"Well Johnny, you've done it again m'boy. Congratulations!" A smile that resembled mine came from the man I loved, and proudly called my father. I had just announced my engagement, which was odd; I didn't expect to have done anything. Melissa wasn't the kind of woman I usually liked, but she was a rich and spoiled Yale graduate who cheated her way through with money. She had been pampered her whole life, but really just as dull as a pebble. My family was born in rags and came into the world of riches when I was young; I was always told that the only way to get what you want out of life is through hard work. My family was "new money", most families thought we were undeserving of our money and wouldn't have it for too much longer.
My life could've been said to be perfect, my parents loved each other dearly, never fought, never yelled, and always encouraged each other. They were always the 'Ethan and Ellen' combo, when someone asked for one; they got both no matter what. My parents had been working hard till their bones hurt, smiling every step of the way, telling me that all this work was for me, and my future. They helped me every step of the way, and I worked hard to get where I am as a Yale graduate. I had always believed in fate, the strength in faith, and I must admit, I have always been pretty superstitious.
I had graduated only a month ago from Yale University, I had been dating Melissa for only a few weeks by that time, and I told myself again and again that I should cut it off, end it, and God help me, I never did. To get away from Melissa for graduation, I sat next to a quiet girl and without meaning to, I found myself staring. I was very grateful when I caught myself; she was too distracted to notice anything, even when she received her Masters. I found myself applauding the loudest when she absently took it into her hand, shook a hand, and started to walk slowly back around, staring at the door as if expecting some amazing, unexplainable thing to come waltzing into the room. Though I didn't know her, I felt a knot of worry in my stomach for her well-being when she had suddenly ran off, out of the building. Within twenty or so minutes, we all heard sirens roaring down the street as the ceremony ended. Melissa walked over to me, with her parents at her side.
"Oh Johnny baby," She squeaked, "This is Momma Sam and Poppa Dean"
I looked over, obviously distracted, shook her father's hand and absently smiled at her mother, trying not to be rude to the obviously wealthy couple. "Oh, right. Hello. Melissa, I have to go speak to my parents." I said this as I started in their direction, but Melissa took my arm.
"Well then Honey Bunny, let's go see 'em!"
I must admit, it took me only a month of not seeing that quiet girl again to put her at the back of my mind. I suppose I occasionally thought about her, I wandered what it was that made her so distracted and run off, on what should have been a very happy day. Most of the time, I forgot Melissa was still with me and I reminded myself how lucky I was not to be living with her yet. It was another month before I thought of that girl again, and I remembered something that I wanted to smack myself over the head for; her name. When we graduated, they said her name, but what was it? I couldn't remember for the life of me, and I felt an urge to go back to Yale to find out, but I shook my head, not wanting to answer to Melissa's fury for being home late. Why couldn't I have paid attention to her name, at least?
It hadn't been a long time till I thought about her again. I was actually thinking about her as I walked down the street, passing someone who did sketch portraits for money, obviously homeless. I didn't ask the person for one, I just leaned against a bench across from where the person sat. I suppose I made a habit of looking at people, I always found the diversity in features amusing, and I compared and examined almost subconsciously. I don't think, however, that I had, even once, paid attention to someone who lived on the streets. The person looked young, but tired, depressed, and worn down. I wonder what could have happened to the person? They didn't seem scarred or battered down by drugs or depressed from a fermented drink, but from life. It was almost as if life had been that person's downfall, nothing had gone right, and tragedy could be seen behind those eyes, they were so sad.
I then took notice to the deep shade of green the person's eyes held, even when caught in the sunlight. They glittered, and seemed wise, which made the person look older than they probably were. I looked for a moment longer and took into account that the person was a woman, and when I noticed this, something felt strange. Her eyes were round, she had a smaller nose, but it wasn't pointed, full but dry and cracked lips, and her chin complemented her soft, rounded facial structure. She was covered in dirt and grime, wore baggy, dirty clothes that were probably never hers to begin with, and shorter hair, though not extraordinarily short, but short nonetheless. Her hair was a darker golden brown, like deep honey, and thick. She was very thin, very pale, but she was gorgeous, regardless. I felt like I should know her, help her, my hand twitched with uneasiness, and I got up to talk to her, but something told me that right now wasn't the right time, so I turned, and walked away.
I came back a couple days later and watched her sketch, I watched her movements, the way she made each and every mark carefully, specifically displaying only the best features in a person, as if that was all she saw. At one point, a mother with a baby sat at a café table across the street, and without being asked, the girl began to sketch away, she held up the paper on the binder, I couldn't see what she was doing. Within a few minutes, she got up and examined the paper in the light and I was caught breathless. The image was beyond remarkable, it captured the mother with a baby in her arms, and the mother looked happy, but protective as she smiled over the child in her arms. Her fingers gently placed on the baby's forehead, looking as if it would move at any moment and ease the child to sleep. The artist sighed, as if disappointed, stood up, and walked over to the mother across the street, leaving the sketch on the table, and walked back. The woman sat back down, hugged her knees, and hid her face. I wanted to help, but again, something told me that now was not a good time, so I left.
