The Artist

“You wait for a silence
I wait for a word
Lying next to your frame
Girl unobserved”

                I watched. He was fabulous at everything. He was the artist. He wrote, he drew, he sung. There was nothing he couldn’t do.  He only worked in silence though. If it was too loud in the classroom, he would just observe what everyone else was doing.

                I, on the other hand, couldn’t sculpt a thing. I couldn’t paint, couldn’t draw, and couldn’t think when there was silence. I needed noise. I needed music. It was the only thing that would allow me to work. It made me forget about the other people in the room that could be staring critically at my work. The thing is, they never did. I was the girl no one cared about the one that was always left alone. And I liked it that way.

                Today in art, we moved seats. I was at the end of the room. We were drawing portraits. We were to take a picture of ourselves or one of our friends and bring to school. Then we were to paint a copy of the picture. I didn’t see who I was sitting next to, nor cared. I put the buds in my ears and stared at the picture of myself with great ferocity as I decided how to do this. 

“You change your position
And you're changing me
Casting these shadows
Where they shouldn't be”            

I let my fingers rub against the blank canvass as I decided how to start. I would draw it first. I sketched out my figure, then the actual clothes over it. I then went over the sketch in markers. Not copic markers, I wish I had had them. But, school can’t afford such a luxury. I bobbed my head to the sound of Ellie Goulding’s voice as the song played out. I turned my head to see what the others were doing and moved my head back immediately. It was him. It was Leonardo.

                I gulped as he moved slightly. The sun seemed to sense his movement and my canvass cast a shadow on me. I was in the shadows again. I was a shadow, a person that no one dared to notice. I sighed. I hated it. I liked being left alone most times but, not having friends sucked.

                He turned towards me and frowned. He mumbled something. “What?” I opened my mouth before I could stop myself.

                “You moved.” He said. I looked at him confused.  I cocked my head to look at his canvass. It was a picture of a girl with short, thick hair that was up in a bun. Her bangs were braided tight against her scalp. She wore glasses that had freckles on them. Her cheeks didn’t have much definition. Her chest was average at most although her sister and friends would say otherwise. She had music buds in her ears and was hunched over a canvass with eyes that deciphered the invisible code that told her what to draw. It was a drawing of me.

“How am I supposed to get the lighting and shadows right now?” He asked annoyed. I almost burst out laughing but giggled. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“The answer is obvious. Make a light source of your own. I took my pencil and drew a dot coming from the right bottom corner of the canvass. “There’s your light source. You put it there if you want to bring out the details of her face. But if you don’t want that you chose a different place to put the light source.” He looked at me like I was crazy.

“So you want me to guess how the shadows should look?” I nodded my head. “What if I mess up?”

“The thing about art is that no one will think you mess up unless you tell them otherwise.” He smiled.

“Or, if it’s super obvious.” I shrugged.

“We're interrupted
By the heat of the sun
Trying to prevent
What's already begun”

                We were interrupted by a silhouette. Leo smiled and I sunk back to my drawing. “Hey Soleil,” He exclaimed. Soleil was a Hispanic girl with dark eyes that sent me into myself every time I saw them.  She had long dark brown hair that was in a ponytail that reached her tail bone. She was in a pair of jeans and a white sweatshirt with the words “Student Council” planted in red across her chest. On the back (which I have seen often) were the words, “Be the change.” 

                In general, she was sweet girl that got the love of everyone she met. But, when it came to Leo, her boyfriend, she could be as harsh as a tornado.

“Who are you?” She asked. I knew the question was directed to me, but cranked up my music and pretended that I didn’t notice. I continued to work on my picture, taking my own advice and adding the shadows. She tapped on my shoulder and forced me to look up.

“Yes?” I asked turning down my music.

“Class is over. Take your pathetic excuse for a painting out of here.” She whispered this into my ear. And then let a warm smile grace her face. “Yeah, I know right?!” Leo grinned.

“My two girls,” He said as I got up. I glanced back as he pointed to his sketch innocently as the girl yelled at him.

“Oh, you're just a body
I can smell your skin
And when we feel it
You're wearing thin”

Later that day, I almost missed the announcement of my name. Almost. I turned and there was Leo. He ran, smiling, waving, and then tripped on the uneven sidewalk. He wrapped his arms around me to stop from colliding and I stumble grabbing on to him for support. I felt him winch as I grabbed his wrist.

I felt some slight rises in the skin, which would indicate a scar or scab of some sort. I looked and there were cut marks. He wasn’t as perfect as I thought he was. He was a Cutter, someone who didn’t enjoy their life, someone who wished for it to be better. He saw me staring and snatched his wrist away.

“I took your advice.” He said with that annoyed voice again. I smiled slightly at it. He held out the canvass. He had painted the color of my light skin, hazel eyes, and thick light brown hair. He had used the original light source I had told him about.

“Cool.” He shoved the painting in my direction. “Don’t you-“

“No. I’m not using this as my project.” I assumed his girlfriend had got the best of him.

“Um…”I didn’t know how to bring the subject of his wrists without offending him. “If you need to talk, I’m here for you.” The voice of most concerned strangers you met on Deviant Art left my mouth. “Well,” I held the painting out so he could see, “We are.”

“Yeah,” He exhaled. “Maybe later,” I looked at him with the pity and concern I felt. I know he didn’t want my pity. No one does. But, it was the most I could give to him.

“Oh, but I've got a plan
And why don't you be the artist
And make me out of clay?
Why don't you be the writer
And decide the words I say?
'Cause I'd rather pretend
I'll still be there at the end
Only it's too hard to ask
Won't you try to help me?”

I went to walk away but he grabbed my wrist and said in a voice that sent a shiver up my spine, “Do not tell anyone. Listen to me. Understood?” I had not known that this side of Leonardo existed but, there was always a side of a person that made them do negative things. I had one myself. The one that wanted me to hiss something mean or menacing back. Maybe a cuss word, or say that he could not stop me from doing what I chose. But, I knew that neither of those things would help him. And my secret, his secret, was all the assurance I needed to know that he wouldn’t act the same towards me. And I was perfectly fine with it.

Let him put lies in my mouth, he would have to tell me the reason sometime and that’s all I was really interested in. What humans are interested in: Other people’s pain and suffering. It was what made life interesting. Drama was what made humans what they are. Even if we refused to admit it. I myself refused to admit it.