Written by Laura Talaber
I scan the park, hoping to see someone, something. I don’t even know what I’m looking for, I just know that I’m looking. There’s something missing, I just don’t know what.
I sigh, and go back to my sketch, detailing the flowers on the cherry blossom. Suddenly, the bench sinks a bit. Looking over I see a boy with light, curly brown hair. He seems to be looking at my drawing, so I take my earbuds out, preparing for the inevitable.
“I really like your drawing,” A voice says softly.
I look up. The voice belongs to a boy with curly brown hair that ends just at the bottom of his ear. By far the most interesting thing about him is his eyes. They are bright green, as if someone took plain green eyes and charged them full of electricity.
“Thanks,” I say, “It’s supposed to be a Japanese cherry blossom tree.”
“I can tell, you did really well on the flowers,” He says, brushing curls out of his eyes.
I have a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s like weight has been lifted off of it, a weight I didn’t know I had. I sit there taking him in, not realizing he is doing the same. He clears his throat and glances away, a shade of pink creeping up his face. Just then the alarm on my phone goes off, signaling that I had to go to work.
“I’ve got to go. Um… nice meeting you,” I stammer, fumbling to pack up my things.
“Nice meeting you too,” he calls after me.
As I walk I can’t help but think of him. It was strange, most people ask what you’re drawing and how you draw it simply to make conversation. He was different; he seemed genuinely interested, he didn’t even try to cover up the awkward silence.
“Arabella! You’re late!” My boss yells as I check in.
“I’m sorry sir. I got a late start,” I say, quietly.
“It’s fine, you give me no reason to be mad. Just try not to do it again,” he says, and walks away.
I tie my apron and get to work. Cup after cup, order after order. It’s a busy afternoon yet, all I can think about is that boy.
I decide to go to a small cafe at the edge of town for breakfast. I wrap my scarf around my neck, zip my jacket, place my hat on my brown hair, put on my earbuds, and pull on my gloves. I’m almost to the door when I run back to my room to get my sketchbook.
“Mom! I’m going to sketch today!” I call.
“Okay, just be back before nine!” She calls back.
I walk down the street, the crisp autumn air blowing in my face. I laugh at myself. I work in a cafe, why would I want to spend more time there? Oh right, I remember. The quiet, peaceful atmosphere, the soft brown chair in the corner. The smell of coffee and pastries. The calm.
I order a hot mocha and blueberry muffin and head to my usual seat and start to sketch the cup. The quiet skritch-scratch of my pencil on the paper calms me. I sip my coffee and bit into my muffin. The flavors working together to create one, one that tastes like magic. I decide to save the other half for after my next drawing.
When I think my cup is done I flip the page and start to sketch towering mountains. The led flows over the paper, putting lines on the blank canvas. I shade between the lines, turning the lines into something truly amazing.
I sigh and put the notebook down. I sit admiring it while sipping warm mocha and chewing sweet muffin. After all these years, I still find it incredible that I can create something so stunning with just a paper and pencil. For me, there is nothing as magical as art.
I’m just beginning another sketch when the door opens, letting in a cold breeze. In walks a tall boy with brown hair. He looks familiar. No. It couldn’t be. I have to look at his eyes, it’s the only way to know for sure.
As if he read my thoughts, he turned. Time seems to slow down as I stare into those eyes. His eyes. Oh god. He's walking over here.
“Hey, you’re the cherry blossom girl!” he says.
“Yeah…you’re the boy from the bench,” I say, trying to play it off cool.
“So…can I, uh…sit?” he asks awkwardly.
“Oh, yeah!” I reply, scrambling to get my back from the seat.
We sit in silence for a few minutes. I can’t help but think that I found what I was looking for. I don’t know how he’s what I was looking for, or why, I just know.
“So, I never got your name,” he says, breaking the silence.
“Oh,” I giggle, “I’m Arabella Amare.”
“Arabella…that’s really pretty,” he says, blushing as the words leave his mouth.
“I’m Lucas Reve,” he says.
“So, what grade are you in?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation going.
“Eleventh, you?”
“Eleventh,” I say, “Where do you go?”
“Pontmercy High School, it’s near the park,” he replies, “You?”
“Grant High School, it’s not far from the park either. They’re probably on opposite sides,” I say.
It’s so strange to think that this could happen. I mean, how many times do you talk to the same stranger twice? Normally I feel fidgety around strangers, but I’m calm with him. It’s like he emits a peaceful energy.
“So…” he says into the silence.
“So…” I repeat.
“Alright, what are the odds we meet twice!” he says, stating the obvious.
“There has to be a reason," I laugh.
“Well, I was going to go to the museum, so you want to come? Maybe we can figure it out on the way,” he invites.
“Sure, that seems pretty cool,” I nod.
I shove my sketchbook and pencil into my bag and throw it over my shoulder. Lucas reaches out his hand towards me. I grab it and pull myself out of my chair. I walk out the door, the scent of coffee fades as we walk down the street.
“How are you not cold?” I ask incredulously.
“I don’t know, how are you not hot?” Lucas asks, eyeing my scarf and gloves.
“It’s chilly!” I defend, “Why are you only wearing a sweatshirt?”
“I guess I just don't get cold easily,” he shrugs.
As we walk around he points out different art styles and tell me little facts. Like how Starry Night was painted while Van Gogh was in a mental hospital, or how Picasso made his first “real” paining at the age of nine.
“How do you know this?” I ask in disbelief.
“I want to be an art major,” he says.
“Really? Me too!” I say.
We continue to roam around and eventually get tired of seeing the same things every time we circled back around. The painting are amazing, no doubt! But seeing them three times in one day…no thanks.
“I know this really nice place by the creek, if you want to go there to draw…” he trails off, as if afraid to continue.
“That sound great! I’ve never done anything of the creek, I just never got around to it.”
“I’ve done a few of it, but nothing spectacular,” he says.
“I’m sure they’re great.”
We walk, enjoying the mid-afternoon silence. The leaves are crunching beneath our feet. The vibrant colors surround, making the perfect picture scene.
“Here we are…the best place along the creek!” Lucas says, pulling back the branches, revealing an amazing scene.
It looks like it could have come straight from a movie. The bank meets the clear water, leaves float here and there. When you look directly into it you can see the rocks that have settled in the sand. It seems impossible that such a beautiful place can exist in out little town, let alone in the fall!
“Wow,” is all I can say.
“Yeah, it takes my breath away every time,” he says.
“So, I could sketch…or we could play cards while sitting on the rocks,” I suggest.
Many artists wouldn’t miss an opportunity like this, but I want to experience this, not draw it. Not yet anyway.
I feel like i’m in an entirely different world! The creek bubbles and the leaves rustle as we sit playing cards, our laughter joining the peaceful noise. I’ve been sitting here for an hour and I still cannot fathom the beauty of the little hideaway.
We sit for what feels like hours, laughing and talking. If I asked myself this morning if I thought that I would be here with a boy I met at a park, I would have to say no. But, here I am.
No real words are said, none need to be. We’re comfortable in each other’s silence. He takes my hand in his, providing a warmth that I didn’t know I needed. I rest my head on his shoulder as the sun sets, painting the sky a vivid orange.