I was never good in Math. Never in my whole human existence have I ever been smart as the great Pythagoras in Math. So my conclusion to this Scientific Hypothesis about my Math problems that doesn’t involve Science at all is that I suck in Math. But you know what? I also learned from Math and I actually applied it to love. I’d like to call it the “Guess and Hope” method.451Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbb080wEpsU
If you confess your love to a girl, does that make you a couple? If you happen to kiss the girl and eventually she responds, does that mean you’re on? And if you escort her home and she lets you hold her hand, does that mean she’s officially yours?
I have to sigh, if you excuse me. I have no idea. I may be a musical geek but I’m no love expert that can fixer upper. I need Scott’s guidance to this even though I hate to admit it. But I don’t want to confide with him. He’ll travel the news through word of mouth faster than a newspaper boy. So I kept the whole “mutual understanding” thing with Heaven to myself. I know she hates martyrs but I swear I’m on my way to sainthood for it. Soon enough, there’d be two St. Dominic Savio in the saint’s handbook.
But I cannot blame my martyrdom to a girl I really, really like—even love. To be honest, I don’t mind the pain if it means seeing her every single day.
I just posted my letter on her locker when I saw her coming. I was in the middle of a debate inside my head whether to take off the stick-on or not. Anyways, she took my letter off her locker and she folded it and she placed it inside her coat’s pocket. She didn’t even bother to look at it or read it. Is this some 500 days of Summer spinoff? I’m a certified martyr for Heaven’s sake!
“Are you all right?” I dare asked. “You seem preoccupied.”
She twisted her lips to the side and she crossed her arms. “Mr. Jordan declined my art project.”
I felt like a heavy load of ice bucket left my chest. Thank God it wasn’t about me.
“Why did he do that?” I asked and she glared at me. I had to flinch at her reaction. “I mean…you were pretty good. You poured your heart out to that thing—I mean—project.”
She sighed heavily and she slammed her locker’s door.
“You want to see my project?”
I swallowed hard.
You know, it’s very hard to refuse a lady when you know she’s sad and rejected. So, feeling noble, I allowed her to take me to the gallery. And I didn’t master to compel my own shock.
Anna’s art project involves 3D design. It was good only that her chosen subject would bother you. A lot.
Still with arms crossed, she bit her lip. She turned to me. “You think this is ugly?”
“No. It’s good.” I scratch a portion of my head.
She narrowed her eyes at me. “I hate liars.”
I placed both of my hands inside my pockets. “Well… it’s disturbing.”
She threw her head back and she groaned. “Disturbing how?”
I waved at her masterpiece. “Anna,” I tried to sound very fair and reasonable. Believe me. “It’s a funeral.”
She gave me a WTF look. “He wanted me to paint a three-dimensional reality in a piece of canvas. So I painted my funeral.” She nodded at her work, and then she rolled her eyes skyward. “It could be anyone’s funeral.”
To tell you frankly, her work of art was “disturbing” not because it was her “funeral”—well, like she had said, it could be anyone’s funeral. But the point is, it’s 3D. And she took her genius in her hands and made it look like you’re inside your coffin and people are looking down at your own grave. Yes, looking down at you on the ground. I think the rectangular shape of the supposed to be coffin made it look more realistic than 3D. Could you imagine it? In real life, you could have Goosebumps.
“Death is a reality we cannot change. We can only partake.” She defended like a classic artist. “Sometimes, just when I thought I know people, they disappoint me in ways I never thought they would.” She sighed heavily.
“You can paint us.” I suggested out of the blue.
“Us?” she scoffed and I stopped myself from smiling. Does it sound ridiculous to say “us”?
“Yeah.” I shrugged naturally. “Aren’t we a reality?”
She smiled wanly at me. “We are but only temporary.”
Temporary? What does that even mean? Sometimes, I really don’t get her. She speaks in timeless riddles and I am terribly bad at translating riddles. I always assume the wrong answers.
Anna started to take her canvas off the wall.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking it off, obviously.” She grunts. “So are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna contemplate and use your hands?”
Like being switched into action, I went to help her.
“I can’t take a D for this.”
“D is a passing grade.” I said and she scowled at me. “Are you gonna make a new one?”
“Precisely!” she retorted and I shut my gob.
We placed the canvas on the opposite wall and she brought a new one out.
“I guess I’ll be leaving you alone then.” I said as I stared to the door.
“No! Don’t go!” she shouted and my heart leaped out of its Koi pond. I turned to her and she looked away—to anything that wasn’t me. “I mean… you can stay.”
