CHAPTER EIGHT
I sat in the library on a Thursday afternoon reading the last two chapters of Mr Glasgow’s book. Over the last few days, I had found many hotspots in the book that might have brought about the criticisms he told me about.
I found quite a few points I had attached little credence to, especially the one he made emphasis on Fashion and Style in painting.
My concentration was deep at first, engaged into the book that I didn't even notice who the person sitting opposite me on the same table was. I heard my book tapped with a pencil. I flicked my eyeballs up and saw the familiar straight face starring back at me; it was Pam.
I didn't speak, I just starred. Her eyes fell to a piece of paper on the table which I had no idea where it came from. Initially I assumed she called my attention to it; maybe it slipped out from the book I was holding, but when I saw my name on it, I knew it wasn't. She pushed the paper with the bud of her pencil towards me and I took it. The note said;
Brad,
The Green house, Roath Park. Meet me there in Five hours.
Pam.
I looked at her and she looked back with the same expression. Then she took her books and left me looking from the note to her rare view as she headed for the exit.
Well, that was something, I thought, even though I didn't know what the meeting was all about.
I looked at my watch and marvelled at the timing; we had two and a half hours to closing time; and an extra time of the same duration to get ready. I looked the note again one last time; I had no idea it’ll be the beginning a brief magical moment packed with little happiness and prolong sadness.
The last hour of class turned out all twisted for me. In fact, my day turned psychologically bizarre the moment Pam left me sitting by the table in the library. The book seized to be exciting as my whole concentration was squashed by the unshelvable thoughts of the meeting.
The first question I asked myself was what would she tell me or what does she wants. Then I went hyper with the thoughts, gliding from one assumption to the other that I ran out of answers to supply the 'whys' and the 'whats' and the 'hows'.
The last period in class took longer than usual. Mr Mathews, the Maths teacher had never been so boring; he spoke for close to an hour while I grabbed what he said in the first six minutes. What he said for the rest of the time, I have no idea. In the bus ride home, I kept my gaze out at the window and saw Cardiff's pretty homes turned into trees close to a Green House; and Pam was standing there waiting for me.
I took a shower right when I got home, a treat I don't usually do for myself whenever I come back from school. I changed, ate, went back to my room and lay on the bed, thinking; no, not thinking; composing.
For the first time, since my senses had been carried away by her, I had a reasonable analysis on my issue: even though Pam was predictable, she could be surprising and I have to prepare for possible surprises. Considering how we started and had been, anything that could happen on that day won't be something unusual and so, I kept my hopes low.
By the time I stood on my feet and faced my door, I felt some strength surging inside me. I sighed, closed my eyes and said to myself, aloud. "Pam is just a girl." I said it again and again. "Here we go." I walked out.
The Green House had never been so conspicuous to me; I mean, I hardly gave it a look whenever I come to the park as it's not my usual spot. I found the glass enclosure a little stuffy the last time I was in there and naturally, I prefer the open spaces of the park more. When I approached it, I noticed that it's bigger than usual and the plants in the glass enclosure looked thicker.
I slowed my steps, looking from one direction to the other for Pam. But she was nowhere. I looked again and again but still couldn't find her. What the hell! I muttered. A plump guy walked out of the greenhouse and looked at me, smiled and nodded. His friendly gesture encouraged me to ask him if he saw a Blondie around, or inside the greenhouse.
"No. Sorry."
I thanked him and turned away from him, looking around.
"First date?" I heard his voice say. I turned back and he was still staring at me with that same smile on his face.
"Yes; No.” I stammered. "Well, I can't actually call it a date. It's more like an appointment."
"That's how it starts, man; from appointments to dates, and then to having your first kiss. After that, you have a girlfriend."
"I don't think that's going to happen."
"It will happen if you want it to. Just play nice, give her nice time, keep the conversation on the low; don't go digging too deep, be funny and you'll have her playing by your game."
"You don't..." I stopped, sighed and thanked him.
