Words

Eight

The next day Kyle asked me something while he was drawing me in the hallway―it was too noisy in the classroom―with an intense focus.

"Why did you give me the cake?"

"You seemed angry on numerous occasions, so I figured that it would make you feel better."

"... I hate sweets."

"Hmm, my apologies then. I didn't consider that possibility. Did you already eat it?" I thought everyone loved sweets.

His brown hair swayed as he gently shook his head. "I only took a bite."

"Alright, well I can take it back if you don't want it." I nonchalantly said when I glanced at him.

"No, it's fine. I gave it to my sister. I didn't want to take any chances." Did he think I poisoned it or something?

I let out a drawn out sigh. "Okay then." Sitting still was boring. I wanted to read an encyclopedia and maybe eat some words while I was at it. He continued to draw me swiftly and powerfully. I could tell that he was focused by the way he held his pencil tightly and by how quick his eyes moved, analyzing each trace with his intense gaze. The fire of curiosity once again lit up the lantern in my heart as my intrigue towards his art skills grew. I wanted to know what I was seen as in someone else's eyes, yet I was hesitant to show him mine.

Just then, Mister Abington appeared from the classroom. "How're you two doing?" He smiled at the both of us after seeing how serious we were taking the project.

I watched Kyle look at his drawing for a brief moment before turning the sketchbook towards the teacher. Mister Abington's eyes widened significantly once they landed on the page that was presented to him. "Kyle, this is wonderful! You're doing a good job. You really captured the lighting well." He then turned to me. "Ah, you can take a break for a moment. Would you mind showing me your progress?"

My muscles relaxed before he could finish his sentence. I moved my arms around and stretched my legs. "Are you sure you want to? It's not done and my shading is a little off."

He simply shook his head. "Anything's better than nothing." That's the thing-- was my drawing worth anything if no one could see it? People always relied on proof or evidence for everything nowadays, and I couldn't even give that. My words and my art seemed to have little worth then.

Kyle had shown Mister Abington his drawing, but what would happen if I showed him mine? Would it only appear as a blank page in his eyes even though I had worn my pencil into the paper with my feelings? While drawing Kyle I had abandoned my logic, instead relying on my heart. In a way, the drawing was for my own closure. I had to let them out somewhere, and paper seemed like the easiest place to lay them. Portraying my emotions through drawing was relieving even if there was a chance that I would be eating them soon after.

I was a little afraid that when I showed it to someone, it would disappear and become apart of the umbrella of words that hovered above me. Even if I couldn't write anymore, drawing was something that everyone was able to do. I didn't know how long I would be able to do that, though. If not showing it to anyone prolonged its existence, then so be it. However, wouldn't that be the same if I hadn't drawn it in the first place? No, it didn't matter if it disappeared in anyone else's eyes; as long as I knew that I drew it then I was fine.

Still, I wanted someone to be able to see my work and look just like how Mom did whenever I showed her my art; with awe, respect and happiness. It was satisfying, and now it was gone. But if that were the case, then why didn't it immediately disappear yesterday?

I reached down to pick up my notebook. I was Beethoven, and I was going to live on no matter what happened. Pages rustled as I flipped past my old art. I wondered if the homework that I had turned in before last month was still in my teacher's' office. Maybe it was thrown away, only thought of to be a stray paper that had wandered from its notebook bindings. My heart then tightened, making me look away from them when I handed the teacher my book.