Not that anyone expects him to be in such way but surprisingly he enjoys silence. He does give off the image of being the quiet one who has the most hype but in reality he likes silence as much as his twin brother. In between all the music and movement, he needs some rest, a break that would let him hear his own thoughts. A little bit of time that even the little voice that creates a rhythmic music type of noise in the back of his head, would get turned off. It’s just a needed moment no matter how short it is. By short, it’s not intended to hint to a busy life where he can’t even have a moment to himself. No one interrupts him that much, he simply gets bored. Everything is boring but some things take longer to become useless boring things to Larry than others. For example the sound of nothingness becomes boring way quicker than the loud music. Though he needs both. He does fuss about them once they become boring but he knows he needs both. HE knows that as well; so he provides Larry with the space he demands.
Recently he has seen a girl, no one special, put nail polish on her finger nails and it seemed to amusing to him. He has never paid attention to nail polish and how hard it is to paint nails especially with their small surface, but in those a few seconds that he looked up from his phone it made him want to try it. “Hey let me try that” He had stepped up to give it a shot. He remembers the way the brush ran over the nail so smoothly. Nails used to be a place where all the dirt from everywhere gets under, up until that second he tried to see what type of job he did with her nail in his hand. Suddenly the shape of the nail mattered. That little spot on the side that had less polish, thus a lighter shade than the rest of the nail mattered. The colour of the polish blending in with the skin mattered. The tip of the nails, whether they were filed into one shape or not, mattered. He compared her painted nails with the ones who were not done and it looked so… he actually doesn’t remember what word he picked to describe it but he does know that it was a hell of a difference.
Recently his attention was brought to his long pinkie nail. One day Laurent had come by to complain about how so and so having the nerve to advice him to cut his long fingers; Larry was listening but something hit him in his mind. Why do he and he keep that particular finger nail long? What makes he and him stop cutting once it comes to those small fingers? As long as he remembers, Laurent liked that one little nail longer than the rest and… “Why is it longer Lau? Why not cut it?” He had questioned. “Ay why is yours long man?” was his reply along with that face he makes when he decides to get smart. The miscommunication could have been solved if Larry didn’t put on a face right after a roll to his eyes but this twin was poor to recognize that twin’s innocent wonder about why do both like their pinkie nails long. “I don’t know why I talk to you” Laurent had said and threw a hand in the air.
Not that it suits him, or maybe it does, but he told someone he would do a little something with him recently. He was told about a symbol for something of whatever that is meant to show a something to present the way someone’s life takes whatever turn or something like that, which Larry wasn’t interested in knowing at all but had said yes as soon as he had realized that whatever of whoever would be a good way to put on some nail polish. Black nail polish. He reminisced holding the brush in his hand, dipping the brush in the bottle, wiping off the brush with the edge of the tiny bottle then the cold of the paint settling over his long nail. He had carefully tried to get the edges. With the first look he thought it looked ugly. On the end of the nail, there was some space between the skin and the black. It had to be filled. He dipped in and wiped off his brush again. Was still ugly. He put down his brush and with his thumb nail, as if he was carving with a knife, he made a perfect round line and took off the extra paint. It looked odd still. The tip wasn’t fully painted and the black on the nail made it look like an unfiled nail. He dipped and wiped his brush and fixed the mistake. That’s when he was fully satisfied. Happily, he screwed on the lid and picked up his phone. Had texted and scrolled, signed in and out and strangely felt as if two of his fingers were glued together. He raised his left hand and saw the black on his ring finger and the messed up pinkie nail. “Shit” He cursed, angry with himself. Now he had to do it all over again. Clean off the nail, redo the polishing. And he was back to being satisfied.
These were all three days ago. Right now he’s looking at his pinkie, lying in his bed with his right arm under his head. He’s wondering and looking. The paint have hold up for only a day. Then it started to chip and fade. It was yesterday that Larry was tickled to see how it feels to scratch the paint off. One time, he told someone “You gave all that money to get these done, why are you taking it off now?” because he has seen many girls messing with their nails and taking off the layers of polish. That particular thing is like scratching your nails against the wall to Laurent. He hates to see anyone do that because as he says “It’s like she’s trying to peel her nail out layer by layer.” Regardless, Larry tried to take the cheap polish off and it was so easy. The whole thing came off except the tip. It looked like a French manicure with the black on the long of his nail for a bit but then even that chipped off. Right now it’s just a little out of place black dot on his nail. He looks at it. This was supposed to show the change in his life, the climax of his career and how he has supposedly “made it to the big game”. But that chipped away. His symbol is gone though the feeling of pride is still within him. His nail looks dry; he tried to rub it with his thumb. It needed some lotion or something. Maybe that’s what he will do. Try and care for his nails, why not.
“Awe where is your nail?” Laurent asks with his mocking tone. “It looked really cute Isabella, you should do that again but with pink…. Ah come on Isabella don’t look away look that, I’m being supportive of your life”
“Isabella?”
“Isa-Larry?”
He doesn’t hear a reply so he turns his back to his twin. Laurent never supported that particular decision of Larry’s but he didn’t exactly oppose it either. Now that the paint is gone, he can enjoy the laughter.
