The bus's breaks hissed in our ears, as they rounded the corner to line up at the curb. Thundering footsteps of what seemed like billions of sex-deprived, weed-smoking, good-grader, skater-boy and make-up caked teenagers pounded throughout the hallways. Maroon lockers were violently slammed shut, leaving books and papers crammed inside. In rare cases, a head and/or hand were slammed into the lockers as well. Being deliberate or not, it still happened without too much care for said victims. The deafening noise of merging voices of different pitches, volumes and tones rung to the heavens. So loud and demanding the buzz seemed…
Plenty impatient people were absolutely mauled by the shoving and pushing of other impatient people, who were just itching to get to the nearest exit. It wasn't uncommon for someone to look thoroughly beaten the next day just because they were overpowered by a mob of teenagers trying to escape through one of the school doors.
Teachers and staff didn't bother to supervise the jail-break, as it was too much to handle. So simply, being the lazy-asses they are, stood aside in the main office or outside corridors, observing.
Currently, school was being let out for a well-deserved and well waited for four day weekend.
The congested traffic of students was so unbearable, people in China stuck in a traffic jam would be grateful to be where they were; in miles upon miles of stationed cars waiting to move.
That's why out of all these dumb-ass fuckers I decide to be smart and take the back way. The back way you say?
Yeah, the back way. You know, the infamous behind-the-school brick walls where the trash is tossed carelessly out into the dumpsters…where the crack-heads and drunk bastards spend their lunch…where the sluts and man-whores get it on while ditching chemistry… get the idea? Great.
The place smelled like piss, glass shards littered the area, remains of…'rubber' and such were tossed carelessly aside; but it didn't matter to me, I didn't have to deal with any of the idiots who were stupid enough to go through the main doors or other, more acceptable exits of the building. Wasn't that enough? Besides, I was pretty much the only one who took that route, therefore my time getting where I wanted to go decreased tremendously.
This time was no exception. I trudged sluggishly through the alley, clutching my backpack straps with my hands.
Today I was in an exceptionally bad mood. Everything had just gone wrong!
I learned I had failed my geometry quiz, which drug me down to a B+ (hey I like great grades, okay? So fuck off!) , this mask-bastard Sadiq managed to unlock my locker and drench everything inside with soda, and finally, I had to sacrifice my off block* to go meet up with that bastard of a history teacher.
"I want you to tutor for this upcoming next three months, to prepare for the state test," was his excuse. Hell no! It wasn't going to get me any extra credit!
Well anywho…I continued walking-
Oh look.
There's a head of hair. Brown, curly, chocolatey and it shimmered in the light…
It was moving.
…
It was in the dumpster.
Oh cool! Now look at it!
It's sitting upwards, and well what do you know? It's not an animal with an unearthly gorgeous fur coat scavenging for food! It was a person!
Pffft-even better! This 'person' had sun-kissed skin, absolutely inhumanly green eyes that shimmered more than any polished emerald, a crooked, care-free grin forming at it's perfectly shaped lips! Shame…I can't see his divine ass… No you retarded people, I did not find his looks attractive in any way, shape or form. I'm just stating the obvious…that he has…nice…physical characteristics.
…
FUCK YOU! It's Antonio! Wait.
It's Antonio…in a trashcan…. How lovely.
He smiled at me, and waved. Moving a bit forward to lean against the edge of the huge, blue, rustic bin, he slumped himself forward, so his arms dangled over the sides.
"Hola, Lovi~!" he cooed.
His smile did not waver.
I scowled, hoping to send the message it was very unattractive-er I mean it was very stupid and retarded looking to see him like that. I examined him head-to-wherever the trashcan blocked the rest of his body. Hm…dirt and a few food items stained his striped shirt. His hands were blackened by rummaging through the trash, and I could see bits and pieces of debris intertwined in his hair.
I didn't reply quite yet, still trying to compute and process my new discovery. Hey, it's not everyday the guy you kind of have the hots for is digging through the school trash.
Wait what! I said nothing!
"Antonio…you look like a piece of shit. Why are you in the trashcan?" I spat uncomfortably, trying to word my words just right.
For some reason, his expression beamed as if I had given him the juiciest tomato on the planet.
"Oh! Come here!" he motioned towards me.
"What! Hell no! I'm not going near that shit!" I scoffed.
Really now! Would he actually expect me to step close to that thing? I was already a presumed safe ten feet away, and I still could smell its intoxicating aroma.
"Awh! Please? It's importante," he droned.
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"Please?"
"…"
My feet took me to the trashcan. I was now two feet away. He smiled triumphantly, before diving back down. My scowl deepened as my nose crinkled in disgust. I could hear him rummaging around, tossing things over there, moving things over here…
Clank, bang, boom, bam, thud…
"Antonio! What the hell is the best soccer player in the school doing digging through a trashcan?" I interrogated, kicking the metal square.
