Drawing Love

8 - Central Park Insecurities

Calum

     I didn't know why I was suddenly dropping so many hints about my insecurities, but it's like I couldn't help it. When Rose had finally told me to talk, I felt as though that's what I'd been aiming toward. It was like I wanted to talk to her about it. But I didn't like to talk about it. It was all very confusing.

"Come on, Calum," Rose said, "I know there's something up." Her face was filled with concern. She had her eyebrows together and her lips pressed in a straight line as she waited for a response.

"I just don't think I look as good as that painting," I keep my face neutral, not knowing how much I wanted to say.

     "How could you think that?" Rose looked almost betrayed.

     "I think you used your skills to paint a pretty picture," I looked down at the hands in my lap, "it's very nice. But I've never thought that I looked like that."

     "Calum, how are you so blind?" Rose touched my cheek and I looked into her eyes so I could see the sincerity there. "I painted exactly what I saw. And last night, when I took your picture, I didn't do anything other than click the shutter. "

     "No, the only reason I looked any good was because of your talent," I said sadly.

     "How long have you thought you weren't good looking?" she said sharply. She looked slightly angry. How could she get to the real question so quickly?

     "Since I was fourteen," I hung my head and hoped she wouldn't press it.

     "Calum," she took a breath like she was trying to stay calm, "who told you that you weren't good looking."

     I stayed quiet, embarrassed. How could she have figured that out so quickly? It made me upset that I had let someone make me this way, but I knew they were right about me.

     "Calum, talk to me," Rose's voice was soft now. I looked up and she granted me a concerned and sad smile.

     I let out a long sigh, "It was my friend when I was younger. My friend showed me how I wasn't any good. They were right."

     "Why did he tell you that you weren't any good?" she maintained her soft and calming tone.

     "She," I corrected.

     "Name?" she asked.

     "Lorry," I said.

     "Okay," she said, blowing out a breath, "why would Lorry say things like that to you."

     "Because she wanted to be honest with me," I responded. That should be obvious, "We were honest with each other."

     "So you let a stupid teenage girl tell you what and was not good about you?" Rose asked.

     "You didn't know me then, I was a stick and my eyes were really squinty and my ears always stuck out and my feet were too big for my body. I was just mess," I shrugged.

     "You were a typical fourteen year old boy," Rose shook her head.

     "No I was a stupid looking fourteen year old boy," I said harshly, "And I grew up into a stupid looking older one."

     "I call bullshit," Rose put one of her little hands over mine.

     "It's not bullshit, Rose," I said in frustration, "I am not as fit as the other guys, I'm not as confident. I can't write music as well, my ears still stick out, my nose is stupid, I can't pull off dyeing my hair like Michael or piercing anything like Luke. Trust me, I've tried! And I ended up on bass because I couldn't play the fucking guitar! I don't care how much I love the bass now, it still hurts like hell that I'm a failure. And I can't take that I'm not as good as them. And I can't take that I can't tell them all this, because  they'd never understand!" I let all this out, fisting my hands in the blankets beneath my fingers.