Blue Skies

Chapter 5 [Abelia]

Chapter 5 [Abelia]

“Make sure that you do not get a single SPECK of charcoal on the tables, thank you very much.” Calumn scoffed and rolled his eyes, mimicking what Ms. Wilbur was saying earlier this class. I could tell that although he was a fair artist compared to anyone, he showed distaste towards art class because of Mrs. Wilbur.

I stifled a giggle and looked at him, deadpanned and more or less confused. Did he expect me to burst out laughing? Is that the usual reactions he gets from people he talks to? Cocking an eyebrow, I expressed my silent message.

I got a response to my question when he nudged me on the shoulder playfully.

“Lighten up; I was just trying to set a happier atmosphere. It’s art class, and we should be having the time or our lives! Our brains can wander far along and end up on the blank pages of our sketchbooks. Art is freedom and expression and –“

“Mr. Farrell! How many times do I have to repeat that students do not need to be disturbed when focused on their own artwork?”

He looked back down on his own still life charcoal sketch and sighed, obviously annoyed. I however, found this quite amusing – more amusing than his joke earlier before anyway.

“So much for ‘freedom’ and ‘expression’.” I had agreed with what he said earlier, but why bother saying something to someone who obviously wasn’t going to listen? Waste of breath if you ask me.

“Well, it had to be worth it if I got some response out of you, didn’t I?” Cocky smile. “That’s nice how you’re drawing that skeleton over there by the way.”

“Thanks,” I murmured, then turned to peep over at his sketch. Curiosity gets the cat, always does and always will. He was also drawing a skeleton, but he hadn’t blended or whatnot, and decided to just draw it plain. That way, his only source of value was through shading, and resulted in a darker looking skeleton.

“The skeleton is white. Why did you draw yours so dark and rigid? I know we’re supposed to shade, but that’s really dark for something that was originally supposed to be white.”

“That’s because you follow rules. You don’t let that mind of yours wander as much as I do. I overthink, and sometimes, it’s a good thing. Like in this case – I’m not drawing the skeleton I see through my eyes, I’m seeing it through my eyes. My perspective. “

“What do you see that changes the value of darkness in a skeleton?”

“We’re all born to die, Abelia. There is no denying it, or avoiding it. The only difference there is with you and I is what we do in between that period of time.”

Curiouser and curioser. Of course, Alice [in Wonderland] was curious and she tumbled down a rabbit hole, but in the end she did find Wonderland. So I listened, and let Calumn continue.

“I don’t see A skeleton. I see MY skeleton. I would never be able to attend to my own funeral, I guess it’ll do for now to imagine it. Don’t you fantasize about your funeral, the day where everyone wears black?”

I was taken aback by his words, and I was surprised that I was not the only one who thought such strange and terrible things.

“I’m not like other girls, I don’t dream of the day wear we all wear white and is supposedly the happiest day of our lives. I’m surprised I’m not the only one who fantasizes my funeral – the people attending, who will cry, who will care, who will blame themselves, who would speak, where it would it be held, and what songs would be playing.”

He smiled a sad smile at me, like the kind of sad that doesn’t want to be sad so it forces itself upon a smile and it becomes a heart breaking combination of the two. He smiled a sad smile.

“But why is your skeleton dark? You haven’t answered my question.”

“I am nothing more than aching bones.”

He looked down at his skeleton sketch and his hair fell, me watching his every movement, speechless still. Who was this boy, and why does he seem like two complete strangers instead of one?

“Yes, you are.”

“Pardon? I am what?

“You are more than aching bones. You are alive, Calumn Farrell.”

I frowned at him, curious and upset. This conversation was more than I had spoken in a long time, and touching such sad topics made me quite upset. He stared at me, the unseen emotion behind his glassy blue eyes not leaving. He didn’t seem like to have a response to what I just said, as if he suddenly just had the realization that he was in fact, alive.

“We were all born to die, Abelia.”

“Like you said, the difference is what we do in between.”

“What if life is too short for us to accomplish anything in between?”

“Life is the longest thing you’ll ever experience. Life won’t stop for anyone, but it is in no means ‘short’. It’s your choice to actually spend your time living.”

“What if you could choose to shorten life? It wouldn’t be the shortest thing I’ve ever experienced, but it would be short enough.”

“You don’t have the choice, death is determined by fate.”

“Oh, so it’s fate now, is it? News for you, we do have the choice. If you were in the streets and a car came rushing towards you, it is your choice to step away from it. What if you stayed there, letting it hit you? Would it be fate?”

His words were harsh and snappy, as if I had somehow angered him in this sensitive topic. His words hit me in the face and they stung, questioning death and fate. We were so young and in art class, why were we having such morbid discussions such as these? I took a deep breath in.

“Imagine if instead of calendars and diaries your life was recorded in a song. Pages and pages of notes and lyrics, and it would be your choice to create – would you write a song that someone would sing, or would your life just be bits of broken pieces and lyrics in a sad song?”

Calumn looked at me blankly, as if contemplating my metaphor deeply. He obviously seemed stunned that I had so much to say today or maybe it was another emotion that I could not decipher. He turned back to his drawing and continued onto making his skeleton darker as he smiled his sad smile again.

“We’re composing our funeral songs note by note.”