About the River and Cliché | Zarry

Chapter Two

Harry found that people have some interesting stereotypes about him. For example, if he slept pass noon and missed classes, he would come to school the next day with rumors flying around, mainly from a story where he waited for a girl by the river bank overnight, but she never showed up; when actually all he did was stay up watching French movies in a row and forgetting about his essay.

It is funny yet baffling how people had romanticized every step made by him ever since he was only fourteen years old. But in this town whose name nobody cared about, how Harry'd like his eggs was the best topic to discuss after dinner.

Even Harry himself wasn't sure how long this phenomenon had existed. After his baby fat gradually faded away from his cheeks, he began to notice that there would be girls gathering around the path on his way home, screeching in greeting. At first he always smiled and nodded, usually tripping over his own words (and the girls would giggle and disperse in a hubbub). Every time he brought up this question at the dining table, the reaction he received was always the same: his mother's laughter and his sister's eye rolling. He tried to seek for advice, but it only brought on the tragedy in which Gemma stuck her fork to the plate impatiently and spilled the whole dish of spaghetti onto Harry's lap. After that he couldn't help but start to miss his dad who had never come back to this little town in the middle of nowhere since he was twelve. Harry never asked about the reason why his dad left. All he knew was that he woke up one morning and saw Lorie lean on the sofa alone with her swollen eyes telling him that his dad was gone. Harry just nodded, as if his dad was only out for the regular jogging and would be back soon with two loaves of bread.

The story about his dad somehow added bonus credits to Harry and enveloped him in the image of a "little tragic prince". It made him charming in the eyes of others, especially as he grew older. This was pretty baffling to him. Harry didn't feel particularly sad about the fact that his father was not around. Honestly, eighteen years was enough for him to get really tired of every face in this tiny Nevadan town where the population was less than 800 people. And that made the absence of his father somewhat warm and lovely.

Even so, Harry still had the wisdom of the world. He was quite skillful in manners. Niall always complained about how stupid Harry was that he could be stabbed in the back ten times and he would turn around to teach the murderer how to properly use the knife. Harry only laughed in response.

Sometimes he's really jealous of the "Harry" that everyone else could see but him. It sounded like a mutual acquaintance among all his friends, who was endearing and considerable. Harry had always tried to get along with this "friend", giving him a friendly smile at the mirror every morning. But that smile could hardly last because it only reminded Harry how far it was between him and everyone's imagination.

Niall had known him since they were seven, or even longer. Their first serious conversation was when Harry pointed out the name card on Niall's backpack was misspelled as "Neil", and the latter finally found out that he'd been spelling his name wrong for such a long time. From then on, Niall would bring his homemade cookies to Harry's porch every morning waiting for him to go to school together. However, after Harry took Lorie's advice and gave Niall some cupcakes in return, Niall suddenly announced that he's giving up his baker dream because he "just realized he loved music more than everything." That made a lot of kids in the school who had received Niall's cookies really appreciate Harry. After all, Niall's baking skill was hard to compliment. And this incident by some means built the base of Harry's popularity in the town.

Harry had considered himself an optimist. He hadn't like to play melancholy. In a town lacking of variation, there hadn't been too many things that had distressed him. If boredom did cause illness, it could at least give him an excuse to wrinkle his eyebrows when chilling at the riverbank during the Sunday afternoon. Harry had had never been outside this town till he left for college. He hadn't bothered to wonder where he could have been other than his hometown. Niall liked to chatter about his desire toward big cities all the time. And Harry would just shrug, claiming that he had a carefree soul for him to settle down wherever he went. However, somewhere in his mind, he had been suspicious of this conclusion. Even though he couldn't tell what his doubt was.

Whenever Harry had showed that kind of expression, Niall would say he was just waiting for a turning point; a change, or an incidence. And then he would eventually stumble upon his opportunity. Harry had appreciated that. What he hadn't said was that he hadn't been really looking forward to a turning point. Generally, he wasn't looking forward to anything.

Niall fulfilled his dream when they were sixteen. His family moved to Seattle before summer came. At the farewell party, Niall left Harry a photo of himself with his signature on it. "Ya know I'm gonna be so famous in the future!" The blond boy exclaimed, "So keep this in case you're broke one day!" Harry burst into laughter, clutching his best friend with the tightest embrace he could give. "Send me postcards when you're there." Harry yelled while waving at the leaving truck. Niall stuck his head out, giving Harry a thumbs-up as a promise. But he never did, not even a scrap of paper.