ANNABEL

You know that moment… Yeah, you know what I'm talking about. That moment— you see him.

It seems as if all the light in the universe is shining on him, the sounds of nature are singing "hallelujah," and when your eyes lock he steals your very breath away as if to say,

"You're mine now."

Well, I guess I'm still waiting for that moment. I'm pretty sure it hasn't happened. Sure, I've dated before and I even can say that I've been in love, but I guess I haven't found him.

Anyway… I'm an aspiring artist. Currently, I'm enrolled in art college studying traditional art, focusing on drawing. I love drawing humans; humans are just so beautiful in every aspect to me. I especially love drawing portraits, all the expression and emotion held in such a small space. I take my studies very seriously; art is my life, so I put all my time and energy into it.

Classes were going well, my professor's great, I get along with my classmates, but then, a week into classes, he came.

Now, just to get things clear, I'm not talking about him-him, the one with the sun and the "hallelujahs." No, I'm talking about the man whose purpose in life seems to be to complicate mine.

He comes into class, very late, dressed most unprofessionally. He's wearing tight black pants, a leather jacket, and his hair is a mess, coiffed up haphazardly on his head. He didn't have a thing with him, not a notebook, sketchbook, or pencil. I was at a loss to what he was doing at this institution, and honestly, I didn't have any notion to get to know him or be near him in any way. But of course, the only seat open happens to be right next to me. So, I guess I had no choice.

The professor was giving a lecture on proportions, or something, but I don't quite remember because this unkempt "teddy-boy" decided to start up a conversation in the middle of class. Oh, I tried- I tried- so hard to ignore him and pay attention to my notes, but he wouldn't have that.

"Man, this is a fuckin' drag."

"I mean, aren't we supposed to be doing art in art school, not listening' to some fuddy-duddy drone on about nonsense."

...

"Well, come on then, what do you think?"

...

I was putting all my effort into trying to keep my attention on my notes and not on him.

"Hmm, I guess you're one of those artists then…"

"Or should I say, not a real artist at all."

Now I had to stick up for myself. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, you're one of those 'artists' who just follows all the rules and doesn't have a single creative, expressive bone in their body."

"Now where do you get off! You don't know a thing about me, and I highly doubt any knowledge that you have of art!"

"Ho ho, the lady speaks, and I take it she's a bit upset."

"Well, you just insulted my very life and studies, of course!"

"Your very life, ha! You're sittin' tall, all prim and proper, dressed impeccably, diligently taking notes to worthless lectures. You probably just paint unimaginative, pretty flower pictures for your mum."

I. was. fuming.

Thankfully class was over, and I just stood up and walked out of there, holding my anger inside.

Then he comes running up to me, "Oh, come on, you can't let a few words get ya. You gotta fight for yourself, Annabel, don't back—"

I whipped around, "How do you know my name!?"

"It's on your bag, sweetheart. Now, you say I don't know a thing about you, well, enlighten me."

"You listen here, Mister—"

"Lennon. John Lennon."

"You listen to me, Mister Lennon, I don't have to explain myself to you, nor do I want to know a single thing about you. I am an artist in every right and your words mean nothing to me." With that I swung around, slapping him in the face with my hair, and stormed off in the direction of home.

I sincerely hoped that was the last interaction I would have with the infuriating John Lennon.