I traced my pen gently-methodically-over the pencil sketch of a chrysanthemum I drew the other day in my sketchpad. My intent had been for it to just be a sketch, I liked how sketchy things looked when you opened a sketchpad. Looking through a sketchpad full of sketches was much more interesting to me than looking through a portfolio of neatly inked, properly shaded finished pieces. By no means was I an expert when it came to art, I merely dabbled in it, but there was just something about sketches that felt so chaotically unfinished that made them so appealing to me.
I was majoring in music composition. I was probably too young to be a sophomore in college (is 17 to young? To be fair I was almost 18), but my parents had always insisted on me auditioning for practice at colleges and to submit my portfolio to get feedback, but a large number of colleges wrote back and wanted me to go to school there. I wasn't some kind of rich kid though, so I was devastated to find out I couldn't go to my dream college: Oberlin Conservatory in Ohio. Here I was, stuck at good old Gotham University, going to school five blocks away from the small house my mother and I occupied. My dad lived there too, but he wasn't home very often, he travelled a lot for work.
"Chrysanthemum," Mr. Jowe said.
"Sir," I replied to him, in a somewhat smart tone.
Mr. Jowe rolled his eyes and shook his head slightly. "What would be a standard progression leading into a Plagal Cadence?"
"Well, depends on the era, sir. Anything could be standard if you look at a different time period. If we're talking Medieval and Victorian, then there's a million different possibilities, but a common chord progression leading into the cadence itself would be something like I, V, possibly another I here, IV, I." I began writing out the chord progression next to the chrysanthemum, letting it step cautiously over the pen outline of the flower. Mr. Jowe nodded in my direction and continued teaching. He knew that I had more than an acceptable grasp on what we were talking about, and had talked about for the past few months for that matter, so he just let me do whatever during class. I appreciated that he did, mainly because I used a lot of the hour-and-a-half class periods either to do my calculus work or to sleep. Sometimes I would draw. That was rare.
That day happened to be one of those rare days where I drew during music theory. I didn't usually, just because I didn't like people seeing what I had in my sketchpad. Some of it was pretty depressing stuff, I won't lie. For me, a sketchpad was (brace yourself for this cliché I'm so sorry) like a diary to me. It held all my secrets and my ideas and my loves and my losses. It was a one-way path straight to my heart and soul that absolutely no one was allowed to go down.
Mr. Jowe's voice droned in the background and something about it bugged me more than it usually did that morning. I felt myself itching to get out of that classroom, not wanting to hear another word from his Charlie-Brown-Adult type voice for the rest of the year. I looked to the door at the front of the classroom, wondering if it would be worth it to just get up and leave. Would he be mad? Would he just let me? Would he tell me not to come back to class? My head raced for a moment before I finally let my gut take over me. I shoved my sketchpad into my backpack, put away my pencil and pulled the zipper quickly on it's track. I stood swiftly and made my way for the door. My eyes were glued on the door, that crimson door, that gateway to freedom, just a few steps away-
"Chrys? Where are you going?" Mr. Jowe asked me. He looked me over, and I tried to pick up the composure of a girl who just got devastating news. I let my eyebrows knit together in fake worry and sorrow. I squinted my eyes to make it look like I was fighting back tears. I took in a shaky breath before speaking, making my voice tremble a bit as I fumbled over the first few words.
"I-I- jusssst-" I sucked in my breath and pressed my hands to my eyes. "I got s-some really bad news from my mo-hom. I have to go." My fake sobs broke up my words. "I'm so-horry Mr. Jowe." He looked at me, his face frozen in shock for a moment. He nodded at me and I turned back towards the door, letting my shoulders shake a bit as I opened the door and left.
As I rounded the corner and got out of earshot of the music hall, I dropped the act and pulled my phone out of my back pocket. No notifications. After I started going to college, a lot of my friends stopped talking to me. Not because they hated me for it or anything, well probably in part because of that, but more because they didn't know when I was available. I had kind of stopped using social media, so as far as a lot of people were concerned, I was either indefinitely grounded or dead. I had a few friends I kept up with, but those friends I had known since elementary school, so it was only natural.
I texted Mackenzie, my longtime and perfect best friend.
hey mac, wanna go get some lunch? jowe's was not sitting well today. cafe at 12:30?
Almost an instant response came back to me.
Wish I could girlie, but I've got an exam at 1 that I cannot afford to miss or fail :( Fornesten
damn, ok. something after then? youll be out by 2 right?
