Flicker Pain

[13] almost

"What do you think of this one, Maya?" A person from my art class – a girl named Callie who had declared herself as my "partner" for the day, tugged on my arm to bring me to have a look at whatever she'd been looking at, which – according to her – was spectacular and one-of-a-kind.

Which she'd said the last four times.

With a sigh, I decided to humor her. I allowed her to lead me through the crowd like an excited little kid, and we stopped in front of many paintings in the exhibit.

"Well, what do you think?" Callie asked anxiously as she brushed a strand of her dark, curly hair behind her ear, "I'm thinking of using it as my inspiration. But what do you think?"

I looked at the painting. The portrait featured a woman with golden curls, a beige suit, and a self-assured smirk accentuated by her frown lines. She was not beautiful, but intimidating to look at.

"It's nice," I said, unbiased as I could, "But you should do what you think is best."

"Alright," She sighed, "I'll keep looking, then."

She dislodged herself from my side and scampered off, leaving me to finally have a breath to myself since we entered the museum.

I sighed and looked around at the crowd of students who were admiring the paintings, talking amongst each other, and – as our teacher instructed – found our inspiration, or at least some examples to follow for our upcoming project. Forty-five minutes had passed, and I'd found absolutely nothing.

Maybe it was because I believed in finding inspiration, not picking-and-choosing inspiration. The best inspiration came as naturally as the best friendships: you didn't settle for less. The right one begged to be found someday.

But I also wasn't the greatest thinker when people were around. The teachers decided that they'd make the trip with two or more classes, which was utter chaos. Their chatter drifted into my ears and distracted me from having any thoughts that were close to inspired.

I looked around to make sure none of the teachers were watching, and walked over to one of the benches. If anything, I wanted to clear my head a little.

On the way over, a boy suddenly occupied my path and I ended up running into him. I bounced back and looked up at him – ready to apologize. But as I opened my mouth, I caught a glimpse of his face and my lips spread into a small smile.

"I didn't know that you took art." It was Conrad. That was a surprise. He must've been in the other class we came with. I hadn't remembered seeing him on my bus, but perhaps he'd been on one of the others. Even during the entirety of the time we'd been here - it seemed like I would've spotted him sooner. But perhaps he was just good at blending in.

He looked down at me, and a soft frown formed on his face,"Oh, hi."

"What's up?"

"Nothing. How are you?" His eyes refused to meet mine.

Something was up.

"What's wrong?" I asked, ignoring his question.

"You don't want to know." He sighed.

"Maybe I do."

"Well, maybe I don't want to say it."

"If it's about what you told me last week then you can forget about it. I thought we were cool."

"We are," He assured me quickly, "It's not about that. Forget I said anything."

"I think I will."

We stood in silence for a few moments, staring at each other. Even though he said to forget it, it felt like he had much more to say about it. And despite what I said – I didn't want to disregard it.

But instead, I asked, "Found any inspiration yet?"

"Not really."

"Want to help me try to find mine?"

"Sure, I guess."

I knew I said that my inspiration was something that would never be found here. I knew that very, very well.

But he didn't.

We stood in front of another portrait, and like the others it held no meaning for me. But I pretended to ponder, and when he wasn't looking - I stole a quick glance at him.

His eyes stared into the distance, and his teeth tugged on his lower lip. As he felt my gaze on him, a soft blush spread across his cheeks, but his frown remained evident.

"Conrad?"

"Yeah?"

"What's wrong?" I asked again.

"It's nothing," He shook his head, and when he turned to face me his eyes were begging, "Please, drop it."

"But you're clearly upset."

His eyes softened a bit, "You shouldn't worry about me. I can handle it."

"I know. But everyone has a limit."

"I haven't reached mine." His eyes were wary.

"I believe you. But it helps when someone's there to help you through it." I smiled.

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