by Bedly Alcide
I was silent again, and I looked down at my feet as I began walking in the direction of his truck. This was too much for one person to handle. Ashton had gotten to me. I’d known him for a mere day and he’d already figured me out. I knew the song wasn’t patronizing, but I hated knowing that he’d discovered my story so easily. How did he know?
“How did who know? Do you mean me?” he asked, and only then did I realize that I’d voiced that last question aloud. “I’m not sure I did now, exactly. I still don’t know all of it, but that song – it’s you, isn’t it? My suspicions were more or less confirmed when you revealed to me your latest personal secret. There’s no father figure in the house, and your face, it’s that of a motherless child. You’re always alone because you don’t know how else to be. Dawn, I need you to know that I understand you. I’m not going anywhere, but you have to give me some answers. Help me raise you up from this forlorn slump you’re stuck in.”
This wasn’t a decision I was about to make. Who did he think he was, prying into my life? Suddenly I was angry. I hadn’t been before, but why did he think he could dictate what I did and didn’t tell him? I was on the verge of humiliation. Did he want me going around vocalizing his life story to him and making him suddenly realize how messed up he and his life were? I didn’t think so.
“Take me back,” I demanded quietly. As unlike me as it was to demand something of someone, however quietly, I couldn’t help myself. The last time I could recall feeling even slightly mad was yesterday in Mrs. Kurl’s class. She always knew how to strike a nerve, but this was different. I was mad at myself for feeling this mutual connection with Ashton. Was God trying to send me a sign, or was I just being ignorant?
“I’m not mocking you, Dawn. I guess that was just my way of letting you know that I do understand, or at least I’m trying to. I can’t do that alone. You have to know that I want you to understand me, too. Whatever is going on with us, we need to be in it together,” he pleaded. I turned to face him, pushing my hood back to analyze his sincerity.
I took a deep breath. I still wasn’t ready to let all of myself go, but he had calmed me down enough that it would eventually happen – just in due time. I couldn’t believe that he could do something like that. I guess I’d never even been worked up enough to have needed calming down before. Jeez . . . so much could (and had) happen in a couple of days.
“You’re not going to make this easy,” I breathed out. We returned to the picnic table, both of us considerably relieved.
“I’m not,” he agreed. “By the way, we should probably be heading back, and about your drawing; I wasn’t trying to be rude or vague earlier. I think I was caught off guard by its intensity. Clearly, you portrayed yourself as being undoubtedly lonesome. I want to change that. Do you?”
I smiled subtly at him, and then headed back to his truck again. The last thing I wanted right now was to be late on our way back from ditching lunch. My inconspicuous reputation would certainly be out the window if that happened. Was that what I was truly worried about? Being afraid to blow my ‘rep.’ seemed shallow. That wasn’t me, so what did I have to lose?
“It’s an impeccable piece of artwork, you know?” he complimented, before adding something random that I hadn’t expected. “Also, for being so outwardly silent, you sure do seem to do a lot of thinking. I bet nobody would ever be able to get you to shut up if you always spoke your mind . . . kind of like me!” We both laughed and then climbed into his car.
“It’s your turn,” I told him after we’d begun driving. I meant, of course, that after we’d gotten so deep with my personal life that it was his turn to share some of himself with me. I knew this was risky because Ashton was right about one thing. He did speak his mind, and I now was uncertain if he would be able to resume silence in a timely manner. However, it would turn the focus away from me, which was exactly as I preferred it.
The digital clock on his dashboard read 11:50 a.m. We would be infallibly punctual. At the time being, we had twenty minutes to spare. It was a ten minute ride to school from the park. With another ten minutes to get to class before the bell rang, Ashton and I would be able to blend in with the crowd.
“You’re actually inviting me to talk about myself?” he asked, thinking I was kidding. Seeing the look on my face, he made some sort of light-hearted, disbelieving grunt that I could even begin to emulate. Then, I was learning more about Ashton Voss than I thought possible of a person on such a brief road trip.
I learned that his favorite color was red because it made him feel dangerous. He moved to the United States for him mom’s job; I never actually found out what said career was. His birthday was November 7, 1992. When he was little, he always dreamed of becoming a famous singer someday. His weekends were spent ignoring phone invites to keg parties from his fellow football players and instead he played board games and watched movies with his mom, dad, older sister, and his dog named Murphy. Lavender, his older sister, was 18-years-old and unemployed while trying to figure out which of the two colleges she’d been accepted to that she wanted to go to. Ashton currently worked at the local library on Sunday and Saturday mornings.
This list went on and on. He was the fastest speaker Id ever met. He hid nothing. I was finally spared learning about his first crush in Kindergarten when he came to a stop in the parking lot at noon. I scrambled out of his evidently new truck that his dad had won in a contest. I heard a chuckle from behind as he followed serenely after me. We went through the same door we’d come out of and slipped into the passing queue of students on their way to class.