"You're welcome. My name is Bob. I can give you a free tour in the glasshouse if you want; you know, to help spice up the 'appointment'." He winked.
"Sure, I'd like that, Bob, thanks."
"You are welcome, Mr...” I apologised and told him my name. "Brad. So you really like her; I knew it." He grinned. "And by the way, is the girl you are waiting for a slim pretty Blondie with a white hat? Cuz the one approaching from behind you matches that description." I made a gesture to turn but he said between his teeth. "Don't turn; play cool. Let her come closer before you turn. Be at ease man. To be in control of this, you better control the excitement."
So he kept talking; my mind wasn't listening to what he was saying. My concentration was on Pam's aura behind me. I had no idea how far she was from where we were standing but my heart seemed to beat with her steps. I thought she was closer, but it seemed my heart beat like two hundred times until the aura felt as if it was about to hit and knock me off.
"Brad?" She said; I turned with a smile and met her straight face.
"Pamela." I said, and my face straightened as well. She looked from me to Bob; I introduced him to her, he stretched out his hand for a handshake but she didn't take it. She just stood there with her straight face. But Bob never stopped smiling.
"Well, I guess I'll leave you two alone. See ya Brad." He turned and went back into the greenhouse.
I looked at her and smiled. "That wasn't nice." I said.
"I don't shake hands with strangers; and I prefer you call me Pam, by the way. Pamela doesn't sound like my name." She walked ahead. I followed.
"You were late Pam, you said.."
"Ladies are always late Brad, get used to it."
"What happened to 'ladies first'?"
"You only say that when you are with the lady and not before she joins you. Any more questions?"
"Err... No. Not for now."
"Good." She said. "Your lines kind of put me off, seems like you don't know how to talk to girls."
"As a matter of fact, this is the longest conversation I ever had with a strange girl."
She looked at me for a second. "I agree. You have a lot to learn."
"I'm learning alright. I just hope I learn it the easy way." I noticed a little smile on her face that disappeared the next second. "So, where are we going?"
"Just walk with me."
"That's it; walk with you?"
"That's it. Walk with me."
I walked with her, and she led me to a bench in one of the serene parts of the park. Actually, it wasn't a new place I didn't know but I don't usualy go to the place real often.
We sat on the bench; she leaned back on the backrest, let out a long sigh, closed her eyes for a moment and took another sigh. I got tempted to ask how she's feeling, health wise, but didn't. She hates questions. Her face was a little pale and for the first time, I saw how bony it is. Her thin, pale orange lips trembled a little before she parted them and sucked in some air, which she flushed out through them again.
"Are you alright?" I felt compelled to ask.
"What does it look like?" She enquired still closing her eyes. I didn't say anything. "It seems you won't live in peace with yourself without asking questions."
"Forgive my curiosity; but do you blame me? You dropped an appointment note for me five hou
rs ago without stating the reason for fixing it."
"So you want to know why I brought you here."
"Yes."
She didn't speak a word; she was still in her position. It's like her breath seized for a moment and I just sat there looking at her face.
"Brad, just sit back and relax; do as I did. Come on."
I hesitated, but gave up. I adjusted myself and sat back; our heads all propped by the backrest, looking upwards. I gave an uneasy sigh; she smiled and said good.
Truthfully, I didn't know what I was supposed to feel doing that, but when she took my hand and laced her fingers with mine, all my thoughts went static.
I starred at the skies and couldn't see a thing up there, only uncountable masses of gray clouds hovering in disarrayed orientation. My mind wasn't in the skies either; it's concentrated on my held fingers. I had no idea what she wanted me to feel, and due to the fact that I was a bit disoriented by her sudden change of attitude to something I didn't expect, I hovered a little confusion in me.
I turned my head towards her and saw her eyes were still closed.
"You were supposed not to look at me; look up and close your eyes." She said without looking at my direction; and at first, I wondered how she knew I was looking at her.