"Oh, Lovi! You'll see!" his voice echoed thanks to the acoustics of the bin.
Impatiently, I continued to kick at the side. Fucking bastard wasting my time with this shit. I didn't know nor care what he wanted so desperately to show me. I definitely did not want to know what it was doing in the trash either.
"Fine. I'm leaving," I decided stubbornly, beginning to head out.
"Eh? Wait! I found it! Just-just give me a sec to…" he awkwardly placed his left foot on something inside, before hauling himself outwards, "Um…one second."
He wobbled a bit, swaying his damnable hips to keep balance (however that works. Maybe I was picturing it-what? No! Where the hell did you get that idea? Bastards…). In his right hand was a canvas it seemed. Or some sort of art-related square. It had shreds of paper on top of it, with a sticky substance on the back. A few stains also managed to make themselves home on its texture.
Now…I couldn't see the damn thing, nor did I actually want to.
Crossing my arms, I stared furiously at the…thing…in Antonio's hand. Maybe…if I stared at it long enough…it would spontaneously combust into awesomely green flames that would engulf Antonio with it! Then I'd have to help him survive and then when I was done being the bad-ass Italian who saved him from the awesome green flames, he'd ask me out on a date or something and-
…
No. Not likely. Damn.
"What…the fuck…is that?"
What else were you expecting me to say?
Antonio stepped forward, brushing himself off with his dirty hands. He smiled, but nothing escaped his lips. Instead, he swerved the square thing around, revealing its true colors.
…literally.
At first, I couldn't tell what the hell it was. I squinted and could barely make out some shapes that I could reference back to as a bush or something. Maybe some kind of overgrowth?
But then…within a moment of observing it, I began to piece together the shapes and my mind began to tell me what it actually was…
The blobs of mushed together green paint were suppose to be lush blackberry bushes, pressed against the side of a settle-yellowed colored house. The yellow was suppose to be calming, yet it stuck out too much as a mustard yellow. There seemed to be a pathway that lead to rolling hills and a thick forest behind it. To the left were tall, slim figures with spots of brilliant red dotting them. Instead of brilliant red, it was actually more of a purplish maroon color… Attempted tomato plants… The sky was a tad dark to be day, and looked more muddy than intended, but the clouds were actually stark white with little yellow and purple shading done just right…
I swallowed…
It was mine…my painting.
The painting I had detested oh so much, because it hadn't come out at all like I had hoped. Not that I had hoped much, due to the fact my painting class wasn't warming up to me. Instead of smoothly skimming the surface of the canvas, leaving a nice, bold stroke…the paint decided to be watery and run down, mixing into the other colors below. I had tried desperately to save any type of decent stroke or bit that had managed to come close to my personal expectations…but nothing seemed to be salvaged. My paintbrushes were no better. The bristles stuck out stubbornly as if they had preeminent bed-head.
And no, I had not come close to crying numerous times because I could not do this painting right and that I seemed to be spattering my sweat and blood into the piece just to have it come out like crap. Having an emotional attachment to my want-to-be masterpiece, and watch it crumble under my brush… Nor was I sickeningly jealous of my little brother; who painted with ease. His strokes perfect in every way…the consistency of color continuing with each dip of the brush. I did not envy the fact every student and adult (including the teacher) had gawked and awed at its potential and…beauty… Nope…I didn't have any negative feelings towards this project…
You know I'm lying…don't you? …Damn it.
"Wh-where the hell did you get that…?" I asked weakly, automatically stepping closer to the outstretched piece. Almost soothingly, I slid my finger pads down the surface of the 'piece'. I felt the textures of my deformed brushstrokes underneath my fingers. I remembered painting each one and it pained me greatly to know I myself, the 'artist', didn't even respect them.
"From the trash obviously~," Antonio sang.
He turned it a bit. Now, it was facing him and I simultaneously as we both stared. His expression was calm and sweet, his green eyes darting across its surface. I noted the fact he took in every detail! There was a sense of study and concentration in his eyes as he examined my demolished painting.
"Y-Yes…but…where?"
"Well…I was in the art room waiting for Francis to put up his sketches, so we could go to lunch. I just happened to wander over to the painting thing…drying rack is it called? Anyways, I happened to stumble upon this beauty! But…it wasn't in the drying rack…it was in the trash!
I was appalled. Who'd put something so marvelous in the trash, I wondered," Antonio smiled and continued to look at the canvas, "Surely it was a mistake. I was going to grab it, but Francis said he was ready for lunch so I left. I felt bad that it had been dumped in the trash by accident. So I decided to get it after school and hopefully return it to its rightful owner!"
