Kaleidoscope
Page 7
He was an open book, and I knew quite a bit about him already, details which I'd absorbed like a sponge. I was completely captivated by his every fluid movement and sentence as I sought the meaning behind his words in those startling green eyes, fearful that I might ever forget the first time I really got to sit down with him and get to know him.
He was, after all, an enormous participant in my “progress” of searching through my mind to become a whole person again, even though he didn't know it. Austin inspired me to use the paintbrushes that would once again immerse me into a hobby comprising more than sitting around feeling empty and sorry for myself. My intrigue about him that day on the bus led me to wonder about Markson's Thrift Store, which would become the first solid stepping stone on what I hoped would be a continued, sustaining path of recovery of my memory.
Of course, I hadn't told him any of this; while Austin was an open book, I was a padlocked journal. I was cautious to reveal anything about myself that I thought would scare him off or change what seemed to be his good perception of me. After all, coming up to someone and telling them how strange you are isn't really something you want to reveal within the first couple days of meeting someone.
“Hey, I'm crazy...I have trouble connecting to people, remembering parts of my past from a specific time, and I'm going to therapy for it. I've also been noticing you for some time, and you inspired me to continue my hobby of painting, which subsequently led to me uncovering a rather pleasant memory from a few years ago. Thanks!”
Yeah, I imagined that going south pretty quick.
I hoped I would get there, that Austin was someone I could really trust. And maybe this small bit of informal communication—the loathsome back-and-forth of texting—was the first step towards that.
I inhaled sharply and went to work attempting to respond.
“Augh, these stupid touch screen phones,” I grumbled, hitting more than one button and having to go back to erase the extras multiple times. Texting was not my best form of communication, since no one ever bothered to text me, but eventually I spelled out a response.
>>Happy Halloween to you! Lol, just handing out candy for the kids.You?
It seemed like he had taken forever to respond as I sat there in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and my underwear, curled up in my desk chair like a child, staring at the phone on my desk. I continued waiting, and I felt like an idiot.
Is this what people normally did when they waited for a text, or did they go about their daily lives? This form of communication truly was so informal. I wanted to call Austin instead, to hear the familiar volley of our conversation instead of waiting on this slow string of text messages. However, I didn't know if he was busy, or if he would even want to talk on the phone. If he did, he would have called in the first place...at least that's what I told myself as I fumbled for excuses, fearful to do anything damaging to this budding friendship.
Just as I was about to give up and plod downstairs to find something to eat, the phone finally vibrated. I picked it up and shoved it into my face to get a better look.
>>Lol, not a damn thing. Candy 4 the kids could be fun! I'd love to join if you want company.
Was Austin implying that he actually wanted to see me outside of our routine classes? But he just saw me yesterday...wasn't he sick of me yet? My head whirled with possibilities, but my logic reminded me that I'd have to ask Mom. She would return from work around 5:30pm tonight, just in time to help me hand out candy and to plead with me, like she did last year, to at least wear some vampire teeth or devil horns to get into the spirit.
I looked around, stuttering in my mind as I attempted to come up with an appropriate response that didn't ward him off, but that also didn't seem too eager. Frustrated, I fumbled with the buttons once again.
>>Sounds great. :) Ill have to ask mom when she gets home, you can stay for dinner if u want? UGH I hate texting, can I call this afternoon?
I rose from my seat, determined to get dressed and to allow my spirits to be lifted by the hope of company from someone my own age. As I did so, I received a lightning-fast response.
>>Yes and yes! Actually Ill call you when I get off work. :) Ttyl. Text me your address tho?
I nodded and smiled to myself, noticing as I did so that I'd put my sweater on backwards. Embarrassed, I changed it, careful as always not to look at myself too much in the mirror. I headed downstairs, slowly pecking the on-screen keyboard to relay my address.
I was feeling pretty good, all things considered. The day was a beautifully sunny one that lit up the remnants of snow and mingled with the few leaves that lingered as autumn's last vestiges. Our small back yard became a beacon of light that shone through the kitchen window. A large bowl of candy set on the dining room table, paired with a note from Mom, bolstered my spirits even more. “Happy Halloween sweetheart!” it read. “This candy is for the kids in case some of them get here before I get home. Make sure you leave the outside light on for them. I bet no one will notice if you sneak a few pieces of candy for yourself! Love you and see you soon, Mom.”
I took a few candy corns from the bottom of the orange plastic bowl and even allowed myself to pet Murray as he scaled a chair to reach the table, straining his head fiercely towards me for affection. The orange tabby seemed grateful for the attention and mewed contentedly before I shooed him back onto the floor.
Things, at least for this moment, right now, were starting to look up, and I was determined to make today a decent day.
