the art of chasing the stars

(chapter 11)

willow

Willow screamed and face planted onto her bed. She sat up, still frustrated with herself. She looked around her room, and her eyes landed on the portfolio in the corner. Her eyes darkened.

You have to do this, she thought to herself. I want to be his friend so that I can be there for him when no one else is. I don't want him to go through what I went through.

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The next day at school, Willow decided that it would be best to try to explain to Jesse that it was all an accident. As she passed crowds of people to get to his locker, she looked at the students' faces. Any one of these guys could be Hamlet. Least to say, she was obsessed with finding the author's identity. There was just something about him...

"Hey," she spoke up when she walked up to his locker after class. He just stood there in silence, staring at the ground and not making a sound.

"Yeah, look," she attempted apologizing for the day before. "I understand that you don't want to be anyone's friend and you think you're better off alone... trust me, I get it. But all I can say is sorry."

No reply.

Not even a blink.

"Alright. I hope you know that my offer still stays for us to be friends."

The next few days, Willow continued her efforts to talk to him, constantly confronting him and asking if he wanted to talk. Every single time, he wouldn't even open his mouth.

One night, she was seated across from her mother at the dinner table. All throughout the meal, she smiled, trying to act like she was alright. She wanted her mom to have a pleasant dinner because she had to work late into hours of the night the past week.

After doing the dishes, she headed up to her room. The first thing she noticed upon entering her room was Jesse sitting on her bed looking through her art portfolio. She slammed the door shut and screamed, "Jesse! What are you doing here?!"

He looked up, surprised as if he were the one seeing a stranger in his room.

"How'd you even find my house?!" Willow continued to scream.

He gulped, "Well, I found your address in the phone book and found your house and climbed in through your window."

"Wait, back up. People still use phone books?"

They both started laughing.

"You are actually really good at art," he said as he continued to look through her portfolio.

"Don't look through that," Willow said sternly as she reached for her artworks. He pulled it out of her reach, "Why don't you want me to see your art?"

"Because it's not good."

"Okay, your portfolio has a ribbon on the front. Surely you have to think it's at least decent."

"Okay, it's decent."

"Then why don't you want me to look at your work?" He pushed.

"Because it's from when I was depressed!"

She had snapped.

There was an uncomfortable silence. She grabbed her artwork from Jesse's hands and pushed it under her bed.

"After my dad died, my art started becoming darker, and the more I worked, the more I thought about how fucked my life was. The more I thought, the more depressed I became. It got so bad, I wouldn't eat, and I had no choice but to see a counselor. I had entered an art competition for no apparent reason, and then I realized that the only way to get myself out of this cycle of sadness was to work for it.

"Then, I won that stupid competition. As if to give a gold medal to my depression. I resolved to burn the pieces once I got home, but I couldn't seem to have the courage to do it. So instead, I shoved them into that corner. Now, I am reminded of that time in my life every time I walk into my own room..."

Immediately after Willow's whole speech, Jesse responded, "Cycle of sadness... that's so poetic... and yet so accurate."

She sniffed and wiped at her face to try and make the tears disappear, "Wait... accurate? Like you've been through something similar?"

Jesse embraced her and rested his head on her shoulder, "Too similar," he whispered into her hair.

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