The Doves that Strut

4

We were at Claire's place the whole afternoon. It was her coming up with topics to talk about most of the time while I played the role of listener and commented on her thoughts, lazing around and watching her making progress on her masterpiece. She was dual-wielding her paint canisters, but the word 'painter', I figured, would be ill-used to describe her. Sitting in front of her galaxy, I didn't feel like she was doing graffiti. No, she's more like one of those dazzling stars guiding the lights to where they belonged, the colors to positions that echo with your eyes.

Afterward, just as gravity always drags the sand toward the bottom of the hourglass, time inevitably flies by, even faster when you want it to last, instead of just making through it like I was most of the time. It's zero conditional on grammatical grounds, and that afternoon I couldn't escape this rule anyway. As the sky that hovered us began to darken, Claire called it a day because she didn't want to return home late and worry her grandparents. She packed her stuff, and when we were leaving, she came to take my hand again, easily and wordlessly. I wanted to say something, ask why we're holding hands but then, in the peripheral of my sight, I noticed this plain comfort in her expression, so I banished the thought from my head and just walked with her, unhurriedly, feeling the stickiness of the paints around her fingers, our shoulders colliding with each other at times.

Half an hour later, Claire led me to school. I still had my stuff there. Outside the school's open gate, I saw through the windows the white lights inside the building, that looked brighter than usual after sunset. Our hands parted here. "Bye," she said before coolly throwing me one last glance. I stood still and watched her cross the road, drifting away on Palton Street.

Sometimes, you just can't help but slow down and eventually stop, hoping that person you care about would turn as if it were drama and give you another look, and find out you're doing the same, and then both of you would burst into sweet laughter, heartily.

I checked the lost-and-found next to the janitor's closet. Joe, the janitor gave me an impatient glare, pulled my backpack out of the cupboard under the lost-and-found box and flung it at me. I made a rigid smile to awkwardly ease the awkwardness, swiftly threw my backpack onto my shoulders, and headed back home.

On Palton Street, my phone rang. "Dad," it read on the screen. I could already guess his reason for calling, and I knew answering the call would be the worst way to end the day, but I chose a deep breath and to tap on the green answer button anyway.

"Hello, si—"

"Hey, guess what, dipshit?" he growled. "I got a call this afternoon from your school telling me you'd vanished after you excused yourself from Math!"

"I'm sorry, sir—"

"You're sorry?" he sneered. "I was with my client for fuck's sake! And then I heard that you'd decided to go bonkers all so suddenly. What the bloody hell happened?"

There was this girl... I thought. The truth almost fled my lips but I reacted just quick enough to swallow it down my throat.

I heard a punch on a table from the other side of the call, which soon was followed by the crisp shattering sound of some glass or porcelain. "No? Nothing? Did you skip the day to go to the cinema? Goddamnit, I had to apologize for my 'carelessness' and make promises that I'd follow up on what's wrong with you in front of my client, who was staring at me in disapproval as if it's all my fault and I were some irresponsible parent! You cost me a thousand-dollar contract and I will make you pay dearly for it!" I gulped.

Now, I still don't know what Dad does. My best guess is that he's some sort of third-class businessman doing something related to stocks or insurance.

"I asked you to do one thing, just one thing, and that is to focus on your studies, yet you've still found a way to fucking screw it up. That's it! I've given you too much freedom and, most importantly, too much money for you to waste on useless entertainment. Starting next week when I come home, I'm cutting your budget in half. You better learn your lesson!"