To Love or Be Loved

02| waiting with a side of fries

"Loving someone who doesn't love you is like waiting for a ship at an airport." -Unknown

When I was ten years old, my father and I painted a mural on the ceiling of my room. I wasn't that great, seeing as how I was so young and still learning, but my father amazed me. Every stroke he made held a sense of purpose as if that was what he was born to do. And I swear on my life it was.

One day, he came into my room with a big book about constellations. He said, "Ads, pick your favorite-no. Pick the one that looks the most beautiful to you. Tell me, and we'll paint it on your ceiling." So, I did. I flipped through that book for hours, staring at each picture for a long time to make sure I'd choose the right one.

The next day when my father came into my room, I pointed at the constellation Cassiopeia. I was surprised, even then, by the look on his face when I said the constellations name. It was as if it brought on a fond memory. I should've asked him what was he reminded of, but I was old enough to notice and too young to ask.

When he asked me why I decided on that one, I answered, "It's known as The Queen. And I know she wasn't a very nice one, but she still was one. I want to wake up every morning and remember to be a Queen too. I want to be the best Queen ever!" I beamed at him, hoping he was proud of my choice. My father just smiled, ruffled my hair, and started painting.

He taught me everything I knew today, the need for the brush flowing in our veins.

Now, at seventeen, I stared up at that mural. My father had blended different shades of blue, purple, and black until it looked like the night sky. A small smile danced across my lips, as I remembered him painting the stars with glowing paint so I could always see them.

That mural was the last thing my father ever painted. Not long after it was completed, he realized we needed more money than we had because his art wasn't selling well. So he went back to law school and became a lawyer - a high paying one at that. Sometimes, I'd find him sitting in my room, staring up at it with a ghost of a smile. His head knew he needed to earn more money, but his heart longed for an old wooden brush.

I replayed that memory in my head as I waited for Micah to return with the popcorn, the title screen for Sixteen Candles playing patiently on my tv. I was lucky that I was able to convince him to come over, and even more fortunate to have been able to talk him into watching this movie. Any John Hughes movie bored Micah to death, but somehow I always managed to get him to watch with me. It was one of many things I loved about having him as a best friend.

"So," he said, sitting down next to me on the bed, laying the popcorn down on my stomach. I slowed my breathing slightly, so I didn't tip the bowl over. "You're going to tell me everything that happened today, right?"

"Excuse me?" I pushed play, trying to pretend like I didn't already know what he meant.

"I saw you and Carter today," Micah said, popping popcorn in his mouth, eyes glued to the screen despite the fact he'd seen that movie at least twelve times with me. He hated this one the least, and I had a sneaking suspicion he'd watched it a couple of times on his own.

I told him everything. Every word and every action. The movie played on, but his entire attention was on me. His pale green eyes searched my face over and over, looking for something. I wasn't sure if he could find it or not.

It took him a while to speak. A solid ten minutes in fact. All he did was stare up at my ceiling, looking at it the way I was sure philosophers and poets looked at the real sky. Maybe he was looking for an answer to a question, or perhaps he was trying to find the perfect thing to say to me, but all I knew was that that was just paint on a ceiling. No supernatural being was going to rearrange the stars for him in that sky. It never did for me.