“Well, that was fun,” Ashton said in a low voice. I rolled my eyes but didn’t look back. Biology started soon and I still needed to get my books for it. By the time I reached my locker, I hadn’t noticed that my follower had vanished. Thankfully, unlike my English class, the Bio room was actually located quite close to my locker. Loraine was in this class, and just like in lunch (up until recently) she always sat next to me. I’d never really given much thought to it before, but it did seem strange that she would be so friendly to me when I’d never spoken to her before. I mean, I didn’t ever talk to anyone except for Ashton now, but no one else attempted interaction with me.
Loraine was already seated in her usual spot when I walked in. I had made it with approximately seven minutes to go before class started. I made my way to my desk and got myself situated. Perceptive as I am, I noticed a pair of eyes on me, but I didn’t acknowledge them until I was fully done arranging my books and utensils. It was Loraine. She was giving me a look that told me she wasn’t quite sure what to make of me. This seemed a bit odd to me, considering she was the one wearing neon tights and floral overalls.
I gave a timid wave at the same time that she said “You weren’t at lunch, today. I saw you leave with Ashton Voss. Where did you go?”
Okay, so that was blunt. As much as I appreciated her companionship – if that’s what you could call what we had – I didn’t tell her that, of course. I’d been worried enough already that someone had seen us leaving and would snitch on Ashton and I. this was somewhat of a relief. I didn’t think, or at least I hoped not, that Loraine was the tattle-tale type.
I just shrugged my shoulders, not caring to dignify her accusations with an answer. It wasn’t that said accusations were inaccurate, per se. I think it was more that I was al talked out from my afternoon, and I wasn’t about to let anyone in on my special little secret. That was between Ashton and me. I was still the same old Dawn; still keeping secrets. Now, I just had someone to keep them with.
Loraine continued to stare at me, blatantly unyielding. I did my best not to look in her direction and instead I brought out my Writing notebook and opened to the page of my abyss. I desired so greatly to finish it because I knew it lacked something. That something was just unidentifiable to me at the present. The tip of my pencil had barely touched the paper when the bell rang and Mr. Sweeney walked into the room in all of his bald-headed glory.
Although the man
was only in his forties, he had absolutely no hair left atop his head, and he swore he didn’t shave it. He substantially made up for his hairless head with his overgrown brown beard.
“Good Morning, kids,” he chimed, cheerful as ever. “Today, we’ll be discussing a more detailed branch of this science called Microbiology. Now, who here has ever seen rotted food . . ?”
I switched my notebook positions so that the one for this class covered my picture. This was on class I didn’t really mind taking notes in. Mr. Sweeney was a bit squirrely, but he always made Biology interesting enough that his students didn’t fall asleep. That in itself was quite a feat. I doubt the students who had a different Biology teacher, like ‘Monotonous, Moody, Mr. Maple,’ had as easy a time in class as we did. I wasn’t sure how someone could be lethargic-sounding and seemingly bipolar at the same time, but apparently Mr. Maple was able to pull it off somehow.
Spanish II with Señora Diego was no joke. She actually made us take notes and they had to be in Spanish. She took grades on our notebooks and daily quizzes. Never did we do anything else in her class. We also weren’t allowed to ask questions unless in Spanish. One time, she’d been giving a lecture on proper language etiquette in Spain and someone had shouted out “English, por favor!” Sra. Diego had slapped a piece of duct tape over his lips and made whoever it was write the word ‘quiet’ in Spanish over the tape while it was still on his mouth. That was the last time anyone had ever spoken out in her class.
Art was easily my favorite class of the day. Miss Rayneshine was a very laid-back, mellow and cool teacher, albeit a hippie. Most of the class, it seemed, suspected that she had actually changed her last name somewhere along the way, after she became a ‘flower-power- girl, but nobody knew for sure. Common apparel for our art instructor included tie-dyed bell-bottoms and t-shirts with eco-friendly sayings on them. Today, her shirt said Love the Bees. Save the trees. She often talked about her private bee sanctuary that was back at her house.
Today, I pulled out my Writing notebook and took it to the photo-copying machine. We had one of these because students, including myself evidently, often received bursts of inspiration outside of class where we didn’t always have giant paper at hand. This machine transferred our creations on big pieces of paper that we could work on from our easel. I’d expected working on that would be the acme of my class period. How many times did Ashton see fit to prove me wrong?
“Before we begin the Free Pen period today, we have a new addition to Art one-oh-one. He’s a transfer from seventh period study hall who’s been trying to get in all semester. We didn’t actually have an opening, but I took pity on his poor soul and decided to make some room for him anyway.” She said in her low, thoughtful voice. “Please welcome Ashton Voss.”
And there he stood. I almost couldn’t believe my eyes although I knew it would be him before he revealed himself. I found myself not annoyed, but actually excited that we shared another class together. Looking around the room, I saw that the single available station was across the room, and I instantly felt a disappointment that I couldn’t quite place, though I should have been able to. I almost laughed aloud at the realization that he was already growing on me after so short a time.
Next to me sat a girl I’d never really looked at before. I knew her name was Sydney only because I saw her name on the customary place card that we all had on our stations. Although she had never so much as blinked in my direction, I felt a sudden unjust resentment toward her. If only she hadn’t been sitting there, Ashton would be able to. That really wasn’t fair of me; I just really wanted to see what kind of masterpiece he would be working on because he had said something about being a wretched artist.
