my own lights

chapter two: gay art

you would expect that the first thing i do when i get into my room is look through her notebook right? but in truth, im too tired and want time to reminisce the events of the night. my watch reads {2:43 A.M}. i tuck Rivuleys notebook underneath my bed and get up to turn on the light. i have too much energy to think, but not enough energy to read. i really was completely anti-arts.

instead i get up to organize my room, even a little. it'd help me think clearer, tire me out even further and distract me from opening up the notebook.

my room, like the average 17 year olds, is simply put- messy as fuck. i have clothes strewn all over the floor, completely covering my black carpet. the carpet was a hassle to get, and if it weren't for the fact that my parents loved unique things, i probably would have never gotten it.

my walls are a light powdery baby blue and has a poster of {famous black female swimmer} in the corner. my ceiling has an outer-space tapestry and against one wall is a large gray desk. underneath my desk are hundreds of different sneakers and athletic shoes. adjacent to the wall with my desk is my closet. the closet doors are also colored gray and are wide open, displaying the very few clothes remained left hanging.

in the center of it all is my gray queen sized bed. my covers are reversible gray/ black outer space comforter and sheets with baby blue pillows and baby blue throw. i'm not into space at all and the most i know about it is astrology signs. (guess this characters zodiac sign). i only chose it because it's beautiful to look at and it helps me fall asleep knowing that i'm such a small and insignificant thing compared to the rest of unexplored space out there.

lazily i pick up my clothes, sniffing and tossing them into the correct piles and hanging up the ones that are still wearable. without warning, my dad knocks once on the door and steps in. his beady dark eyes first go to my shoes lining up underneath my desk and he seems to deflate a little.

"we're not stupid." he says, this is also done flatly and with little emotion. no 'hello' or 'can i come in'. "we know you left tonight." the words hang there in the room, suspended by suspense "the only reason i'm having this talk with you right now is because you were gone longer than you usually are." he says this with a pointed look. the usual french hat he wears has been discarded on the dinner table probably, and his bald head shines with sweat. he has smile lines etched permanently onto his face, framing his dimple when he smiles. his dark skin is what i would call on the road to leathery.

meanwhile i keep a poker face on, but underneath it im seething with anger. they knew all those times and they didn't care? my mom walks in next, just as unexpectedly as my dad did. she also seems to deflate a little as she walks in. she has on a below the knee length jean skirt on and pink cami, which i admit goes perfectly with her dark brown skin. the disappointment is evident in her eyes. they seem to frown along with the crows feet at the ends, and even her lashes droop. it's like the only emotion they are capable of showing me is disappointment.

"we just don't know what you're doing out there Filma." my mom fake concerns. the situation is making my skin crawl. i don't want their fake concern and disappointment.

without thoroughly thinking my plan through, i yank Rivulys notebook from under my bed and toss it at their feet.

"i've been writing," i hiss at them. the shock on their face threatens to wreck my poker face.

"wr-writing?" my mother finally forces out. is it really that hard to believe? my dad nods along to her question like 'what she said'. i nod at them my idea starting to take form.

"i've been writing." i repeat again, hoping by repeating the idea, it will cement in their brains "poems, short stories, book ideas, biographies, and even play wrights." i state. okay maybe i overdid it by adding the last part but i would say anything for them to get out of my from.

my mom makes to pick up the notebook from the floor but i'm faster. i snatch it and hold it close to me. my parents are taken aback by my aggression and they look at me warily.

"flip through the pages," my mom orders me "i want to see if there really is writing." i can tell from her face she's set on this decision but i hesitate. what if Rivuly drew things too? vulgar things? wasn't it for my eyes only? already i could feel the betrayal and hurt in her eyes and the doubt starting to gather in my parents minds. i shake my head quickly and stare at my parents.

"no." i tell them firmly "you've never cared about anything i've done or asked about my well being, and i won't give you reason to start doing that now." with that being said i go up near them as if to hug them, but i switch off the light and climb into my bed instead.

i still see their figures in my doorway but after a while i hear them shuffle away. i let out a sigh of relief, but not before flipping through the notebook and seeing neat rows of handwriting, and then not so neat rows of handwriting. every page was filled though. words and words and words bordered by doodles and small drawings. i tuck the book under my bed once again and fall asleep with thoughts of Rivuly swirling around my head.

authors note:
i love being lame :)
anyway, what do you think rivulys notebook is going to contain? do you think filmas parents will believe her and leave her alone?