Escape

- Chapter 19 -

"So Daisy," Shawn starts, stretching out his longs legs a little to be in a comfortable position. He brings his head up from his lap to get a good look at me.

It's quite comical, the whole tutoring thing I mean. I have major trouble with the English subject; Shawn is the same with Spanish. I had found that out after we finished the English session, ate, talked a bit, before Shawn pulled out his Spanish paper and kept staring at it like a rock. I questioned him, and he said that he honestly sucked in the language, although quite hesitantly like he was too ashamed or embarassed to admit so. So I had to repay the help he had given me by tutoring him in Spanish and the whole thing had taken half an hour or so. We've finished the homework and now we're sitting casually in our previous positions on the floor: My back against the wall under the window; Shawn's back against the side of my bed. Over an hour ago, I would've felt a little bit off about having a boy whom has given me nothing but cold looks in my house; now, I feel absolutely the opposite.

While I'm watching my fingers fiddle and circle around one another, Shawn's having his eyes on me. I can't help but compare this moment to the moment we had while we were talking inside the school's closet. At time, no doubt, was a very tense time. This, right here, right now, is more relaxed and laid back and it pleases me. He parts his lips to speak.

"How'd you get brown eyes?" he finally inquires, his voice low. Since my room is so quiet, talking normal would seem too loud. So it's a fact to say that I'm used to Shawn's low, raspy voice by now.

"How'd I get brown eyes? I don't know, I was born with them," I say, wondering if Shawn had wished my eyes were more prettier to stare at. I ask myself, what if I had unique, green eyes? Would I be more confident about myself? Would Shawn feel different about me?

But why do I even care?

"Your mom... your dad... who has brown eyes in your family?" He seems curious. My eyes might be plain brown and boring, but he looks at me as if I'm the most interesting person on earth. The questions I asked myself earlier suddenly vanishes.

I squint my eyes, trying my best to remember their faces. It's all useless, though. All I can really remember is that my father had jet black hair while my mother had the skin of a baby's bottom. I can't go too specific as to tell what their eye colors were anymore. I used to know, like maybe yesterday or a few days ago, but my memory has betrayed me at this very moment. Their faces are a distant image now and this on-and-off mental event happens often. One moment I remember them, another moment, I don't. I feel as if I have to either think really, really hard about them or dream about them to see them again and it's to my dismay. But of course, even if their specific features aren't clear in my mind sometimes, I will never forget how much I still love and miss them. The feeling lingers inside my heart like a tree planted firmly in dirt.

I just wish my aunt had kept a photo of my parents so I can place it at my bedside and always remember the faces of the people who were most important to me.

"I don't know," I reply honestly, sounding a little disappointed and unsure.

Shawn raises the brows that are so perfect it makes me wonder if it's been done every week. "No picture or anything?"

"No."

"You guys never took a family photo?"

I shrug. "Those photos are missing." Probably burned by Maggie, actually. I didn't say that, though.

He nods, getting more comfortable by resting his elbows on his knees and putting his head back. He gets quiet, and I figure that it's my cue to return the question.

I open my mouth to speak, but then close it. What color are Shawn's eyes? Sometimes they're blue, sometimes grey, sometimes dark and sometimes light. What... "Who has, uh, blue eyes in your family?" I finally ask, since I knew blue has to be the definite, main color.