I turned away, gazing once again the sky; at that moment, a flock of birds flew across my view in a uniform pattern; and I thought that was something to look at. Maybe they were migrating, or maybe they were just flying to somewhere they ought to be before it gets totally dark. It appeared they were in a rush hour or something. Shortly after, another flock followed and were gone. So when I closed my eyes, I decided to follow the birds to wherever they were flying to.
I flew with the birds beyond the fish-eye-view to places that might be called their home. I saw them landing by sea sides, bird islands, caves, trees, rooftops or cages. Probably they have nests there where their hungry little chicks would be waiting with their beaks wide open. Probably the chicks would be missing through the natural food chain and the parents won't bother to look for them, but would endure the natural loss and prepare to make new ones.
Life is like that; no matter how careful we could be, nature must take its course on us; just like the birds. Pam is dying, her parents knew that. They might have started preparing to have another baby either through another child birth or through adoption; Pam is now a wasted generation since she won't live long enough to have her own child that would be her replacement. This is the part where life, in all its splendour and gift, is unfair.
"Brad, you're hurting me."
Somewhere in my thoughts, I heard Pam said that. I opened my eyes and saw her face turned to me. "What?"
"I said you are hurting me." She moved her fingers between mine and I noticed what was happening. I had squeezed her little fingers tighter. I was too engulfed in my own thoughts and it reacted physically on her through my hold. Quickly, I let go of her as if the hand was red hot.
"I'm sorry." I sat up. "I had no idea I was doing that."
"What were you thinking? I was watching you; it seemed like you were sleeping only to feel you crushing my finger bones."
"I wasn't sleeping. I don't sleep that easily." I sighed and rubbed my face. I had no idea my thoughts could be that deep in such a short while.
"You still haven't answered my question. What were you thinking?"
"Nothing. I...just closed my eyes and..."
"Liar."
"What?" I looked at her and she looked back straight. "Birds." I said.
"Birds."
"Well, I saw them flying that way." I pointed up at the direction. She didn't look at where I pointed. "So I just closed my eyes and thought about them; where they were coming from, where they were going; stuff like that."
"What did you see?"
"Nothing special, just trees, islands, caves and mountains."
"Is that art?"
"No, it's nature; although there's a little form of art in it. I make landscape art and these things are also part of the landscape. Painting landscapes without a living thing in it would make the picture look serene; deserted."
Pam crossed her legs and folded her arms to her bosom; seemed relaxed and attentive to what I was saying. But I stopped talking because I didn't know what she wants to hear next.
"Ok, that was boring." I chuckled. "You are obviously not an art lover so I guess all the nature thing wasn't necessary."
"I don't mind. You can say whatever you want to say, as long as you'll keep the questions to minimum."
"Ok." I crossed my fingers. "How are you feeling now?"
She hesitated. "Fine, I guess. I came here when I got out of the hospital."
"Where?" She looked at me and I got it. "You came to the park right after you were discharged? Why here; you should've stayed back at home to fully recover."
"Oh please, stop saying that. You sound like my mother."
"I guess she's right. You should have..."
"Brad, I don't want to talk about that; just talk about something else."
My mouth opened but no word came out. I just looked at her with an opened mouth and at that moment, she was avoiding my eyes.
"Ok, I'm sorry. It's good you're alright now. I... I'm glad you are ok."
She looked back at me without a word, smiled and thanked me; I noticed the touch of shyness when she smiled and that gave me a little edge to continue. She's just a girl
"Hey, let me show you something." I said, standing up. She hesitated, then stood and followed me.
"Where are we going?"
"It seems you can't leave in peace with yourself without asking questions."
"That's not funny Brad."
"I'm not laughing, am I?"
I took us back to the greenhouse; thank God Mr Bob's offer hadn't expired yet. He delightedly took us in and showed us the little pond where the gold and larger Koi Carp fishes swam with grace.
A new feeling descended upon me; it's not only of happiness or love, but of satisfaction and comfort. For the first time in my life, I felt pure confidence which though, blossomed out of fear, radiated in me and my words.
