⁴ FLEETING DECISIONS ─ the adelaide woods

23 | cadence - reopening wounds

track #04 in cadence aurora di angelo

(g)-idle // tomboy

AS THE sounds of Gwyneth and Kunboss yelling at each other continue down below, I snuggle further into my warm sheets, hoisting yet another sketch pad onto my lap as I sit on my bed facing the projections of the sea and the waves, remembering all the memories that bring yet another wave of nostalgia at me. Tears well up in my eyes as I remember him, and the 'us' that didn't have a chance to exist.

I grasp a pencil between my fingers unsteadily, and start outlining my sketch on the soft, textured paper of the sketchbook. Every scene is taken straight from my memories, straight from the extensive photo gallery of my brain; as if someone extracted a wisp of my childhood memories using Dumbledore's pensieve.

Smiling, I draw his chiseled side profile – his smile, his charming eyes, and that fearless glint in them as he smiled for a karate game; his tall, handsome nose, and how grown-up he looked as a nine-year-old – and caress the charcoal drawing with my hand, rubbing some of the lead off in the process. I immediately panic, trying to salvage my already kind of ruined portrait, but it's of no use. Just like how the charcoal erases eventually, every bit of Rylie that I remember – is slowly fading away. But I just won't believe it. I refuse to.

With rage, I throw the charcoal pencil onto the floor and watch it break into two, smiling wide as I see it being destroyed. Then, I pick a black gel pen from my collection and continue drawing every scene I can think of.

Sleepovers; Rylie's sleeping figure and us girls teasing him, school; passing notes in Science – which made it less boring, karate class; where he was only the best of the best; and when he stood tall on a tree, ever so bravely facing his fear of heights.

Lips pursed, tongue stuck out – revising for tests; reading from a book – as how our life was like a fairytale; hangouts with Ariana and Andros; swinging from the neighborhood hammock; chasing each other as we raced down the street after dismissal.

But as much as I hoped the gel pen wouldn't rub off like the charcoal, it does. It smudges squid black ink all over my dominant right hand as I move it across the canvas, adding details to his figure; and I yell in anguish and frustration, flinging the pen onto the floor carelessly once again.

I close my eyes, trying to imagine what sixteen-year-old Rylie would look like now, and put my notepad aside. From my bedside table, I retrieve my iPad and begin outlining again, this time carefully tracing it with my stylus pen. This has never once deleted my work – my iPad is my safe haven when it comes to digital art and digital reading.

Without knowing it, I've drawn the two of us together, but as I take the iPad up into my arms to admire my drawing of a now-Rylie and me – how we fit together perfectly, how happy I look seeing Rylie back alive, the app suddenly glitches, fading into darkness and all of my hard work is gone.. again.

The point isn't the time or effort I spent drawing – it's what I put the time and effort into to draw. And the subject is my best friend – who has three times, faded into nothingness.

I guess the world thinks I will never have a future with Rylie in it – which is unacceptable. Even in my brain, Rylie lives on.. forever.

I roar in rage and click the screen off immediately, picking up my notepad, pen and pencil from where they lay. I snap the pencil in half again until the lead breaks for good measure, smirking as I rip the pages with my ruined drawings out from my notepad, tear them apart and crumple them until they're as tiny as shreds, before dumping them into the bin in the corner of my room.