Into His Love

Twenty-four

Kimberly | Monday

The weekend was a dark, gloomy blur. It's been storming the past two days and is expected to get worse over the next few hours. I spent the whole weekend hanging with Nadia and we finished our project in just enough time to turn in today. The cafeteria is even more crowded today than usual since more people are sitting inside due to the rain outside.

    Nadia and Taylor are ranting over some stupid reality TV show that they've been watching. Deciding to drown them out, I pull my headphones out of my pocket and put them in my ear. I watch the rain pour outside and the dark clouds move vastly across the sky.

     I love the rain even though it makes me feel more alone. The rain is my peace but thunder is the reminder that peace can be taken within seconds and exchanged with insecurity and vulnerability.

Minutes tick away, turning to hours and the day fades away into the rain.

The doorbell rings and I head downstairs to get the door. Isaiah stands on the other side carrying his bookbag and a umbrella. The wind blows strongly ruffling his clothes and causing rain to get inside.

"Hey. Come on. Get in," I tell him as he closes his umbrella and rushes to get in.

"I better do hell of a job on this test tomorrow to come out in this weather," he jokes, rubbing his hand over his face.

"You'll do just fine," I assure him. "You can put your umbrella in there." I point a umbrella holder beside the door. We head upstairs and I clean up my painting supplies that I'd been using before he'd gotten here.

"Damn. This looks professional." Isaiah stares at the painting I've been working on. "Self portrait?"

"Actually, no. It's of my mom when she was twenty-two." I hand him the picture.

    He shakes his head staring at the picture and says, "If I didn't know any better I'd think this was you...with a terrible camera." He hands the picture back to me.

"Nope," I laugh. "It's my mom."

"It nearly looks exactly like the picture," he boasts.

"Thanks. I've been working on my....realism." I walk to my bookbag, pull out a folder, and take a seat on my bed. Isaiah walks over to my desk and does the same.

"Is your mom good at painting and stuff?" he asks.

I scoff, "Let's just say the only reason my mom has any interest in art is because of me. A few months after my dad passed my mom and I were cleaning out the basement and found this huge bin of art supplies that my mom said he hadn't used in years. I took them and started messing around with them and I was horrible." I laugh and Isaiah joins in exposing his deep dimples. "After a while I was drawing and painting all the time. It's like..I don't know. Never mind."

"Come on. Tell me what you were going to say,' he insists, his eyes burning into mine.

I sigh. "I don't know. It's like in some weird way it makes me feel closer to him. Like he's here with me. Does that make sense? Probably not." I brush my hair out of my face.

"No. I get it." He gives a small smile. "Is that what you want to do? Pursue art?" I've never actually thought of being an artist until now.

"Mm mm." I shake my head. "I'm thinking maybe a nurse or mental health therapists. I know...opposite sides of the spectrum. I just know that whatever I do I want to help people better their life and themselves."

"I can tell you now you'd be a damn good therapists." He tells me.

"You think so?" I scrunch my face. It surprises me considering that being a therapists has always been on the back burner.

"Yeah. You're a really caring person. You're good at making people feel better and you always know the right thing to say to get people to see different perspectives." I mentally laugh at what he's telling me as I wonder why I can't help myself in the way that I help others.

"Thanks. I still have a lot of deciding to do." He starts looking at his papers as I watch him. "What about you?" I ask remembering very quickly that the doesn't want to go to college.

"Well, um, I don't know." He avoids eye contact. "Still got a lot of deciding to do." He laughs, finally looking to me. He starts writing and I take that the end of this conversation about his future. I can't understand why someone would choose not to go to college or at least give it a chance. Not someone with goals and ambitions, at least. I've seen how motivated and passionate Isaiah is with school, football, and so much other stuff but he's just deciding to let it all go to waste.

The ringing of Isaiah's phone breaks my concentration of reading. He pulls it out if his pocket and answers quickly.

Isaiah

"Hey, what's up?" I ask, a million reasons for my mom to be calling me run through my mind.

"Hey," her voice travels through the phone. "Are you still at tutoring?"

"Yeah? Is everything okay?" I glance over to Kimberly. She's twirling a a piece of her hair and writing in her notebook.

"yeah. I just need you to stay there tonight." What?

"What, why?" I guess the alarm in my voice draws attention to me because Kimberly looks over to me. I nod my head letting her know everything is okay and she starts back writing.

"It's supposed to get worst outside. There's a forty percent chance of it hailing in the next two hours. I don't want you out in that and you damn sure don't need to be driving."

"Okay. I'll leave right now before it gets too bad."

"No," her voice is full of authority, "It is already white rain outside. Stay where you are. I'm not asking you." I take the phone from my ear and mute her.

"Hey. Is it okay if I stay her tonight ...my mom is being all paranoid about the weather?"

"Yeah, of course," she nods. "At least she cares. It's storming bad outside at my mom has no idea."

"Hello. Isaiah?" My mom's voice trails through the phone.

I unmute her and put the phone back to my ear. "Yeah, okay. I'm staying. I'll come early in the morning to get ready for school," I tell her as I watch Kimberly.