And when I got home that evening, the bunch of butterflies swarming in my tommy didn't let me concentrate on Mr Glasgow’s book. I kept smiling at my thoughts, savouring my discovery of a new experience in a new niche of life that's psychologically strange but spiritually exciting. I think I was in a situation I couldn't find a precise definition for, whether in part or in whole and whether simply stated or exaggerated; but the bottom line was, it was a heavenly feeling.
I turned to my right where my unfinished painting sat on the easel and observed it, like I always do; and like it always happen, I felt an urge to add a little bit of soft touch to the painting. It has to be ecclesiastic; it must have a an angelic touch. I came and stood before the picture; rubbed my temple and tilted my head, and then without thinking about it, I took a paintbrush, dipped it in oil colour and continued painting.
Life seemed to be moving fast for me. When I lost my friendship with Phil, I re-organized my life to suit the pattern of a solo rocking guy. I felt like a moving train, pre-organized to move and stop at pre-designated stations; those waiting for it will board when it stops and those that are late would have to either wait for it to come back or board another. I thought Pam's arrival into my world would slow my pace; surprisingly it didn't. I discovered she was as fast I was.
I have finished the painting and had already started another one. It's inspiration came from the birds I saw flying in the sky, during the moment of self-solitude when I closed my eyes to relax, with Pam.
I had made an earlier study of birds flying across a yellow setting sun on the eastern skies, maintaining a uniform flying pattern. I used a cloudy atmosphere; the clouds stroke across the sun, covering almost half of it, making the birds and part of the clouds appear dark on a deep orange horizon coloured by the setting sun. I named it 'Going Home'.
I had already thoug
ht about making another one after Going Home to present the moment we were together inside the greenhouse by the little pond looking at Koi Carps and Goldfishes.
"Wow! They are big." I remembered her saying about the fishes. "And look at the way they move in the water; graceful. Reminds me of ballet." I recalled she knows some of the dance. "In ballet, you let yourself go, you know, like you are floating."
"Floating." I said.
"Yes, look at the fishes, they float but under water; maintaining complete control and balance of their bodies and movements even in violent motions."
She said the words gently, looking at the fishes as if she was the force controlling their movement. Bob who was also standing by smiled and shrugged. I got tempted to ask her more about ballet but saved my breath for another time. Then Bob continued to talk about the fishes; their native origin, preferred habitat, food and breeding. I listened to his orative lines as if he was reading from a book. But Pam seemed more interested on their motion, not the food or breeding. And when we were about to leave, she asked to take a last look at the fishes. Which she did.
So in the next painting I would do, I intend to capture that moment, especially when she was all wrapped up in her thoughts looking not at the fishes but at their movements.
At school, I tried keeping my friendship with Pam on a low profile, but turned differently. And just three days after we met at the park, she announced our friendship to the whole school, in both words and actions.
We had a football match at school between my team and Phil's. Though we all belonged to the school football team, but in that match, we were divided into two teams and made to play against each other so that the best would be noted from the better.
My team was Group A, I was the goalkeeper. Phil's belonged to Group B and wore the number 9 jersey. These positions made us enemies in the game and going by our on-going feud, made it worse. Our individual confidence and ready-to-fight psychology have risen high; made us both looked at one another with eagle eyes. He was ready to kill; I was ready to break his wings. The game started well. Attackers attacked and defenders defended. Phil's sole aim wasn't only bent on doing his job alone; he obviously harbours a personal mandate of humiliating me by trying to get a stylish finishing at my detriment.
That mandate got all fuelled up when my team scored on the 33rd minute of play.
And so team B pushed harder, creating and missing chances. We pushed as well, but not as hard as them; they were wounded tigers with high chances of making it even, or even better. Yellow cards flew up on players; no reds. And when the game was almost over Phil got a yellow too, on me.
He came forward, took a pass from Henry and advanced. Two of our defenders, Hugh and Currie blocked his entrance into the box so he passed the ball back to Henry who bulled back and passed the ball to another team mate. Before the ball came back to Phil, he had created a free space with his speedy manoeuvres and before you know it, our defence had been compromised.
