The Heart's Song

Chapter Four: Little Talks

I rolled into the supermarket with the trolley. Phillis was working late tonight, so I decided to do some last minute shopping. Whistling a three note tune, I made my way towards the cereal isle.

As I was dropping a bunch of stuff into the trolley, I saw a familiar, bulky figure from the other end of the section. Seeing Dylan made me hyperventilate slightly. He was there with a shopping basket and a little boy - whom I assumed was his brother. I stood straight, caught my breath and decided to continue shopping with a shred of dignity left in me. I acted cooly, casually looking from product to product, not letting my eyes stray and gaze upon the guy I'd practically been stalking the last two days. I couldn't help overhear the conversion between him and the boy.

"Come on Dylan! I want Frosted Flakes!"

"Sorry Finn - no can do. Mom would kill us if we bought anything with more than 5g of sugar. You know the rules - you're 6, you should know by now."

Dylan had the most sensuous voice. It was like honey - sweet and pure.

Finn sighed and nodded disappointedly. He followed after Dylan, kicking the floor with a meek look on his face.

Oh damn.. There were getting closer. Dylan was obviously going to recognise me and we were going to have to succumb to the awkwardness of passing each other. I tried to keep a straight face, but before I knew it, I had to act aloof.

I panicked, okay? I ended picking up a bag of barley as Dylan and Finn passed me. My cheeks flushed in embarrassment - who buys barley? I felt the heat of Dylan's judgmental gaze hovering over me. I decided to challenge myself and turn around, staring back into his eyes... Only to realise he hadn't even noticed me. I sighed - somewhat in relief; somewhat in disappointment.

Dylan and his little brother walked along the cereal isle, looking product to product. Before I knew it, 'Little Talks' by Monsters Of Men played in the market. Dylan must have felt my gaze on him because he turned around (he had a knack for that). We looked into each others eyes before he turned back around with a blank expression, walking away from me.

******

I tried not to let the situation at the supermarket bother me. I unpacked the groceries and placed them into their rightful places. The song that had played in the market stuck firmly in my mind. I kept seeing his face. I wanted to hear him play the piano again. It pained me to realise it was Sunday tomorrow and I couldn't see him or hear his music for a whole 30 hours from now. I didn't know if this meant anything but it sure told me something I'd never thought of: was I falling for a guy I didn't even know?

I heard the sound of keys in the door, and heard Phillis' voice.

"Tiffany? What is this?"

My eyes widened. I instantly ran to the porch and took grasp of a package. The note said 'Who are you?'. I knew it. How did he know where I lived? I hastily opened the package, carefully avoiding to rip it. Inside the pack, was something I didn't understand - there was an empty white shoebox with a small blue butterfly printed onto the corner of the lid...

I shook my head in confusion.. I could ask Dylan why he gave me a box - who am I kidding? I wouldn't have the guts! Maybe I needed to do some drawing, to get my mind off of it. I leapt up the stairs and ran to the lake-view room. I had a choice: canvas or watercolours on paper. If I chose canvas, then perhaps I could do an official painting that could be framed. Ah what the hell? I'll do canvas.

I wasn't one of those people who was always hung up on what to draw. I just do it, letting my emotions get hold of my drawings.

With the pencil in my hand, I gave the canvas some curvy lines. Was I drawing some portrait? I don't know. Eventually, I had a brief outline with its features on - now for the paint. I got hold of a paint brush, dipped it into some water, and then swirled it into some dark brown. 

I went through my emotions; grief for my mother... anger that my step-mother was always at work... shame that my father was in prison... offence at Alisha for her remark earlier, and the fact she's leaving... confused about my feelings for Dylan... and above all - I had no one to tell about these things.

******

Okay, so I freaked out a little. I screamed, I pulled my own hair and cried. My painting was indeed a portrait. It was a portrait of a guy. 

It was a spitting image of Dylan.

I didn't mean to do it! When a brush is in my hand, I lose control and everything I do becomes a blur. Alas, today is Sunday, and tomorrow will be the day I have to face him.

******

The next day, was Alisha's exam. Normally I would tell her all about my paintings and bore her to death, but (a) she wasn't here and (b) I didn't want to.

But still, I was left alone in lunch. And I was sitting there awkwardly, eating my sandwich. Alisha was my only friend after the whole drama at home happened - perhaps because she was the only one who could actually understand why I wasn't the same as I used to be. I was clingy friends with Mary and Zuwase, who are the most popular girls in school. But they didn't understand my pain and the fact that I had never felt so alone. Turned out that Alisha was the only real friend I had ever had.

Mary flicked her dyed-red hair forward to hide her face as she tried to discreetly flash me a skink eye.  Her boyfriend reached his arm around her shoulder and deliberately said loudly; "Mary, do you actually know her?"

She shook her head and glared at me, knowing the fact I was listening; "Gross. No way. I can't stand goths and the emotionally unstable. And she's so creepy. Look at her staring at us and listening to our conversation. Yuck. Ew. May Tiffany toss her greasy hair and continue hanging out with that good old music-freak Alisha."

I heard Zuwase laugh hysterically and practically scream; "Dorks!"

I sighed and ignored them. I knew this day would come. It started out with them ignoring me, and then telling everyone that my dad was in prison - ultimately, making people think I was a penniless scank who lived on the street.

I stood up, abandoning my lunch tray and slid the school satchel over my shoulder. I wasn't sure if I could face Dylan playing the piano again. I felt very awkward to see him after I'd done the painting.

Instead, I went straight to the art department and sat in my usual spot in the corner. I sat there with a paintbrush in my hand, longing subconsciously to hide behind the bleachers again and hear him play his song.