Character Studies

Chapter 1

Keep your eyes open.

Ignoring the small things has become a trend. We walk by with all the care we can muster in our relentless lives, but when did the overlooking of the world become a fear of the unknown?

~

I watched from the comfort of the rusting park bench, its worn frame as familiar to me as the old baseball cap I'd worn since I was fifteen. My legs are curled beneath me and my scruffy parka shields me from the bitter chill that comes with the morning breeze.

Living in London has its small perks, if you know where to look for them. I, being unnervingly observant - as Collin, my equally as observant best friend, had so often put it - knew exactly where to look.

For me, one of the best things about London was its endless variety of people. People in general tend to be fascinating when you take the time to study them, but people in London... Now that was something to marvel at.

I've never been shy. Quiet, yes. But shy? Never. This was made blatantly obvious to any bystander that caught me staring, only to find that - upon meeting my inquisitive gaze - I point blank refused to look away. Like Collin said, unnerving.

But it was all in the name of the study.

I guess you could say that this was my hobby. Some like to play instruments, some like to take part in infuriatingly boring sports. I, on the other hand, am one much more for staring at strangers as they walk by. Strange? Maybe. Interesting? Definitely.

I call my hobby 'Character Studies'. It does what it says on the tin.

From a very early age, I'd always been interested in the arts. I loved to sing - I wasn't too bad at it either - and acting became a passion almost straight away.

My old Drama teacher, Miss. Blakely, introduced us - myself and the fourteen other pupils who were talented enough to take her class - to a whole new world of observation. She'd tell us to take ourselves to a public area and just sit.

At first, we all thought she was a little crazy, but I soon found myself immersed in how people behaved. I would find myself enthralled by the way a mother slowly gave into the pleas of her child, her slight irritation showing through in the twitch of her eye; or even perplexed by how lovers could be holding hands and laughing, and yet their eyes seem so... distant.

And thus 'Character Studies' is born.

Every day I would find myself back in this very spot, staring intently at each passing soul and analysing their every movement, jotting my findings into my notebook. Though, of course, almost every week it would be a new notebook - last week's scrawlings added to the pile at the bottom of my wardrobe.

Now, all these notes weren't for nothing. My examination of human habits helped with characterisations in performances which - I strongly believe - is one of the main reasons I got top of the class in my A-level Performing Arts. It has also given me an impeccable understanding of people in general.

I pride myself on my compassion and my ability to read into people's basic reasoning and intent. Using my hobby, I'd managed to protect myself from those who would pretend or lie about their true personalities and, in doing this, had saved myself a lot of hurt and heartbreak.

But 'Character Studies' is definitely not just a one way analysis. Throughout all of my observations of the outside world, I am watching myself intently. I hear people saying things such as: "They know me better than I know myself" when talking about their loved ones, and I sit there - watching and listening as always - and I think to myself, I don't think anyone will ever know me better than I know myself.

I find a warm comfort in that. I observe and I do not wish to be observed by anyone other than myself.

A small droplet of rain falls upon the tattered page of my notebook - a blue one this week, with cartoon aliens enjoying what seems to be a birthday party on the front cover - and I watch it soak into the paper.

Glancing upwards, I frown as the heavens slowly begin to open up. The occasional spit of rain lands on my paper as I watch the masses rush to find shelter before the real onslaught begins.

A small girl drops her dolly in the road and a piercing wail fills the air as her mother rushes her along, seemingly ignoring the sad face of the abandoned toy. Just as I am about to write down my interest in how the little girl cries for her lost doll, yet doesn't look back at it once, a young man rushes forward, scooping the - now damp - toy up and back into the safety of its adoring owner's arms.

The little girl gives him a shy smile, mutters what seems to be a "thanks", and ducks behind her mother's legs. I jot down next to my own abbreviated version of the scene, sweet. The child's mother on the other hand... She flashes the young man an unbelievably forced smile and - with a, what would barely pass as polite, nod of her head - she turns and rushes away, child and toy in tow.

The young man turns back to the road with a roll of his eyes, shoving his hands into his pockets as he waits for the little green man to appear so he can cross. Slowly, I begin to study him.

Outer appearance first:

Slim build, yet toned - average height.
Soft features - baby-faced.
Sunglasses in the rain - Secret spy? Black eye? Hung over? Famous? Generally just weird?
Bronze hair styled into a quiff - all the rage these days.
Seemingly expensive clothing - stylish, on trend.
Large watch on left hand - is this dude rich?
Wearing bracelets and a chain - likes to accessorize.
High tops are colour co-ordinated to match his outfit - definitely a shoe guy.

Further analysis:

Constantly shifting weight - impatient, late for something?
Keeps looking around - being followed? Just nervous in general?
Checking watch - definitely late for something.
Smiling at passersby - friendly.
Is checking his phone - most likely has a better social life than me. (Everyone does)
Is now looking this way - oh.

I hold his gaze steadily. At least, I think I am but his damn sunglasses are in the way. Usually by now, anyone else would have looked away, but he was still watching me. I sigh and jot next to my analysis, stubborn.

The rain was letting up now but my time was running out. I had promised Collin I'd meet him for coffee at one o'clock. It was now quarter past. I slowly started to pack my notebook away into my tattered backpack, the scratchy black material now worn to a pale grey from years of use.

As I stand to leave, a deep cough sounds from behind me and I'm almost startled. I turn to face the source of the sound and my breath catches.

Note to self: His eyes are green.