One of my better ones. Or so I think. Not so dark and depressing. Lol...enjoy.


Dreamers' Eyes

It was my first day at school.

New school, new people, new friends, new rules.

You might not have known it, but I was terrified.

It felt like everyone was staring at me, waiting for me to slip up.

Gradually I settled in, met some people, started getting involved with the programs.

Then I started drifting away again from most of my friends.

A lot of them were getting involved in things they shouldn't have.

I didn't want to get into that.

I spent a lot of my time under that big, gnarled oak tree by the creek.

You've seen me there, with my crayons and sketchpad.

You were playing soccer, and the ball bounced over.

I picked it up, and you were waiting there, a little confused, not knowing what to do.

I booted it so far down the field that someone else had to run and get it.

I smiled at you, and you blushed and went back to your game.

I sketched you, once, playing soccer.

You were having so much fun, even though it was raining.

I gave it to the office, and it showed up in the newsletter.

No one could guess who drew it, though.

I guess it was you soccer guys who really saw me the most.

If anyone had asked, I could have recited all your names.

But of course, no one asked.

We took art class together.

One day you were talking with your friend, and Mr. Bulinski split you up.

You were put right beside me.

You blushed a little, and looked away.

I said hello.

You looked me in the eye for one moment.

You said hey, very softly and shyly.

Then you gave me a very tiny little smile and looked down.

I think that was when I started to think I liked you.

I taped a little chocolate onto your locker on Valentine's Day.

Then in class, you came up to me, gave me a chocolate kiss and told me,

"Happy Valentine's Day."

There was a lot of cheering from the guys.

Had that been a dare?

Or did you want to do it?

I never ate that chocolate.

It's in my mementos box, in case you wondered.

Towards the later part of the year, I spent a lot of class time doodling soccer balls.

And you.

I had a crush on you, but I didn't know what you thought.
I think we started to know each other better, when we started to discuss our art.

Remember the museum?

We started criticizing each painting.

We had the same styles, I realized.

And I was taking an interest in manga.

So were you.

We talked more, then.

About art, mostly.

Then we started to talk a bit more about ourselves.

I loved the way you would give me a quiet smile when we were talking, or the way your eyes would flash with anger, sometimes, when you got mad.

You'd keep tucking your hair behind your ears when you got nervous, or embarrassed.

Your eyes were soft hazel, a dreamer's eyes.

You were pretty shy most of the time, even around people you knew very well.

But you were smart.

Almost straight-A's smart.

But not quite.

But that was okay.

I didn't get straight A's all the time either.

Mr. Bulinski told us to draw the person sitting beside us that one class, in any setting we wanted.

I drew you on the soccer field, playing.

I drew all your soccer buddies, too.

I even added me in the picture, in the background, sketching.

I showed it to you, and you opened your eyes wide in the way that you did when you were really delighted with something.

You showed me your picture a few classes after.

It was me, sitting underneath the tree.

You captured every knurl and knob on that old tree.

I had my hair down, and I was leaning forward to study a little purple flower.

I remembered doing that.

You'd managed to draw my clothes, and hair, and what I was using.

I was stunned.

But absolutely thrilled.

We got full marks on those drawings.

One day, you asked me to go to the beach with you to do our other art assignment.

I agreed.

I was nervous, but tried to be myself, no makeup, no perfume, just like I always was.

We walked to the beach by your house, and spent the whole afternoon there.

We painted shells and the ocean, and crabs and sunsets.

You took me to your house and showed your mom our paintings.

I saw this knowing little glint in her eye when she saw us.

Or maybe it was just me.

We started hanging out some more.

Our parents began to call them dates.

We went to the movies, to the zoo, to see sunrises and sunsets over the ocean.

I guess I knew you would like me, all along.

As soon as I saw you that day at lunch.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that we enjoyed the same things.

Both of us had hazel eyes.

Dreamers' eyes.

Then one night, after a long talk and walk down the beach, where you snapped some photographs of the moon on the water, you drove me home.

You walked me to my door.

For a moment we both stood there, eyes down.

Then you whispered my name.

I looked up at you, into your eyes, seeing your wind-ruffled hair.

You leaned over and kissed me very tentatively, lightly, on the lips.

I couldn't breathe for a moment.

Then I kissed you back.

I was in your arms; you were holding me, your lips on mine.

So gentle, just like you.

We let each other go after a few moments.

You looked at me again, smiling almost timidly.

I hugged you, and you hugged me back.

I told you, "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah…" you said.

We had art again, early the next morning.

"Hello," I said to you.

You stared straight into my eyes and held my gaze.