Yep, I can't wait to see you! Haven't seen you in ages
mac its been a whole 48 hours. 48. hours. mac. two days.
Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I miss you sometimes! You'll have to spill about this mystery boy this time. I don't get why you refuse to tell me who he is. It's not like he's some axe murderer or anything. He's not an axe murderer, right?
no, jesus mac, who do you take me for?
Just checking!
see you at 2 nerd, go pass your test.
I turned off my phone and managed to smile a bit to myself. Mackenzie was always so cheerful. She was actually perfect. I mean, sure she had her flaws, like being brutally honest all the time and blatantly hating people who were rude, but other than that she was perfect. I had always envied her for how small she was. At 5'2" and a C cup boob, every guy loved her. I'm sure her body was even more beautiful outside of her clothes. Her dark blonde hair fell perfectly over her narrow shoulders with a slight curl at the ends. Her brown eyes always smiled. Hell, she even texted with perfect grammar. But that was just Mac. I loved her. She was one of the few friends I had left I didn't meet until middle school. The other two I'd known practically since birth-the twins, London and Paris. Yes, their parents were the ones who named their kids after cities, but it perfectly fit both of them. They were both beautifully tall with spindly and graceful legs, just enough curve to comfortably hold, long pin-straight bleach blonde hair and wonderfully green eyes. I envied them too, but to a lesser extent because I knew that their beauty was a god-given thing. Neither of their parents were strikingly attractive like them, so it was a miracle that they were as beautiful as they were. Mackenzie on the other hand was just such a natural type of beautiful it made my heart ache.
I hadn't seen either of the twins recently though. They were away visiting family for something, what I didn't know, but I assumed that it was important because they had stopped posting things on any and all forms of social media. It had to be important if London wasn't documenting every second of what they did and Paris wasn't taking pictures of every meal they ate and every drink they drank.
I pushed the front door of the music building open with my back and shivered as the harsh winter wind began to nip away at my skin. My eyes began to water and I had to pull my scarf up over my nose to keep myself from freezing. Gotham was weird. The weather was so finicky, you never knew what it would be so you always dressed for anything and brought layers with you everywhere.
I approached the bus stop and crossed my arms firmly, trying my best (and failing) to conserve body heat. As much as I loved the cold I couldn't seem to keep myself warm, no matter what I did. I once went through three packets of those hand warmers in a day when I went out to dinner with Mac. Even with twenty blankets on my bed during the winter, I could never seem to get warm. Contrarily, during summer, no matter how little I wore, I could never seem to stay cool. It was weird, to stay the least.
The bus pulled up and I got on, the bus packed to the brim. I only had to go a few blocks, but I didn't want to walk it. I sat down in a seat next to a woman who had a toddler sat on her lap. She bounced the little boy up and down on her knee and the boy was bursting with laughter. A smile was spread wide across his face and I smiled to myself. I wished I could go back to being that young again, everyone caring for me, not a care in the world, being helpless but so reckless at the same time.
"He's adorable," I said to the woman. She turned to me and smiled brightly. I could see the signs of a tired mother over her face-the dark circles under her eyes, the strain in her smile. I could also see that she really loved her kid.
"Thank you! Bentley's a handful, but he's also a delight to have." The little boy looked at me with big blue eyes and a blank face. "Say 'hi' Bentley!" She grabbed the toddler's hand and had him wave to me, partially against his will, but the boy eventually melted into a smile and a bubbly laugh came from him, making me smile even more. My heart skipped a beat when I realized that it was at this point a lot of people were starting to get serious with their relationships. Once you were used to college, you usually found someone, dated them, loved them and even talked about taking many of the next steps together. I guess I didn't think about a boyfriend because I felt so young compared to everyone else. By their senior year, everyone else was 19 or 20 and reasonably falling in love. I was 17. I couldn't say I felt anything towards any of my classmates. I could also feel in the pit of my stomach that no one had asked me to be their girlfriend because of the fact that I was a bit intimidating. Not that I looked it, I actually had a bit of a baby face (until I put makeup on), but it was more because I was so self-kept and I didn't really talk to people outside of school, and I guess that turned people off to me? I never understood it, and I suppose it wasn't my place to understand.