But I already saw it coming as my eyes were on him most of the time. So I made my move before he became balanced with the ball. He took a shot at the post but Hugh was there, the ball hit him and deflected high up. Swarms of attackers with their heads up were gunning for a header; I went for a catch so I jumped higher and fortunately, I got the ball but had pushed off Henry who, I knew would've scored if I hadn't done that. An assistant ref saw it from the lines, raised his flag up and then pointed it at me. The ref blew a penalty. Team B cheered at the decision and after the usual deliberation, Phil was to take it.
I saw in his eyes, a certain satisfaction and I think, was for the arrival of the chance; that particular chance to usher in the moment he sought for with his heart and might. I knew we had waited for it, and to be brutally honest, I thought he would win.
I positioned myself in the middle of the goal post, my eyes keen and my heart full of hate. I was looking at his eyes, he was looking into mine. He placed the ball at the mark and drew back. I was ready. He looked at me, then at the ball; and then he went for the kick.
It came up left and I dove against it; the ball hit my hand and then at the bar. It went back into the field, and to the players who were all ready to attack or block. Unfortunately, the ball got to Henry and without hesitation, shot it back with a left; it ended at the back of the net-my net. The rest is history.
The match ended on a draw. And when we got out of the pitch, in cheers of the crowd, Phil and I looked at each other squarely before departing.
In the looks, embedded the unspoken words not of enmity, but of rivalry. I was scored, he might have thought; he didn't score me, I thought, therefore I won. I walked away.
"What a game; you looked like you fought a war." I turned on the voice and saw Pam standing there.
"It was a war." I said. "Just that we fought it without lethal weapons."
She looked at my feet and the gloves I was holding. "Then why all the protection; it should’ve been fought without boots, jerseys and heavy gloves."
"You were right about that. But the jersey is good though" I said. "How are you?"
"That jersey differentiates you from your opponents; it brings rivalry.” She pulled my jearsy and smiled. “No, how are you? You were the one that ran around the field looking for a ball to catch. I was just watching and drinking Pepsi."
"Fair enough; I'm ok; though I got scored, a yellow card, and nearly got injured. Beside those things, I'm fine."
"That's terrible. Don't worry, you'll be alright." She said and hugged me. The friendly affection felt good, but after it, came the terrible thing: all eyes were on us!
The next day, I had become a wonder for the whole school to look at.
"I must confess, I'm impressed with you mate." Henry grinned at me through the mirror of the restroom. I was looking at my wet face, thinking I looked worse than awful.
I slipped into the restroom unintentionally, and for two reasons: to hide from people's gazes and to splash some water on my face. The nervousness that gripped me as a result of the thousand pairs of eyes on me was pressurising and I felt my pulse panting. The water on my face was relieving and able to calm my pulse a bit. Henry buzzed in one minute after I shut the door.
"You are the man. Pamela Graham was the hell no boy wants to touch; but you caress her like a cat. Bravo!"
"Henry please... “
"I mean it mate."
"Yeah right. The whole school are now looking at me like a crazy lad and you think I'm the man."
"They are not thinking you are weird or mad, they are jealous of what you have. Agreed, Pamela Graham is the craziest girl in school, but so what? "
"So everyone looks at me as same."
"Everyone looks at you with jealousy. Pam could be crazy, but she's also crazy beautiful. And no matter how crazy she might be, you have probably touched a soft side of her that made her succumbs to you. Look at the way she hugged you yesterday, I'm sure a lot of people would swear to God that was the first time they ever seen her smile. It happened at your courtesy. So if I were you, I would walk with my head high and throw the middle finger at anyone that player hates." I was silent; looking at him through the mirror. "You have something hundreds of us in this school don't have; something rare and pretty, something crazy; something special. You have Pamela Graham. And whatever magic you used to get her, I think is a good one. Though you need more of that to keep her." With that, he turned and reached the door; just before he opened it, he said to me. "You do look nervous; you'll die of heart attack if you continue like that before the end of the day."
My Favourite Muse Page 11