He sighed contently, taking a tissue from his pocket and begin to wipe off any particles of unwanted scum. I stared, my mouth ajar, at what he was saying. You've got to be kidding me.
Are you fucking serious? Was the man blind? This thing was shit! Of course, I wouldn't ever tell him it was mine. It was far too embarrassing and I didn't feel like being humiliated for the millionth time this year.
I scoffed instead.
"What's wrong with you, bastard? Whoever painted this sucks! I mean-look at the technique! The way the strokes were made, its obvious they had no idea how to properly hold the brush…and-and the fact that the colors are so messed up! Blending obviously didn't work out for them, and neither did the hues and contrasts. Absolutely no skill what-so-ever. I'm sure it was no accident that that ended up in the trash. Why? Because it is trash! Just like its owner!"
I crossed my arms stubbornly, and even added a little foot-stomp. Childish? Hell yeah, bitches.
Antonio frowned, still examining it. He hadn't looked up at me once since he dragged it out of the garbage.
A few moments passed by. Just a simple silence. Not heavy, not cold, not warm… Just silence. As though you were waiting for the rest of your class to finish with their tests. My arms were still clamped together, and my foot tapped impatiently for a response. God knows why I stayed there so long…
"Lovi…" Antonio finally said, "your tomato plants look great in this painting. I'm really quite happy with the fact they're not realistically colored. It adds a bit of…oh…maybe a bit of Picasso to it! You know, on the bridge of reality and fantasy. Me gusta mucho."
He smiled again, as if my little rant had-wait what? Blinking a few times, I snatched the painting away from him. Gripping the sides, my eyes greedily looked for that little swiggly thing somewhere within the paintings. The thing that read, "Lovino Vargas".
My signature.
…
It was non-existent.
"I-I didn't p-paint this, bastard!" I yelled, shoving the painting back, "I have no idea what you're talking about…!"
The Spanish boy sighed. I was a bit shocked that this sigh was exasperated. He gently propped the painting against a cleaner surface, the chain-linked fence, before forcing me into a suffocating hug.
"Ah, Lovi…" he purred into my hair. Despite his dump-diving, he smelled sweet…spicy… "Please don't lie like that…the moment I saw it in the art room I knew it was yours. Who else would paint their soul? Who else would paint such a simple yet so meaningful picture? I know that whatever you wanted it to look like, came to be.
I know for a fact that the dark hue of the sky is just your way of expressing…well…the way people tend to neglect you-which they shouldn't. I know that the white clouds are your little rays of hope, and the yellow house is your reminder of your childhood home…each little stroke in that painting is probably a memory of some sort as well…
It's beautiful, Lovi! It's you. Don't ever doubt your painting skills. Just because it may not look as professional as other's, it has much more potential. Everyone else's paintings are just colors on a canvas, but yours are more…yours are you! That's so special! And I know...you really didn't want to throw it away. You were just being shy..."
I wasn't moving. My hands weren't gripping the back of his shirt like I had wanted them to, and my eyes weren't dry as if they needed eye drops. No…my eyes were working their water-work magic… As expected, my eyes stung as my emotions bubbled to the surface. No! No!
No one was suppose to ever know how much that painting had meant to me! Not one person! Yet-yet somehow...Antonio of all people knew like I had written it down in fucking clear print! How? Why? Why did he like it so much? Why did he know how important it actually was to me... How did he know I didn't really want to throw it away either...? I was so befuddled and conflicted. Confused about how he knew, and conflicted by wondering if I should swallow my pride and admit he was right, or simply deny it all together...
"F-fucking hell-wh-what are talking about?" I sputtered lamely, weakly. He didn't respond. Instead, he pushed me away a bit, so he could get a nice good look at my face. His hands gripped my shoulders firmly, as if examining me as well as he did my painting. He continued to stare at my face.
My fucking blushing, embarrassingly wet face.
"Lovi…I don't like it when you lie to yourself either," he whispered.
Leaning down, he pressed his lips lightly against my own. I could feel the warmth of it, and though it was disgusting knowing he had just been in a trashcan, it felt utterly pleasant and pure.
I wanted to kiss back-honest I did! But he retreated too quick for me to do so. I stared, my eyes hazy…
"…So you really like it…don't you…?" I whispered.
"Si. I really do love your painting…"
BLARG. I just wrote this quite literally. Like-finished it just five mins ago. 11:37 pm Mountain Time. I was in a great writing mood. First draft. Crappy. It was going to be more humorous I swear! But it turned out to reflect on how some real emotional artists see their work. and whether they know it or not-little symbols slip in through their brush strokes :3
meh may be rushed towards the end and a bit OOC but...its inevitable sometimes.
R&R~
-TC