An Artist's Study

Dark Circles

As I grew up, my family moved to a suburb in a small town. There were always things I noticed. 

I noticed a bouncy ball on the playground and how the sun's light only came from one direction. I noticed the shine of it's rubber surface and the sheen the sun gave it. I noticed her nail polish with it's sparkling pink glitter as she picked it up. The flowers on her sundress would ruffle, the ruffles on her socks would bounce, the bounce causing her hair to fly as she met me outside. I was enamored. As enamored as a six year old could be anyway...

Every day was spent in our classes, happy as we could manage it. Her ball turned into my MP3 player, our voices like songbirds as we hummed to one another, just happy to be held under that metal playground, the music our adventures as we sat sequestered away from society. We were friends, as my teacher said it, but I didn't feel the same way about Cynthia as I did about Calvin. Calvin was my friend, but I didn't want to hug Calvin. I wanted to hug Cynthia, and never let her go. Her skin smelled of strawberries. Calvin smelt like sweat and blacktop. Calvin was gross. 

We got older. Kids always get older. As Betty White would say, "The only problem with children is they grow up to be people"

Teachers soon began to notice that Cynthia was passing me notes. I loved her notes. I loved her hands. Those dainty small fingers that passed the papers that held my happiness during the day. They sat us a few seats apart. I soon didn't like my teachers.

Travis began to notice that I liked Cynthia. It was too bad, as Cynthia did not like Travis, and that was too bad, as Cynthia did like me. 

My dad began to notice bruises on me. I started to wear longer clothing.

My first kiss was taken from me, as she held me under that broken leaking bus stop. She didn't want to go home that night.. I didn't want to either. Our time for that day was soon coming to a close, ending with a long hug, one I wished never to end. It had been a day filled with teachers taking our notes we passed, my body taking the pushes that Travis gave, and the looks of sadness she couldn't hold back. That hug was the only thing I had been looking forward too all day. Cynthia took my wrist in her tiny hands as I started to walk away, those perfect nails dug into my flesh as she shocked me with more boldness than I ever could have given her in those moments. I thank her every day for those moments. Her lips connected with mine in the one thing I would have needed to get though the next event... A cough from behind me, a turn, and Travis' fist connecting with my face.

I don't remember much from that night. I never would recall the memories. Travis was suspended for a week, I woke up in the hospital, my face heavily fractured, and my nose cracked. I learned what bones were in the skull that day, my maxilla cracked, and the lining of eye sockets lowered. Cynthia would tell me I have pretty blue eyes. My dad would keep his promise, and not tell my mother how he found me. My mom would think I was just being bullied again. She didn't notice much back then... 

Cynthia began to grow distant. I wouldn't understand why until much later. Transferring classes away from me, talking more to Travis to divert his attentions, and even having her mother drive her home. I wouldn't see her as much.

The phone calls began. Calling me to tell me about her day, about her family, I relished every minute. I tried to ask why she changed classes, she would change the subject. I would ask her why she was talking to Travis, she would talk about her brother, Trevor. I finally asked her outright. "Why are you not talking to me at school?" She said "So you don't get hurt anymore."

I asked if I could come over after school. She said yes. Her parents said no. The moon would said yes.

Night after night, I would crawl up her vines to her window. Those vines twisted in the best shapes, curling along the bricks and wooden grid, their combined strength cracking the stone and grout, the power of nature shattering the will of man. The rough concrete of the balcony always made me sigh in relief, the threat of falling now over, and the arms of my princess now waiting, ready to make me smile after any hardship.

She called on the worst night possible, a night I yet to forget. My mother had begun her ranting. She had taken my music, she had taken the phone, she had taken any reason for being angry with me that she could and clung to them as tightly as she could. 

The phone rang. "Sara. I need you."

"I can't, my mom is angry."

"Sara. Please. I need you, here."

"I can't, she won't let me go."

"Sara. Please... I need you..."

"I can't. I have to go." *Click*

That night, after my mom had fallen asleep, I climbed from my window. I had to see her. She was only a few blocks from me. A few blocks and her tears wouldn't fall anymore.

The ivy bent weakly in my hands after the blistering rains. I seemed weak, the toll of my mother, the toll of my distance from her, the toll of Travis. All I needed was her. Her boldness to kiss me, her strength to do what was needed for her partner, her kindness to mend any wound.

My hands gripped at the concrete, my skin scraping as I nearly fell the stories to another fracture. I fell to the floor with a thump instead, a pain shooting through my nose. My hands slipping at her door knob, my wet hair clinging to her curtains, I only wish I could have abandoned my mother's anger. I would do anything now to change that one moment.

The shadows obscured her face, her body hanging wet with water and weight. Her parents, out of town for a conference, wouldn't have found her for a few more days. 

I stayed for hours. How could I leave? Her purple face against those bloodshot eyes cursing me with every word.

"I need you."

"I can't."

How could I even move? I sat in that doorway till the sun rose, and the calls of my whereabouts began to circulate. Cutting her down, her body crushed me in ways even worse than Travis could ever inflict. 

The police were called anonymously. Her parents were not. I would be barred from her grave. I would only see it as an adult. 

People tell me I have pretty eyes. I wear make up to cover up the dark circles.