Candy [MCCARTNEY]

SEVEN

THE COLOUR OF A ROSE FIELD

✞

Walking home one Thursday afternoon, not too long ago, George asked me: "if you were God for an hour, what would you do?"

It was an unusual question. Usually, I loved unusual questions. That day, though, the sun was beating down, my hair was frizzing out of its pony-tail, and I was starving. I replied: "can we just walk in silence for one fucking day."

Now, however, sitting in this church, I decided to change my answer.

Although Paul had avoided my gaze successfully for the entire time he spoke to everyone gathered into the pews, I knew he was painfully aware of my presence. His eyes would glide and dance around me, treating me like a great big black hole.

I was growing frustrated, but I knew deep in the pit of myself, that was what he wanted. Maybe it was safe to say he reveled in my burning — that he enjoyed the thought of me questioning myself and what was even going on between us.

Man, those doe, brown eyes and their stupid, beautiful eyelashes. Staring down at my fingers in my lap, I imagined what looking up at those eyelashes from down below would be like, while I. . .

Mum's hand tapped my arm and I broke my train of thought. She was trying to point out something on the back of the prayer pamphlet, but I brushed her away, keeping my eyes forward.

"No, this one's very good," Mum hissed.

I nodded, "yeah, okay. I'll read it later, then."

Paul had finished speaking and promptly dropped out of the limelight. My eyes tried to find him around the room without moving my head and making it too obvious, and when I did, on the side of the room, his were already on me.

If I were God for an hour, I'd remove everyone in the church except for him and I.

His gaze lingered, daring me to look away, but I held my ground. I wanted to know what was floating through his mind when he looked at me. Did the collision of emotion and visual excitement occur within him, as it did within me?

Father Thompson prattled on, but I knew neither of us were listening. It was merely a hum in the background of my favourite view.

I raised an eyebrow slightly, silently asking him what his deal was.

Paul replied with the corners of his mouth subtly lifting.

I pressed my lips together and looked away. Damn —  can I say "damn" in church? — this man really wants it, huh.

✟

The service was over, and we were all getting ready to disembark. Mum's hand was on the small of my back, pushing me gently out of our pew. If I knew her any less than I do, I'd say she was simply helping me shuffle out of the building in an organised fashion.

But I do know my mother, and in reality, I knew she was just trying to hurry me up so we'd meet the Harrison family outside.

However, I had something else in mind.

Looking back at Mum, I stopped shuffling forward and announced that I was going to stay back to sign up for the Youth Club.