***
I carried my phone in my pocket as I flitted about the house. I was preparing it for a horde of small children in overpriced costumes, the arrival of my mother on this Friday night (which meant I would help out with dinner), and the anticipated appearance of my first house guest since we'd moved here. It was an awkward and embarrassing milestone to acknowledge, but I swallowed its resulting anxiety as best as I could, resolute to have things go well. Mom would be home soon, eager to be done with another work week and just as excited for any known holiday as she was when I was little enough to properly celebrate them. Hopefully she can reign it in long enough to not make this embarrassing, I thought to myself as I plucked a pre-portioned bag of chicken from the freezer and set it to thaw in the microwave.
My mother had been easy enough to persuade in the plans. I'd called her on her lunch break to tentatively broach the topic, receiving an enthusiastic, if not surprised, response.
“Of course you can have a guest over, Jade! That's just wonderful! See, I knew you'd make friends if you went out and--”
“Yeah, yeah, please don't make a huge deal about it.”
“Of course...I'm just excited for you, and this is a big deal! What's the lovely lady's name?”
I'd hesitated. “Uh...well, his name is Austin Fletcher.”
There had been silence, and I thought for a second that she might change her mind. Instead, Mom gave a “knowing” sort of haw, insinuating I'm sure that she thought this boy would become my first husband. I even felt her conspiratorial wink over the phone.
“A boy, I see,” she said, drawing out the last word in a dramatic fashion. “Well, I'm delighted to meet him, hon. I'll be home at the usual time...pick whatever you'd like to start for dinner!”
As I programmed the microwave to defrost the meat, all the while glancing at the stove clock, my heart raced a little faster. With each passing minute, I became more and more nervous. Why hasn't he called yet? I wondered. It was 5:16...I should have heard from him by now. I pulled out my phone and checked it, just in case by some miracle it had rung unnoticed. There was nothing there except for the on-screen clock, ticking now to 5:17pm as I looked at it, as if to taunt me.
Maybe he isn't coming, I thought briefly. It was possible; after all, we didn't know each other very well. He had a job to attend to, like a real adult who had things together instead of living in a muddled haze like I did. I knew for certain he had a family of his own—two sisters and an oddly matched set of estranged parental figures
—and I'm sure that with his charming personality and authentic kindness, he had a wonderful group of friends already. Friends that were probably far more mature and put together than myself. What did he need me for anyway?
Suddenly, I heard a resounding knock at the door: three tiny raps against the hollow wooden structure, made by a hand rather than with the brass knocker.
“Trick or treaters already? It's not even dark yet!” I grumbled, whisking the basket of candy on the table into my arms and rushing towards the door. “I get that winter came early and it's a little chilly out, but come on...”
I opened the door, averting my eyes downwards to meet the legion of miniature snack hoarders that was sure to be the first of many to come that evening.
“Trick or treat! Here's--” I halted at once. “Oh, you're not a trick or treater.”
My eyes scanned ahead of me over a long pair of legs covered in black denim. Further up, there was a black zip-up sweater left open to reveal an olive green t-shirt, matching perfectly with the set of eyes that stared back, scanning me as well.
“Hey! I'm so glad I got the right house...I'm really sorry I didn't call first, I had to stay at work for a few and didn't want to be late here. Rude, I know. I apologize.”
Austin's had slicked back his dark hair a little bit today, as if extra time was taken to gain control over it. Probably from going to work or something, but it's a nice touch, I thought.
I smiled. “No, no it's fine...I was a little worried you'd changed your mind, but I'm glad you found the place alright. Come on in, we're letting all the warm air out!” I stepped aside, placing the bowl of candy on our small entryway table as I did so. I followed him inside, closing the door behind us.
CHAPTER NINE
“Oh come on, you've got to think more of me than that! I wouldn't just no-show to a social event, especially one that was my own idea,” Austin said matter-of-factly. He ambled through the entryway into the middle of a space marking the area where the various areas of the house intersected.
“Of course I do, I was just testing you,” I lied, hoping my joking skills weren't too unpracticed to still work. I shuffled my feet a bit, feeling relieved that, so far, the setting didn't seem to change our friendly banter. He was still the same person from my painting class, and it put me more at ease. “Would you like a tour?”
“But of course. Lead the way madam,” he replied, gesturing forward with one hand and placing the other behind his back in a mock bow. I crinkled my nose at him, suppressing a laugh, and pointed us to our left.
“Well, this is the living room,” I said, making a sweeping gesture towards it. I pointed to the hallway that ran ahead of us on the backside of the living room. “That's my mom's bedroom and bathroom, but uh...yeah. Nothing to see there. It's like a forbidden cave of solitude.”
I turned, preparing to slink along a few steps behind me to the dining room, but Austin didn't follow me. Instead, he strode into the living room, gazing around and taking it all in. His eyes settled on the framed pictures on the far wall; he inspected them almost like a detective, placing a finger to his chin and pondering their subjects.
