The Lasting Days Of Samantha Piper

13- One Must See The Ocean

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"Shantelle." I guess it's just weird that I need to say her name out loud. But I did anyway, in the form of greeting. Her hair. Her encircling arm tattoos. Her body piercings. And her bizarre make-up. It also seems odd that these are the first things that you needed to see when you look at her. I mean, she's basically a chic in her forever vintage dresses and mad-rock get up; but she's simpler than that on the inside.

. . . . . . . .

When I first talked to her in freshmen year, she was drawing skulls and rewriting countless cusses on the back of her Math notebook.

"What are those things for?" I asked, pointing at her scattered illustrations and writings.

I've been dying to have at least a small conversation with her since the third day of school; it is because our Literature teacher made us compose a brief poem that will easily summarize each of our life stories. And Shantelle's masterpiece totally blew me away. I can still remember the lines; and how she meant every word of what she's saying in front of the whole class.

They call me wanderer

Captain of my own vessel

A mist in the ocean

A blur of an image, fading

I race my ship till I meet my ends

I need not to pretend

Ring the bells, hear the sirens wailing

At last, my silver linings dawning

I sailed the Pacific, the Northern, and the Atlantic

But my soul dreads for a different kind of adventure, more epic

And I can't help asking myself,

"Can I sail the tides of Heaven?"

It is maybe, my friend,

The only body of water my eyes haven't laid upon

Shantelle closed her notebook and looked through me. Like literally through me. She replied in a soft voice, "I can see you already know why. I'll be just wasting your time for an explanation."

But I insisted. "I thought that too. But you know what? My time wasn't wasted because you're actually making me more curios. Curiosity is what I seek most."

She raised one of her beautifully drawn eyebrow and crossed her arms on her chest. "Curiosity, you say?" She opened her notebook again and traced the figure she'd drawn. "Most people think I'm a cult fanatic. Like look at these things that I draw- bones, knives, Reaper... who in the not-psycho path would make them, right?"

It was the moment where I just stared at her, wondering how her mind manufactured all these simple yet intellectual things she's saying. "I don't think you're a punk."

She smiled at that, she's really cute when she smiles. Not because of her make-up but because of her mouth twisting into a wonderful curve. "Oh. Is that a compliment? You know, I'm starting to like you. And I do hope you're not a jackass. " She gave me her hand to shake. "They also call me sarcastic!" She whispered as the bell rings.