Starry Night: Les Artistes Sont Amoureux

four

After Intro to Poetry and Orchestra II, I wandered into the dining hall, looking for Vincent. When I saw no sign of the ginger headed dutch boy, I grabbed some lunch and wrapped it up with napkins, slipping it into my bag. Then I slipped up to Vincent's room, but found he wasn't there either. So, I wandered around campus, peeking into different classrooms to find him. Eventually, I had checked every room, and there was only one other place he could be.

When I reached the gardens, I quietly opened the gate to the flower garden and made my way to the sunflowers. Vincent was sitting quietly, sketching in his sketch pad.

"You can sit," he said, too absorbed in his drawing to look at me. I reached in my bag and pulled out a tuna sandwich and handed it to him.

"I brought you lunch," I offered.

"Shouldn't you be throwing that at me right about now?" I frowned and sat down, sandwich still extended towards him. "Why would I throw this at you? We're friends."

"Sure." Vincent snorted, his accent getting thicker.

"We are," I protested. "Vincent, you're my friend. Why can't you accept that?"

"Why can't you accept that I don't want your friendship?" Vincent seethed, the words almost impossible to make out behind his incredibly thick accent.

"Um, okay," I mumbled, my French accent peeking through. He sighed, "I didn't mean that."

"Why are you so mean?" I whimpered. I seemed to have lost the ability to hide my accent now, and it was getting increasingly harder for me to hold back tears. "I'm not here to stare at you, like some weird side show at a carnival, Vincent. I want to be your friend. I think you're interesting, and smart and talented. But, if you don't want me here, I'll go." I left him half of the food I brought, the tuna sandwich, some snacks and a soda from France that I loved, before leaving the garden and going back to my room for an afternoon nap to destress.

However, I couldn't sleep. I laid there, staring at the ceiling, a playlist of David Bowie songs playing softly on my laptop. I didn't understand what I had done to make Vincent hate me. Before I could contemplate it any further, there was a knock at my door. I sighed and stood up, opening the door. Vincent was standing there, a bouquet of flowers in his hands. I sighed and leaned against the doorframe.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I just, I don't understand you."

"What do you mean?" I asked nervously, wringing my hands.

"The only person who has ever cared about me is my brother Theo." Vincent looked very uncomfortable with this topic of conversation. I heard people bustling around in the lobby and heading upstairs.

"Come on," I said, jerking my thumb behind me into my room. Vincent swallowed nervously and stepped inside, allowing me to shut the door. Vincent sat at my vanity while I sat on my bed.

"Everyone has friends growing up," I said, adjusting myself so I was cross legged. Vincent set down the bouquet on my vanity and clapped his hands together awkwardly.

"I was a bit too weird for their liking," he said, embarrassment colouring his words. "I wasn't very well liked. Which shouldn't be too hard to understand, considering how many friends I have here." Vincent sounded bitter, and I suddenly felt the strange urge to hold his hand.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. We fell silent, the only noise coming from the other students in the hall and the David Bowie playlist I had found on Spotify. I looked at Vincent and noticed he was fiddling with his fingers, like he needed to do something with his hands.

"Do you play any instruments?" I asked him.

"What?" He replied in shock.

"I play the violin," I said. "That's why I'm asking."

"Um, no," he said, scratching his arm. "No I don't. I didn't know you played violin." I shrugged and walked over to my closet, where I had put my violin case after Orchestra II.

"How long have you been playing?" Vincent asked, sliding down to sit across from me on the floor. "Since I was like five or so," I replied. "My mum said I was born to play an instrument, because I was constantly making noise with different objects in the house. So, we tried violin first, and it was a perfect fit. I've been playing for twelve years."

"Play me something," Vincent said, leaning forward intently. I shrugged and kneeled, trying to keep my back straight, as I began to play La Folia by Corelli. Vincent sat in front of me for eleven minutes, not moving a single muscle in his body as I played one of my favourite songs to play. After I finished, Vincent just stared at me in shock.

"That was incredible," he breathed. "More than incredible. I, I mean, I have no words." I blushed and sat down, holding my violin in my lap. "I love that song," I admitted. "It's so exhilarating to play."

"It's beautiful," Vincent breathed. "Do you know how to restring that?"

"Um, yeah," I said suspiciously. "I used to break strings all the time when playing. Why?"

"I want to do something," he said excitedly. "Can I borrow your violin?" I smiled and quickly removed all of the strings.

"Go nuts," I aid. "But, please be careful, I love that violin more than my own life."

"I swear to take very good care of it." Vincent put his hand over his heart as he said this. "No harm will befall this violin whilst it is in my care." I laughed and shook my head. "You're a dork."

"Thank you," Vincent said smugly. "Dork and proud, baby." I laughed again, trying to ignore the weird feeling that washed over me in response to the pet name Vincent had used.

"I'll see you later!" Vincent jumped up and ran out of my room, violin securely in his hands. I continued to laugh, shaking my head at him. Then, I got ready for dinner, deciding to bring Vincent something to eat, since I was sure he'd be spending the rest of the night starting whatever project he was going to do with my violin.