“Is this one you as a kid?” he asked, turning to face me as he pointed to one of the smaller images.
I grimaced with humiliation. “Er, yes. Probably. But uh, you can dissect my childhood later on. Let's move along, shall we?”
“I'll hold you to that, Jade.” He flashed a white smile at me. I smiled faintly back, ignoring his remark, and introduced him to the dining room and kitchen area.
“And these are obviously stairs,” I said with sarcasm, indicating the staircase, one side of which looked into the dining room until it disappeared into the next floor, while the other backed against the wall.. “The bathroom is up that way if you need, first door on your left.”
“What else is up there?”
“Well, there's a storage room up there since this house is smaller than the one where we used to live, and then my room is up there too.”
“Oh cool! Am I allowed to see?” Austin's eyes sparkled with intrigue. I myself wavered at the request, uncertain as to both his request and my apparent reluctance. What was I so afraid of--that he would discover there was something truly off about me just by looking around my room, and that he would flee before he got too deep into my puddle of craziness? Of course, that was exactly what I was afraid of. Somewhere in my head, I knew this was irrational and at least somewhat unlikely, but the fear buzzed around my brain like a fevered wasp seeking escape.
“I...well, I mean. I guess so...you seem pretty interested, so let's...head on up?”
“Well of course I'm interested,” he said, following me as I made to climb the staircase. “Someone's personal living space is what says the most about them. I want to see where the magic all happens!”
“I don't know about any magic,” I murmured helplessly. “Oh, watch out for this next stair...we call it squeaky number--”
I was interrupted by a loud, groaning squeal that stopped us both in our tracks. “--number six. It's extremely loud and off-putting, as you can see, but not dangerous. At least that we know of.”
“Oh, that's comforting,” he remarked, stepping on the edge of the stair and sneaking along the remaining steps.
“Okay, so this is it,” I said, opening the plain white door. I felt an overwhelming urge to explain away any imperfections he might see, as if my room were ever any better-looking than it was right now. “So, I didn't expect company up here and my bed isn't made. Also I'm not the best at putting my clothes in the dirty laundry, and I'm probably not a master interior decorator...”
My excuses and justifications faded as I realized that Austin was no longer listening. Instead, he observed various things with earnest intent, scanning over my bed and my now somewhat embarrassing childlike comforter set. He looked over various books on the shelves built into the bottom of my matching nightstands on either side of my bed, and over the window and the sill that held my prized gnome figurine. He turned, looking briefly at my open closet and the chaotic disarray of clothing within it, and then gave his attention to my desk, the few pictures that hung on the wall over it, and my painting that displayed itself from upon its surface.
Austin glided over to it. “Wow, is this some of your work?”
I nodded as he examined it, a small smile crossing over his face and igniting his features with a glowing warmth that radiated across the entire room. “This is great! I love the symbolism here...the bench is surrounded by all of this beauty, but it looks so lonely.” He glanced at me, almost daring me with his eyes to convince him the bench wasn't a personification of myself.
“I knew you'd get it,” I responded with instead, smiling at the floor. “You really think it's good?”
“I'd hang it on my wall, for sure. The details are really nice too...wow. I can't wait to see what your project looks like when we finish next week!”
On the first day of my painting class, about halfway through, Austin occupied the seat across from me at the lonely table closest to the door, and he'd stayed there again through the entire class yesterday, talking with me as we painted after we exchanged phone numbers. However, our canvasses were back to back, and I refused to let him, or anyone else really, see or comment on my work in progress until it was in good enough shape. I hate feeling like people are judging my creative process. I want them to judge the final work, not how I got there.
As a result, this small landscape painting was the first of my art that Austin had actually seen. I was pleased that he liked it, beaming inside with pride that I could create something enjoyable.
“Oh...well, thanks,” I responded in earnest. “Yours is already looking great. I'd love to see some of your other pieces sometime.”
“Well, I guess we'll just have to arrange a second date?” he teased. Though I knew he was joking, I couldn't help but feel both apprehensive and excited at his choice of words. He'd said a “second date.” Why was I feeling like this?
“Oh, I wouldn't know,” I said.
“That's right, you're an only child,” he exclaimed. “Well, count yourself lucky. It's like an estrogen ocean in my house, being the only guy. And I'm the youngest! Maybe if I had a little brother or something, it might be different.” Austin sighed and focused his gaze on me. “Do you ever wish you had siblings?”
I leaned back on the palms of my hands, which sunk into a ball of haphazardly placed blanket. “Oh, I don't know...I mean I don't really have anything to compare it to. It's just been me and Mom since I can remember, so I guess it might have been nice to grow up with someone else close to my age. I always imagine siblings sharing everything with each other, being each other's best friends...you know.”
“Not completely so...when you're younger, yeah, but when you both go to the same high school, things can get...tense.” Austin smiled, but behind it lingered something else, perhaps frustration.