The little boy, Bentley, reached his hand out to my hair and pulled at one of my dark brown curls. He giggled with utter glee when it bounced back up to its original position from where he pulled it. I smiled a bit, still preoccupied with my thoughts. Do I want kids? I questioned. I mean, they seem pleasant enough, and who wouldn't love having a living part of you with you all the time? Kids are adorable, but am I fit to be a mother? I thought about asking the woman what it was like having a kid, but decided against it as I realized that it was probably too much to ask someone I just met on a bus.
"Well it was nice meeting you, Bentley seems to like you!" the woman said standing. I hadn't even felt the bus stop, but I assumed it was her stop. "Say 'bye-bye' Bentley!" The boy clenched his fist open and shut and said a very jumbled version of "bye-bye", and I waved back to him, letting a smile creep onto my face. As the mother got off the bus, I scooted over into the woman's seat and looked outside the window. I was just one stop away from where I had to get off and I found myself fidgeting, excited to get off the bus and change into comfortable clothes and to go out to a late lunch with Mac. My phone vibrated in my pocket.
Hey Chrys, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out this afternoon. We haven't just hung out in a while and I've been wanting to show you a new show. My house tonight?
Ian. Ian. That mystery boy Mac always hounded me about. We'd been dating for just a few months, but I found myself falling in love with him more and more every second. Of course I hadn't told him yet. There was something about those three little words I couldn't quite wrap my mind around to say to somebody who wasn't family. They seemed so innocent, mere verbal claims to what we both felt, but somehow in saying it it felt so permanent. I was okay with it, and he was okay with it, so it made it okay. I bit my lip, thinking hard about whether or not I wanted to go over to his house. I'd have to tell my mom, but I could always just have him pick me up... My mom liked Ian, and she trusted both of us. I didn't think it would be a problem...
i'll have to ask my mom bb. i'm sure she'll be fine with it. i'll be get back you. i'm going out to lunch with mac so i'll text you after ok?
Of course. Have fun with Mac. ;) Can't wait to see you tonight.
my mom hasn't said yes yet?
She will, I'm sure of it.
ok 3 see you tonight then.
I put my phone back in my pocket and dismounted the bus at my stop, immediately startled by the chill of the harsh wind outside. I pulled my coat tighter around myself and crossed my arms, my hands tucked snugly in my armpits. I speed-walked down the sidewalk half a block down to the house I shared with my mom. She worked a normal 9-5 shift as a secretary at a company I could never remember the name of, so she wasn't home and my dad happened to be out of town.
I pulled my house key out of my jacket pocket as I raced up the stairs to our porch. Fumbling to put the keys in the lock, I could hear our two dogs, Steve and Cody barking from behind the door.
"I know, momma's home! I know, I know!" The dogs only scratched anxiously at the door.
The lock opened with a satisfying click and I rushed in the house before the dogs could escape to the outside world. I could never wrangle them back into the house once they were outside.
"Hi babies!" I said excitedly, kneeling down to pet them both and shower them in love as they drenched me in their wet, sloppy kisses. "How are you? Did you miss me?" Cody barked enthusiastically, and I smiled, patting her head. "Yes, yes you did! Yes you did, didn't you girl?" Steve, upset with the lack of attention, managed to shove his muzzle underneath my free hand (which rested on my leg), demanding head pats and belly rubs equal to the ones Cody was getting.
"Okay, Steve, ok! I see you!" He licked my hand. Standing from where I was, I walked into the kitchen, setting my backpack down on one of the bar stools we had at the counter facing the living room. I contemplated doing my homework and writing my essay for english. I also contemplated vegging out on the couch for a few hours until I had to meet Mac so I could catch up on some TV shows. Before making my decision, I pulled my phone from its spot in my back pocket.
I instinctively texted my mother as I walked toward my room in the back of the house.
hey mom, ian asked if i wanted to hang out later tonight. might spend the night, might not. i'll text you when i figure it out. is that ok?
I began to change into different clothes so I didn't look like a total bum when I met Mac. I chose a pair of turquoise jeans with holes in both knees and a plain white t-shirt with a small pocket on the left boob from my closet and pulled off my leggings. My phone vibrated on my bed and I ignored it until I had fought my jeans over my butt and buttoned the button. I slid my shirt on over my head as I reached for my phone.
Sure honey! That would b gr8. If u do decide to come home, make sure ur home by midnight. Otherwise have fun! Not too much tho.
My mom thought she was cool, texting with "text lingo," as she called it. I smiled to myself.