-"
"stop it." i told him, admiring the flowers. "don't apologize for anything."
"you know i can't do that!" he exclaimed, and the corners of my mouth started to lift, "yeah, i know."
i sighed, "don't worry, i won't slam the door on you. come in."
darryl chuckled, reminding me, "that was my lowest moment."
"same here." i said, moving out of the way so he could step inside. i went to go walk to the stairs, but darryl stopped me, "wait," i took a second to look at him, his features becoming pink, "i wanted to ask you if you wanted to go out to lunch with me? you really don't have to if you don't want to, and if you've already had lunch, then that's okay. i just thought, you know, it would be nice to go. together."
"sure." i responded instantly, missing the feeling of him being around, "yeah. i can go." but with what money?
"okay. that's good. we can leave in five minutes?" he asked.
"that sounds good to me." i said, tiptoeing back to the stairs, "wanna come upstairs?"
"sure." he replied, trailing behind me. we walked up my stairs together, and i asked him, "what time is it?"
"it's three."
i nodded, "my mother will be home at six, then. i don't even know where she is."
"your mom is at my house." he said, pursing his lips, "she didn't tell you?"
"she rarely tells me anything, darryl." i waved it off, my right hand directly going into darryl's view, like nothing, "it doesn't matter, though. i don't care."
we entered my room and i turned around, darryl standing starstruck. "what?" i asked, and he pointed toward my hand, "wh — what-"
"oh." i realized, bringing my hand up and inspecting it, "yeah."
"it's— zak, what happened? it's all purple! and.. and the scratches.." he gawked, "can i see it? closer?"
"okay," i said, awkwardly placing my hand on my desk. he pushed his glasses up his nose, shaking his head, "zak, you need to get this patched up or something. doesn't it hurt?"
"no!" i exclaimed, "it doesn't! i swear!"
he doesn't ask me how i got it.
"can i at least patch it up? do you have a first-aid kit or something?" he asked with genuine worry. "yeah, i do." i told him, walking to the washroom and opening the cupboard behind the mirror, "there."
"thank you." he said, grabbing the box and working his magic, "are you sure it doesn't hurt? like nothing at all?"
i nodded, "i swear. i wouldn't lie to you. it doesn't hurt."
"when did you get this?" he asked, wrapping a bandage around my hand. it felt weird, having all my fingers squished together in one tight space. "two days ago."
"if this ever happens again," darryl stopped, holding my damaged hand in his soft ones.
all this time i had wondered what his hands would feel like in mine, but i never expected them to feel this cold. they were freezing, but it warmed my heart. i was holding his hand. darryl's. nothing felt better than this.
"please let me know. i can help you get it cleaned and stuff. i'm good with that."
"okay. i will." i promised him, and he seemed to believe it. he believed anything i said.
"can we relax for a bit? postpone the lunch for ten minutes or something?" i asked him, hoping to spend more time like this. together. this was my favorite type of time with him. "i have something to show you, actually." i continued, "can we? please!"
he crossed his arms, his perfect lips turning into a sly grin, "only for you."
i smiled, "why, thank you. you make it seem like i'm royalty, or something." i teased, walking out of the washroom and into my room. i opened my desk drawer, my drawings popping out instantly. it was way too over packed with all of my papers, papers that held my soul, heart, and everything in between. papers that were drawn with meaning, colored with the crayons of my emotions. it was all on these papers, and i decided darryl should see them. even the roses one.
on the back of my rose drawing, i signed my name, writing beside it, 'oh, isn't he lovely.' that was the name i chose. i thought it fit.
i grabbed the pile of paper, placing it onto the carpeted floor. closing the drawer, i motioned for darryl to sit down beside me, patting the vacant floor. he obliged, asking, "what are these?"
"they're a lot of things." i replied, showing him the drawing at the top of the pile. it was a plain waterfall, "i drew this when i was so tired of stressing that i needed some kind of escape. it's called, 'breathe in'. it's okay." i handed him the paper, somewhat struggling with one good hand.
darryl examined it, and i looked up. he was surprised. "you always hide your talents." he spoke, glancing over at me, "this is amazing."
i shrugged, "thank you." not believing him. i didn't think my art was good, i thought it was fun. there was a difference between perfection and enjoyment.
"the thriller." i pulled out the drawing, "remember this day?" i asked, "i drew it when you played your record for me. it was inspiring. it made me happy."
the drawing was another simple one. it was an old school record player, spinning the thriller vinyl that darryl owned. i tried matching it with his room, and he noticed, "this — this is my room, right?"
"yeah." i admitted, "most of these drawings are about you." where was this confidence coming from? how did i go from insecure to secure?
i wasn't losing anything. he already knew his impact on me. he knew his touch meant something deeper, and that i would remember that touch forever even if it meant he was gone. even if it meant that he wouldn't be there to share that memory with.
my book was open. the cover was ripped, and he was flipping through the pages. i let it happen, too. i watched it all play out, and never intervened. sometimes i thought i should, but darryl wasn't like my mother. he wasn't like his father. he was his own self.
"these are beautiful." compliments were hard to receive when you don't know how to respond to them. they stressed me out more than they should.
"thanks." was my dry response. the next drawing was of a small girl, sat next to a small puppy on a bench that me and darryl sat at the park. the puppy was in her lap, and she had a smile on her face. there was a rainbow painted on her cheek slightly, looking smudged.
"what is this one called?" darryl asked, bringing it close to his face. he was in awe.
"of a future." was all i needed to say. he understood me.
"the dog looks kinda like lucy." he thought aloud, and i smiled knowingly, "it is lucy."
"oh.." i guess he didn't understand as much as i thought. that drawing was our future, darryl. together. she was ours. both of them.
i let him not understand. one day he would, if it mattered that much.
there were two more, meaning 'oh, isn't he lovely' was almost next. my wrapped hand was sweating now, and i wondered why the temperature suddenly rose.
i only saved the drawings with meaning, which meant they were mostly about darryl. figures.
"that was everlasting, i named this one." i told him, showing him the starry sky. it was night time, and the stars were shining brightly. the stars were formed in the shape of a heart, but the clouds made a line right through them.
"these are so wonderful, i just — i don't know what to say." darryl told me, grabbing 'that was everlasting'. "these belong in a museum."
in your hands, were where they felt home. they didn't need to be framed, because you were the audience. the only audience that mattered.
this was the time. i glanced at him, and he looked at me. we just sat like that. it was my way of saying, 'this one was the one.'
i picked it up, placing it in front of him. "oh, isn't he lovely."
he knew this one was the one, too, because he shyly lifted his hand up and intertwined ours. home.
his face was sad, but then the sadness morphed into appreciation, that also melted into realization. i bet the scene was playing out in his head, too. just like it always did with me.
"i'm going to buy a frame for this one." he told, looking straight into my eyes, "this one.. it deserves to be framed."
i couldn't agree more. for me, though, our love was already framed. unlike i was before, my love for him was now sprayed out in the wild, completely left for the public eye. it wasn't hidden. it was appreciated.
i leaned my head on his shoulder, and he leaned his head atop of mine.
oh, isn't he lovely.
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