My Angel
In my thoughts and dreams he walks with me
In my darkest hour he stays
In my times of trouble he helps me see
And guides me along the way
When I shake in fear
When I cry in pain
He's the one who makes it clear
He's the one who'll be there for me in sunshine or in the rain
'Wow. That's pretty awesome. I never knew you were a poet.'
Claire jumped in surprise, covering her writing pad instinctively with her hands. She glanced backwards, in the direction where the voice had come from, and blushed profusely when she realised who had spoken.
Cameron Fisher, her crush of four years, the most popular guy in school, the inspiration for her poem, and the recurring star of her dreams. The situation was so embarrassing that she forgot she was supposed to answer.
Cam sat down beside her, shaking his head slowly.
'I'm not making fun of you, Claire. I think it's beautiful.'
If only he had substituted the word it's for you're.
No such luck. Claire stared at the writing pad, trying to assemble her thoughts.
'Uh, thanks, I guess?'
Cam smiled his heart-wrenchingly beautiful smile.
'No problem. Hey, you should totally finish that and submit it in a competition. I'm sure you'll do great.'
'Whoa. Stop right there.'
Claire backed up against the tree hurriedly, trying to put as much space between the two of them as possible. The red on her cheeks flared again as she thought about what would happen if she submitted the poem. Not only would the whole school know that she had a crush, they would think of her as even more of a loser for liking Cam - because he was way out of her league. She'd planned to finish the powm with Cam's name somewhere in it, but now there was no option. It would have to remain unfinished, lest she wanted him to read it and figure out that she was crushing on him.
'Um, I mean, its not good enough,' she stammered, 'uh, I would'nt make it.'
Cameron looked at her with those disconcertingly green and blue eyes, as if seeing straight into her soul.
'You're a great girl, Claire. You need a bit of confidence. With you, I think that anything is possible.'
Claire sat on a park bench, her pencil in her hand, her eyes glassy and wide. She was totally absorbed in the sketch, her pencil flying over the pristine pad, smudges here and there, capturing the moment in time. Her picture depicted a young couple sitting on a park bench together, hands entwined, in the midst of wisps of clouds, shafts of sunshine and trees. A very pretty picture, but Claire had no idea where it had come from. Because in front of her, the scene was completely different.
A drab stone pond with a few ducks flapping around aimlessly dominated a lush patch of grass. A few metres away, there was a small, slightly rusty swing set, a tall slide, and another bench.
Claire shook her head. An artist's inspiration was not always clear at first, but if you studied the picture more, most of the time, you could work it out. She bent over the pad, staring at the girl's face.
It was undeniably her. The slightly crooked smile, the unruly, flyaway blonde hair, and the way she always leaned on the bench slightly with evident in the picture. The boy was more of an enigma.
He sat, slumped slightly against the girl, with one hand in hers and another reaching out towards the trees at the side. His hair, obviously a darker shade, was blown to one side and looked slightly messy, as if he had'nt taken care of it in a while. But the most dominant feature were his sparkling eyes. Claire had drawn the picture so accurately that even the play of emotions on their faces could be seen clearly. The boy was esctatic, as if the world were perfect. The girl seemed content as well.
After a few moments of studying the boy's features, a cold chill washed over her.
No. It can't be.
The face of Cameron Fisher stared back up at her, smiling widely. The boy in the picture was obviously a sweet, sensitive artist, most likely one that enjoyed spending time with Claire. The real Cam was a jock. A loud, crass, obnoxious, annoying jock that frequently picked on girls.
This is too much. Claire, this will never happen. Don't make it worse for yourself by pretending he likes you back, because when he rejects you, it will hurt even more.
Footsteps behind Claire woke her from her reverie. She instinctively shielded the picture from view, and turned to face the intruder. The deja vu of the moment made Claire laugh, because, standing behind her, was Cameron Fisher.
'Wow. That's really awesome. I never knew you were a artist, too.'
Claire grimaced.
'Please don't tell me you saw that. And please don't tell me join a stupid art competition.'
Cam shook his head, smiling, and joined her on the bench.
'I came to give you this back.'
He took a slim black pen out his pocket. The pen was inlaid with mother-of-pearl and jade, engraved with the initials C.L.
'I was thinking, a wonderful poet like you probably would'nt finish her poem without her favourite pen. I know I can't write without mine.'
Claire grabbed it, quickly.
'Thanks. And no way, you're a writer, too?'
Cam coughed, embarrassed.
'A poet, actually. Not a very good one. But,' he hesitated, before pulling out a crumpled sheet of paper, covered with scrawlings and little doodles in the margins, 'I want you to have this.'
My Angel
In my thoughts and dreams she walks with me
In my darkest hour she stays
In my times of trouble she helps me see
And guides me along the way
When I shake in fear
When I cry in pain
She's the one who makes it clear
She's the one who'll be there for me in sunshine or in the rain
Because Claire's the one I dream about
She's the one who stays
The one I cannot be without
To help me through the day
Claire's the one who makes my day
She's the one who always stays true
So Claire, this poem is to say
I really do love you
Claire read the poem in shock. She froze for the slightest moment, then threw her arms around Cam, locking him in a tight embrace. The day itself seemed to lighten up, and the sun's rays shone down on the glittering green leaves of the trees around the park bench. And when the two artists sat down to the sound of silence, savouring the view hand in hand, the picture was finally complete.