"If trees could talk, the streets would be filled with peaceful murmurings and happily whistled tunes."
I slammed my book shut.
I quickly wrote "waste of time" on the opening blank page in red.
I 'spose it's a tad morbid and unnecessary to take my disinterest out on the book. I guess that's just the way I live. I guess the first sentence is enough for me. I guess loneliness is enough too.
But this show I put on is just a disguise for how insecure I am, and how much I desire attention.
I like to be so blunt so that people label me as the girl who just.. doesn't give a shit.
Until one day i met someone who found me out.
His name is Silas. I hope that sentence didn't turn you off, this isn't a gooey love story, because I can't stand those, nor would i ever let something gooey happen in my life.
Silas works in the hole-in-the-wall nail salon I used to go to to get my nails re-painted every 3 weeks.
He isn't gay. He works to pay debts--or gain them. He's an artist.
He likes to work in the salon because he gets to make little flowers and stars on people's nails, and they are amazed at this boy in the nail store. He even paints a miniature Pomeranian on a little girl's nails.
He feeds off their amazement. Makes him feel worth more than he is.
Sometimes he sang in funny languages when he painted my nails. He tried to convince me to let him do fancy things with them, extensions, nail art, maybe even surprise me with the color. I never let him. I'm glad I didn't. I probably would have fallen more deeply into his trap.
I didn't want to, but I was starting to fall in love with him, at least that was what I thought it was. He had something I wanted: happiness, or at least that's what it appeared to be.
It made him so desirable. If I could just have someone who has happy, wouldn't it make me happy?
Is happiness contagious?
I fought these feelings for a good month. I even considered going "natural" with my nails. But after I took the paint off, they were yellow because of all the dark colors I had continuously put on them and temptation was too great, so, I went back.
That day we had a conversation that changed my life.
Silas: "You know, Katie, your name doesn't really suit you, or does it?"
I was silent: my cue to him that he needed to expound.
"I mean, you seem so tough on the outside. 'Katie' seems like a preppy, happy cheerleader type. Doesn't it?"
"My real name isn't Katie."
"What is it then? Kathryn?"
"No, no.. it's.." I stopped. Silas was the only one who called me Katie. I liked that. Made me feel.. more comfortable with him. Something inside me felt uncomfortable with him know my name. It would give him control over me that I didn't want him to have. This bizarre man.
"Tell me," he whispered. I couldn't resist.
"Katalina."
"That's lovely," he hissed. He just hissed often. Maybe it was a speech impediment?
I felt like once he knew my name, he knew everything about me.
He grinned.
He didn't offer me a pastel color this time. He painted my nails blood red.
Before, I had idolized him, but this decision of his made me feel uncomfortable. I rushed to Wal-Mart to get a bottle of nail polish remover.
My nails were stained red underneath it.
Then I heard his voice, alone in my head, maybe it was just my imagination,
"But why would you want to get rid of my beautiful work? I've worked so hard on you. I have changed you."
I collapsed.
Then, all of a sudden, I heard a different voice, and I knew what I had to do.
_____________________________________________
I woke up in my bed. I slipped into my parents room and told them I had been using the money that I was supposed to use to bring cookies to grandma with to have my nails painted--to see that man.
I never went back. I let the stains fade.
My nails are brilliantly immaculate now.
