Honest || h.s.

Actual Art

Harry.

We end up going to a museum. A museum of art, to be exact. 

It's two hours out of the way, but we have good music for the drive and stop for some snacks on the way there.

"How does it feel to be able to skip school with an excused absence to hang out with the coolest guy ever? " asks Jackson from the driver's seat, pulling down his sunglasses.

I snicker. "You mean the biggest ego ever? "

He makes a point to look annoyed, but I'm already looking back at the road, watching a large, many-windowed building creep up in front of us. I've been here a few times with Gem, with a blind date, for a school trip--but never with an actual friend. 

"Must be an art showing today," observes Jackson, pushing fingers through his thick hair. "I hear an old friend of mine is making her stop here for an art show. She's what, sixteen? Seventeen? I dunno. Pretty cool, though."

I watch as the car in front of us, a white jeep, turns into the nearly-full parking lot. We follow it, and many cars follow after us. Inwardly, I begin to feel uneasy. Lots of people are never a good idea. With Jackson, it might be okay, but I can't be sure.

"So reliant on your only friend," I mumble, nervously picking at the shoelace in my lap. I'd pulled my foot onto the seat with me, resting it on the opposite thigh, trying to calm my jittery thoughts. "Don't be needy."

Jackson nudges me, and I glance over to see him offering gummy bears from the sack of snacks we bough earlier. I gladly accept his distraction, embarrassed by my honesty. It's not often that I involuntarily speak of how our relationship affects me. I try to not let him know how much I think about the fact that he gets paid to be around me; I know he means it when he says we're friends. I can tell when someone's fake and when someone's not.

"Real deal," I say, looking up at the museum as Jackson parks the car.

We head inside, hands in our pockets. The admissions booth is crowded with people lined up to see the art show. A poster advertising the event shows an impressive display of modernized abstract art, and I'm reminded vaguely of Gemma's city apartment. It's to her taste. I stop staring at the promotional banner and follow Jackson to a general admissions booth, where a bored young man with glasses is reading tabloid. It's obviously been a slow day for him.

"Two tickets into the grand hall, please," says Jackson, and the man glances up, flipping the magazine closed. 

"That'll be ten, please."

"Just ten?"

"It's half-off because of the art show going on, per request of the artist herself," he recites, passing us two admission wristbands in exchange for the money Jackson passes over. "Thank you. Enjoy your visit."

We stroll casually through the exhibits, taking in the emotions unique to each section. The main hall is mostly empty, which I'm grateful for, even though I eventually want to check out the art show as well. 

A particularly classy display, featuring a golden statue, a metallic oil painting, and three stained-glass eyes, catches my attention. I wander away from Jackson, who is admiring the meticulous carvings on a collection of hand-made musical instruments, and stand before the pieces by myself.

As I'm staring, allowing myself to get lost in the art, I vaguely register that another person has joined me. I always love when I discover especially beautiful art before Jackson does, at places like these. He really does have an eye for design, but sometimes misses the rarer things, the things that most people would miss.