“Excuse me, Miss Rayneshine?” said the voice of that new Australian boy who had just transferred to this class. “Dawn over there is the only one I know in this class. Since I’m new, would it be alright if I moved by station next to hers?”
“You sure can, Ashton. We always want the new students to feel welcome and comfortable in this class. That’s why you may call me Lily; I feel it breaks down the wall between teacher and pupil and makes for a healthier environment for everyone, okay?” she said happily. We all knew to call her Lily to her face – talk about flower power – but I didn’t feel comfortable referring to an authority figure by their first name.
A deep weight was lifted off of me and I suddenly felt remorse for my prior ill-feelings toward Sydney. Ashton settled himself across from my station so that if the easels weren’t in the way, we would have been looking at one another. I, for one, was grateful for the easels. I wasn’t quite one-hundred percent comfortable with Ashton just yet. That was to be expected of course, seeing as I didn’t warm up to people easily.
Once we were all settled and class had officially started, I couldn’t help but to glance around the side of my drawing once or twice to see Ashton. I was more interested than I would like to admit in seeing what he was painting and how good it was. Each time, I was faced with a grinning Ashton. It irked me that he knew I wanted to know what he was doing, but he didn’t show or tell me until class was already half over. I had barely gotten any further with my abyss, distracted as I was.
“Why don’t you come over here and look at my artwork before you fall out of your chair?” he suggested after the fifth time he’d caught me trying to sneak a peek as his easel. I left my stool and heard a click at the same time that I thought I saw something flash, like a lightning bolt from behind me. It didn’t bother me much. People often took pictures of their creations with a camera that we weren’t allowed to have on school grounds. Miss Rayneshine didn’t care.
When I looked at Ashton’s paper, the painting there shocked me. In the middle of a pure black layout, there sat a coffin. It was gray, boxy, and simply drawn, but there was no doubt in my mind of what it was. I noticed the three-dimensional detail that brought the basic picture to life and upon the coffin there was an engraving. It read RIP. The structure seemed to be painted of stone and the lid was partially ajar as if whoever was inside was reaching out.
I cocked my head to the side and looked at the artist. He was waiting for me to give a review. Even if I were more prone to verbalism, I doubt I’d been able to say anything. The reasoning behind the painting was unfathomable to me as was the inspiration. It simply rendered me completely speechless what would ever provoke someone to draw a coffin without some queer infatuation with vampires or a recent death in the family. So far, I hadn’t noticed any gothic tendencies of Ashton, and I had a feeling he would have said something about a relative’s death. He wasn’t one to keep things bottled up.
“I was just thinking,” began Ashton, scratching his chin. “I wonder what my funeral will be like. I don’t know if my soul or spirit or whatever will be able to attend it. If you and I are still friends some 80 years into the future, I’d like you to sing at my funeral.”
I felt my eyes bulging out of my head, but one look at him told me he wasn’t kidding. It was a comfort to know he considered us friends. I was sure that, in time, I might consider him one, too. I sincerely doubted that those who attended his funeral would want to hear an old lady sing. That’s not to mention I doubted I would stick around Hazelwood forever. Also, I didn’t even like to talk, let alone sing in front of a crowd!
“I can’t sing,” I whispered so that nobody else would hear. My mouth opened again and suddenly I had a fervent desire to tell him everything. I wanted him to know my favorite color, why I lived alone, the suspicions I had about the reason my parents left me, and every other boring aspect of my secluded life. Little had I know how easy it was to get through to me.
“Hey, if I can do it, anyone can,” he joked, but a strange look crossed his face and I felt the sensation that he was experiencing my same thought process. “What would you say to hanging out after school? I know you said you’d only tell me one thing about you per day, but maybe that rule could be bent and we could talk?”
I pondered the offer – silently,
of course. On the one hand, my heart was urging me to accept. After all, I had just been hoping for the same thing. On the other hand, my head was warning me to slow down. I still didn’t know if I could trust this guy yet. For all I knew, he could be preparing to blab my secrets to the whole school. I did know Ashton, though. Whatever this weird connection was that brought us together, it was unyielding. Ashton could now betray me about as easily as I could him, which was, to say, about as easily as I could run over a puppy dog in my car. Considering the fact that I would sooner stand up to Mrs. Kurl than do either of those things, the trust between us should’ve been pretty sturdy. Only time would tell.
“Tomorrow,” I murmured unthinkingly. It would do well to wait another day and see if this thing was for real. I figured another twenty-four hours would give us both time to sort out our priorities. We had to decide whether we really wanted to pursue a friendship based on a freaky feeling we both seemed to share on impulse. Not only that, but to be friends with another so unlikely. It was possible that over time, I might not want to spend all my time with someone who doesn’t have a ‘Mute’ button. It was also possible that Ashton wouldn’t really want to hang out with a person who hardly ever talks at all. Then again, maybe we would rub off on each other.
