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Black and White Painting Part 2
“Welcome back,” I greeted him in.
“Thanks,” he stepped into the room and sat on a bench on the wall on the right, “this room is really bright in the morning. So you work here all the time?”
“No,” I continued dusting, “We're here for about two more weeks, then we're heading west. Why are you here anyways?”
“I wanted to look at the paintings.”
“Ah,” I was disappointed.
“What?” he could sense the tone in my voice, “You thought I was here for you?”
“Maybe I am.”
“Don't make fun of me.”
“I'm not.” His smile pissed me off a little.
It was silent while I was dusting but not too awkward. Only...slightly.
“You wanna look at the picture?” I put the duster back into the supply closet and called through out the gallery.
“Can I?” He replied.
“Yep, but first you need to tell me your name.”
“Cutler. And you?”
“Emo sounding name. I'm Jem.”
I could hear his giggle from across the gallery, “To Kill A Mockingbird? Your parents must have loved that book, and thought you were a guy.”
“Jem isn't a fitting name for a boy.”
I walked into the area he was in, I got to see his features. Before it was a little dark but now the morning sunlight showed the jaw, cheekbones, forehead, arches, nose, and the curve of his lips. His face was softly shaped but had some sort of definition. Small, high cheekbones. Proportioned forehead. Curved and a bit pointed nose. Lips that you want to touch your own on, plump enough to satisfy greatly. Blonde hair with an undertone of brown that went to the end of his chin cut in layers.
We went side-by-side to the painting he was so fascinated with. “Have you figured why you like the painting so much?” I asked.
“Probably because I understand it. Well, I can relate to it?”
“Ah, really? Your life has been that terrible?”
“No, it's been good. But the world that surrounds my life isn't so well I guess.”
We sat down on the dark-brown bench in front of the painting.
“I don't get it.”
“My life is good, but the people around me have bad lives. Or they make it appear mostly to themselves that they have bad lives. So I see that as the darkness of the exterior. And their distress if effecting my happiness but I still keep happy.”
I nodded in agreement, “Now I understand...”
“That's probably why I like it so much.”
It was silent again, we both stared at the painting. He was wondering about his life and I was thinking about his.
“I agree with what you said before.” he broke the silence.
“What did I say?” I wasn't sure what exactly he was talking about.
“That everything is really a 'yes' or a 'no', we create complications because of our stubbornness.”
“Well, it's also fear.”
“Of course. That's why we lie.” he leaned back on the bench and stretched his arms out on the frame, “Why do you work here?”
“Hmmm,” it's hard to answer questions of interest. You always need to explain yourself or the person is let down. But why you like something is difficult to explain, “I surround myself with painting all day because it shows reality. You'd think paintings would show a fantasy world. But they show the reality and mind of the painter. I like to be able to understand people with out seeing them. You can't read a person. Paintings...you can read those and understand them if you think.”
He looked at my face and I looked at his, “Good explanation, I hate it when people are just like 'just cause' it's annoying.”
We began to talk about whatever came to mind. I found out his favorite band, color, ice cream flavor, clothing label, TV show, video game, writer, etc. And I learned about his life. He lived in peaceful suburbia with his parents. He was an only child and hated it. He's currently in his last year of college as a business major. In school he wasn't the 'popular' type more like the guy that everyone knows but they don't talk to him. He has a few close friends and a lot of casual friends. Of course, in return I told about me. What little past I have.
“Does it disappoint you that I'm not a completely insane and wild person?”
“No, I'm happy that you're not.”
“You like that I'm normal?”
“I'm normal too, so someone that's so...active would be too much. I don't like exciting people, I like rational people.”
“You say that now.” he took his hands off the bench frame. I thought he was going to leave so I started to get up a bit, but his head pushed down my lap.
“Uh...” I attempted to move his head off my lap.
“Stop, it's comfy.”
I'd be lying if I said I loved him. It's more like I was infatuated with him. For a normal person he seems pretty forward with his actions.
“I don't think you've known me enough to do something like this with ease.” I snapped at him with sarcasm.
He looked up into my eyes, ugh, “I know. But I wanted to do it, so I did. Can't you respect that?”
“You didn't consider my feelings.”
“What? You don't like me?”
I paused. I had no idea what to say, try to be smooth!!!! I just said the first thing that came into my mind that was the tiniest bit smooth, “It's not that I don't like you. It's that I don't know you.”
“And I don't know you either.”
“Isn't this kind of irresponsible?”
“It's not like I'm gonna have sex with you or something. I'll save that for tomorrow.”
“Now you're making fun of me,” I tapped his nose with the tip of my index finger and stuck out my tongue.
“Why are you being so colorful?”
What? I am...being colorful.
“I'm human aren't I?”
“Wouldn't it be easier to be black and white?”
An argument about this seriously?
“Fine, I like you so far. But I don't like that your being all touchy-feely because it's awkward for me.” I desperately looked into his eyes. They were like joker cards, one's you have to throw away to start the real game. But in some games they're everything. Which type of game is this though?!
He lifted his head off my lap, I realized that I missed the warmth from his head. “Uh Cutler I'm---”
He looked away from me and lifted his hand up to my face. Did I seriously hurt his feelings? My eyes shut and I rested my head on the bench frame. I felt the bench move a bit, and then I felt pressure on my shoulder. My eyes opened partly and my head lifted. His nose was almost touching the tip of mine. The tips of his hair brushed my cheeks. His eyes stared at mine, even though I was stunned, I could not look at his. My nerves sparked through out my body. From finger tips to toes. I couldn't tell whether my heart was beating like a stereo or if it wasn't beating at all. As I felt his nose touch my cheek, I felt his lips lightly touch mine. The pressure was light and comfortable, a small peck. His hand on my shoulder tightened. He didn't want to let it go.
He left me anxious for more when his lips were unglued from mine. And his grip on my arm unlatched. His joker smirk was on his face, “How was it?”
I giggled under my breath and kept my head down. Who knows how red my cheeks were, “Meh.”