“I still have to practice. Plus, I don’t want to bother you.” I said. “As far as I’m concerned, art majors are snobs when they’re in their Zen mode.”
She shrugged. “I am not like that. I need an inspiration.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “You seem to be okay.” She used her pencil to measure me from her distance. “You’re fit for the challenge. So, say you want to help me?”
I smirked at her. “I have an idea.”
***
Together, we carried her huge piece of clean canvas and a few bottles of paint to the theatre where my grand piano awaits for me.
“Isn’t this illegal?” she asked as she looked around nervously. “We’re breaking 50 school rules.”
“Not that you’re way too exaggerating.” I snickered. “It won’t be illegal unless we let ourselves get caught in the scene of the crime.”
We both laid out old newspapers on the floor so that we won’t leave evidence of our mischief. I sat on my piano chair while I watch her mix her colors. She caught me looking at her and she leered at me.
“Aren’t you supposed to be practicing?”
I snorted and I righted myself; facing the piano. I started a love song rendition since she perfectly said she needed inspiration. I might as well help her—enlighten her.
Hearing the tune, she turned to me with a ludicrous smile. I smiled back with an insolent one.
It’s her hair and her eyes today
That just simply take me away
And the feeling that I’m falling further in love
Makes me shiver but in a good way
“As I recall, miss, aren’t you supposed to be painting?” I teased her and she rolled her eyes at me.
All the times I have sat and stared
As she thoughtfully thumbs through her hair
And she purses her lips, bats her eyes as she plays
With me sitting there, slack- jawed and nothing to say
‘Cause I love her with all that I am
And my voice shakes along with my hands
‘Cause she’s all that I see and she’s all that I need
And I’m out of my league once again
She chuckled and she shook her head at me. I continued with the melody while I left out the rhythm and the lyrics.
“You’re really a nuisance.” She rebuked.
I cringed at her mockingly. “I thought I was inspiring you. I’m so sorry, my lady.”
“You’re distracting Me.” she said and I leaped on the balls of my feet towards her.
“You’re distracting me too.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Men are the new bitches.”
“Only because we’re thoroughly honest with our feelings.” I responded. I took her hand and I intertwined it with mine. “You can paint this.”
She smiled as she studied our joined hands. Then she turned to me.
“If I let you go, you won’t be able to get on with your life.”
I copied her earlier expression by twisting my lips to the side. I tightened my grip on her hand.
“Did you feel that? My hands just glued itself to yours!”
She giggled but then her smile waned. “But if I let you in, please don’t break anything.”
“I think we’re all a little broken and that’s okay. I’ll have this crack in my life and a hole in my heart. And then I’ll be broken with you.”
“Good. ‘Cause I don’t need anybody in my life who doesn’t want to be there.” She sneered at me. “And for your information, the world is already in pieces. It started a very long time ago before once upon a time.”
“It’s not a shock. It always is. But we can always pick up the pieces.” I said. “I can fix you.”
“Be careful.” She chided. “You might cut yourself on my shattered pieces.”
I snorted. “You know, you could kill me with your words than your actions.”
She smirked at me. “But they won’t sting unless you allow them to get to you.”
I smiled back at her. But then she wilted like a leaf on an early autumn strike. Her head swayed to me and I put my hand on her shoulder to steady her.
“Anna?” I tilt her head up so that I can see her face. She has her eyes close in pain. She leans her head into my forehead for support.
“I’m okay.” She whispered. “Just tired.”
My instincts screamed at me. She’s not okay. For a moment there, she had gone pale. It looked like she’d blocked out.
“Are you sure?” I asked worriedly.
She nodded. “I need this done.”
“Okay.” I almost murmured to myself as she left my hold.
Anna picked up her routine. Mix colors and paint. I went back to my piano. While playing, I couldn’t hear myself. My thoughts kept on coming back to her. It’s troublesome how she has this effect on me. I am worried about her. Sweating is normal especially when you’re working yourself too much but being paler than pale is another story. But I don’t want to push Anna.
She did make a good 3D art with our intertwined hands reflected on a couple on a swing. I offered to walk her home but she refused. She called it a day and then she ran her way home while I shout goodbye.
There are a lot of things I still don’t know about Anna. As much as I want to, every time I try, she takes on her barriers and I’m like a tidal wave crashing on a rough shore of stones and breaking.
The people I love haven’t always loved me back. I should have known. She was too broken for love. I knew it was too good to be true anyway. But I always have the need to try and make things work.451Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRT0r7OP9y0
