The Art of Sundays

V

I told him everything. Not exactly everything, obviously, but enough to give him a glimpse inside the world of the oh-so-peculiar Lily Jones.

I told him about how my family and I would go to yearly camping trips in Minnesota and how my mother is unbelievably obsessed with religion. I told him about how I really loved wearing cute fuzzy socks even if Winter had already bid a goodbye, as if it never wanted to be here. I told him about my obsession with green tea croissants and crunchy garlic tuna Belgian waffles. I basically told him a lot about me. All but my father. The first man to ever break my heart without meaning to.

He seemed interested. A bit weirded out, but interested nonetheless. He listened to my rambling intently as if he was a blind man who had regained his sight for the very first time. I found myself telling him weird embarrassing stories and I was laughing for no reason. And for the first time in a long time, I felt genuine happiness.

"That's interesting." He'd nod and laugh along with me.

After what seemed like an endless chatter, I found myself getting conscious. I blushed out of embarrassment.

"Oh, sorry." I looked down. "I must be talking too much."

He huffed in disbelief. "Just go on! I don't mind."

"I haven't talked like that in ages!" I laughed loudly.

"That's good to hear."

As soon as those words left his mouth, his eyes quickly widened as if he immediately regretted it.

"Shit." he muttered. "Um, I didn't mean it like that. I.. Uh.. You know? Yeah."

"Hey, it's-"

"I didn't mean it like it was a good thing that you haven't been talking like that in ages. I was just saying that it's good because you're finally talking like that after-"

"Art?"

He looked at me. "Yeah?"

"Shut up."

"Sorry."

I chuckled. "Hey, it's okay. I have a friend. His name's Archer. Have you heard about him?"

He nodded in realisation. "Yeah. He's that guy who wet his pants during sophomore year. Potato Juice. That's what they call him, right?"

I laughed nervously. "About that.." I paused. "He doesn't like to talk about it that much. That memory apparently belongs in the graveyard spectrum of his brain already. He's a grown man now I believe."

Art stared at me weirdly.

I coughed. "Anyway, he's my friend. My only friend. I don't exactly go along with the girls in school. So, yeah. It just feels good to be talking to another guy. Another human, to be specific." I blushed.

"That's nice." He smiled in amusement. "Hey, wait a minute!"

I raised both of my eyebrows. "What's wrong?"

He scratched the stubble on his chin. "I was just wondering, aren't you supposed to be working today? You know? In the record store?"

"I took the day off. Already told my boss the week before. I just felt like strolling around the park, have some me time, and just.." I paused for a while. ".reflect on things, you know?"

He nodded. "I understand."

"Yeah." I shook my head. "Now, let's move on to your side of the story."