She eventually ran out of paper and sat at the corner, not moving, as if willing to die. She held a cup out for change, and received no more than pennies and nickels. I began to notice her hair was growing longer as time went on, and her eyes more sad. I couldn't bear to watch her be so miserable, I wanted to help her. I didn't go back to that Barnes & Nobles for quite awhile, I felt too guilty. Where the girl was soon slipped my mind, and not long after it did, Melissa decided she wanted to read a book. God have mercy on any book she bought, it ended it up unread and covered in dust in her father's vast personal library, such a shame. I remembered, as I waited outside the Barnes & Nobles, how I used to read my childhood away, lost in a steamy romance. I could never help but become a hopeless romantic. I was obsessed with love, I wanted to write about my own experience with love, to read more and understand it when they say "I love you" in the novels. Sadly, I had never been in love. I had loved, and did not question my capability to love, but had never been in love.
I stared blankly, lost in my thoughts, and then saw her again. In an instant, I knew I loved the woman, though she didn't know me, or that she had ever once seen me. I loved her, and had no idea why. I felt trapped, how could I ever explain this to Melissa? I looked at the poor woman, writing across the cardboard torn from a binder. She wrote "I'm Hungry, Please help". I felt an utter anguish, like the girl's final wall had been torn down, she looked so sad when she glanced my way. My heart jumped as she caught my eye, I stared into her beautiful green eyes, almost lost, my own eyes betraying my inner feelings. The woman looked confused, and then turned her attention to Melissa, who was walking out of the bookstore. She took my arm and looked on at the woman I loved with complete disgust. I felt almost instant anger, but I was too trapped to even seem angry. Melissa threw a twenty dollar bill at the poor woman and tugged me along with her, down the street and back to the car.
The car ride was silent; I drove faster than usual, and less attentively. I felt like I would go insane if I had to sit next to Melissa one more moment. With a sick twist of fate, my prayers were answered; a truck had backed out too fast, and when I noticed, it was too late to avoid it, so I slammed on the brakes and the Bentley went head first into the back of the truck. I looked at Melissa, she was dazed, but not hurt, she got out from underneath the airbag and walked out of the car, a little dizzy. I sighed to myself and got out of the car, glancing at the side view mirror as I sat up, my face was cut up, but I looked fine, I felt fine. I looked around, as if high from the impact, unsure of what to do or what to say. I heard slurred voices and muffled yells, but I didn't care. The only thing on my mind was the woman.
I wiped away the blood from my forehead with the back of my hand, glanced at Melissa, who was yelling at her father to fix the accident, stared at the ground a moment, and ran. I ran so hard, I forgot to breathe, but I ran onto the sidewalk, into the masses walking to and from anywhere. I knew I had knocked a few people over, but I didn't care, I wanted to get to her, help her, I knew she had a future still, and I was going to give it to her, any way I could. I ran to the bookstore, and she was there, shuddering, crying. Without hesitation, I took her into my arms and held her. There was no fight, no argument, she welcomed my embrace and held onto me tightly. She sobbed, and for an instant, I could have sworn she had said "Oh Johnny, I am so terrible." I blinked and dismissed it, thinking it was my imagination.
It felt like forever before we let go of each other. She looked at me and blinked away the last tears, and as her vision cleared, she gasped and covered her mouth. I didn't know what else to say, so I wiped the hair from her face.
"What's wrong?" I asked as I stared into her eyes, I didn't know why she seemed so surprised, like she had made a mistake. She shook her head, smiled politely, and spoke in a harsh, unused voice.
"I had thought you were my brother, I thought that was why you hugged me." She cleared her throat and sighed, still looking at me. She looked over my face, and something seemed to click in her memory. She pulled out a slight crumpled piece of sketch paper and showed it to me. My eyes went wide as I realized that I was looking at a photograph-like sketch of me, sitting on the park bench across from the woman. I was looking away, at the light post, and it was in the evening. The lighting and the detail was beyond incredible. I looked from the picture to her, caught speechless; she merely nodded. "You're my stranger, the one who has been watching me. I watched you too, and I know this is very strange, but I drew a picture of you, just in case you disappeared."
My heart melted in my chest, and became a hot liquid that poured down my arms. I took her hand and helped her up, she almost seemed afraid of the world, and stood close by me. She looked around, then back at me, a little fear in her beautiful eyes.
"What are you doing?" She asked quietly, unsure of herself. I could tell she had never been a social person, and she had a quiet aura about her. I looked down at her and took her hand in mine.
"I'm taking you home." Before she could say anything else I called my father and asked him to take me home from the bookstore.
