My Classified Life

Chapter Thirty-Five: Keeping My Head Above Water

That was how I spent my days, wake up, steal a book from the library, read it all day, and if I had any spare money I would buy something to eat or drink. I avoided my family and Christina at all costs, we kept the talking to a minimum when we were around each other, none of us quite sure what to say to each other. We were all living the classified life, we never talked about anything we did. I was grateful for it, Sammy would have pestered me about my secret boyfriend and I would just feel guiltier than I already am. I hardly spoke more than a few sentences everyday.

I passed through the streets of London like a ghost, the librarian was the only person who noticed my daily trip. My expression I wore was not a grimace, more like the absence of an expression. A blank, white, canvas, just the absence of everything. What was different about me was that I only looked blank. Truly, only painted over with white.

I was a Rembrandt, a Da Vinci, Michelangelo, slicked over and lathered in white. If anybody would care to take a second look, they would see the surface was mountainous, deep valleys and canyons of the artist’s hand, where they repainted and reapplied until the picture was right. Stressed over every detail and worked until it was perfect, not a drop out of place, or a brush stroke in vain. Only to have it painted over with white. The fire of emotions hidden, concealed and forgotten.

I waited for someone, anyone, to see the masterpiece, the story, beneath the white. After one week of being in London, someone finally did.

I’d noticed the boy before, tall, with dirty blond hair and blue eyes like the ocean. He was hot, no doubt about it. Every day this week, he had walked through the park around 10 o’clock and came back through in the late afternoon, most likely to and from a day job. The day before he had noticed my watchful eyes following him and sent me a wink. It was all very exciting and all that happy crappy stuff, but I didn’t really care.

He was a normal boy, normal friends, normal life, and I was one big pile of secrets and lies. And besides, London was temporary, no telling how much longer I would even be there. I could almost hear Christina whispering in my ear after I saw him walking through the park the next day, ‘Talk to him!’ she would say, ‘He’s cute! Can you say rebound guy?’.

It was mid afternoon the day after he winked at me, it was hot outside and I abandoned my hoodie and was trying to keep cool in some shorts and a tank, he saw me and made his way over to where I sat leaned against a tree, a book in my lap. I couldn’t help but notice as soon as he looked at me, it’s what I’m trained for. With his swaggering steps and smolder of a smirk, it was clear he was used to talking to girls, having them fall all over him, and expected me to be the same. Wrong-o!

“Hey,” he said, standing over me, his shadow dropped over my book and his voice had a flirty tinge to it. I couldn’t help but slightly melt at the British accent, there’s just something about British boys.

“Hi.” I responded, flat and uninterested, figuring the boy would get the hint and walk away with his dignity. I tried out my own accent, not the fake one I used with Christina for fun, a real one.

He clearly wasn’t mowing what I was growing. “So, watcha doin?”

“Reading.”

“You read a lot.”

“You noticed.” I hadn’t looked up yet, I didn’t need to, I could hear the shaky laugh he let out.

“I noticed other things, like how you were watching me…” he let his sentence trail off, implying things he wasn’t sure he should say.

“Yup.” I snapped the p, growing more irritated.

“What story are you reading?”

“Seven Lucky Stars.” I said.