Just Write It

The Invisible Quill

Peter and I didn't have any classes together; we were just two cargo ships, carrying our goods, occasionally, our lunches, and materials, a backpack or just our books, from one class to another. Two amongst thousands of cargo carriers plying the schools classrooms and halls each year, handling the bulk of our studies.

In fact, Peter and I didn't really know each other. I spotted him in the hallway one day as I was switching classes. Lost in mathematical thoughts while strolling to my next class, I was interrupted by a deep voice and a musical laugh. I instantly looked up and there he was. Sauntering down the hall with two of his friends; I later learned they were headed to the cafeteria. His shoulder length, sandy blonde hair flowed in the breeze, created by his saunter, like a supermodel's during a photo shoot. He was at least a head taller than everyone else, I couldn't stop staring. As we were passing, he looked me in the eye with his gorgeous blue - not cornflower blue, not electric blue and not sky blue, just beautiful shining blue. Then, he smiled and said hello in passing.

Who was that? I wondered. I had never seen him before but I hoped to see him again.

I did see him again, two days later. He was leaning up against the wall to the library, laughing and talking to his friends. It's the designated area for smokers. I tilted my head while watching him, did he smoke? It didn't take long for me to get my answer. Reaching into his plaid shirt pocket, he removed a pack of cigarettes.

"Hey! Whatcha doin'?"

"Just looking out the window," I said uncomfortably. "Trying to decide if I need to go to my locker before the next period bell rings."

"Don't bother. We have a test. The only things you are going to need are your brain and a pencil," Tammy laughed at her own joke. She laughed so hard that one of the stray hairs from the French braid she wore bobbed up and down. Her dark drown eyes sparkled in merriment.

"I forgot..."

"Oh my goodness! Do you see that dreaminess standing down there?" She exclaimed, leaning closer to the window we were looking out of to get a better look at her subject.

I stepped closer to the window to see who she was admiring.

"There!" She pointed. "Peter Dawes! Isn't he fine?" And that was how I learned his name.

Brriiinng!

The bell rang, giving us our warning to get to class or we would be late. As we turned to leave, I noticed Peter bending down to pick up a guitar case.

"He plays the guitar and sings," she informed me, noticing my observation.

Arriving to our class on time, Tammy and I took our seats. While the teacher addressed the class with the test instructions, Tammy passed me a note.

Get ahold of a copy of The Invisible Quill. It's for writers who want to remain anonymous. Peter's work is printed among the nameless writers.

My curiosity peeked, my search began for the secret paper. Peter and I passed each other in the hallways more frequently, several times a day by the end of of the week. With each passing there was a greeting and a smile. I thought Tammy was going to fall over when she heard us greet each other, as she and I were headed to lunch. Shrugging my shoulders, I continued on into the roar of the cafeteria, hoping to drown out any questions she may have wanted to ask.

I searched for three weeks before finding someone with a copy of The Invisible Quill, an underground school paper full of gossip, poetry, short stories and songs.

The Girl In the Hall

I recently found,
A beautiful queen,
Strolling along
This jumbled scene.
She has the hair
Of a coal black raven,
It is her smile
That I am craven.
I hear her laugh
And I am lost,
I want to know her
Whatever, the cost.
So when we pass
And say hello
Next time stay
And do not go.
I will not drop
This social ball
The next time I see,
The girl in the hall.

PD

PD? Is that Peter Dawes? Is it my black hair he sees in the hallway?

"Can I have my paper back please?" The student held her hand out for The Invisible Quill.

"Just one moment," I said, removing my phone and snapping a picture of the poem. Hoping it was about me.

"Thank you!" I handed the paper back to her and headed down the hallway, towards class with a smile on my face.

Peter, I do not think you nor your poem are invisible. I thought.

"Well, hello." I was greeted, his blue eyes locking onto mine, as he fell in step with me.

"Hello." I was hoping to run into him.

"Can I walk you to class?" He reaches for my books, placing them in his right arm, while offering me his left arm.

We talked, joked and laughed our way to my class. He promised to meet me later and walk with me again.

After a few weeks of getting to know one another, we were no longer carrier ships passing in the dark. We were now communication vessels. Conversing about classes, friends, likes and dislikes, music and poetry, where we should go on our first date, I even asked about The Invisible Quill as we headed through the hallways full of lockers and students.