Inked Impressions
She looked like the kind of girl Paul McCartney might have
written a song about. The thought
occurred to Will as he stood at the window, watching her sip coffee and type on
her laptop in the small café across the street.
He tried to think of the right words to describe her: graceful, lovely,
radiant…it all sounded so cheesy, like a bad Hallmark card. He was an artist, not a writer; he preferred
pictures to words.
The sound of his own name pulled Will back to reality. His boss, Josie, was telling him to get a
move on.
“Those tables won’t clean themselves, Will,” she said,
balancing a tray of food as she hurried by.
He winced at her stern gaze. He hated being reprimanded, and this wasn’t
the first time she’d caught him staring out the window. He turned back to his work; the last thing he
wanted was to get fired. He lifted the tub
of dirty plates, cups, and silverware off the table and wove his way toward the
swinging door in the back of the restaurant.
The kitchen was buzzing with life as the cooks tried to keep up with the
flurry of orders coming in for lunch.
Will ignored the shouts of “eighty-six the onions” and “order-up” as he
began scrubbing the dishes clean. As he
worked, his mind drifted across the street to the empty chair sitting across
from the girl in the busy café as the sound of music floated through the
kitchen.
“Is
there anybody going to listen to my story / All about the girl who came to
stay…"
--------------------
Will’s shift ended at 4:30, right before the dinner rush picked
up. He buttoned his coat, flipped up his
collar, and stepped out into the chilly evening. He glanced across the street to the café to
see The Girl typing away on her computer, a half-smile curling the corners of
her mouth in amusement at whatever she was writing. He entertained the idea of walking across the
street, entering the warm café, and introducing himself, but he knew he
couldn't do that. As far as he was
concerned, the one-way street that separated them every day was impassible, an
invisible wall between her world and his own.
He was an observer of her universe and nothing more, unable to reach
through the telescope to touch the distant stars. To breach that divide would destroy the
fragile link he'd forged between them as viewer and subject.
He shook the thought from his head and sat down on the
bench in front of Floyd's Pizza to wait for his sister. He shared a car with his sister, and she had
classes at the university down the street that ended after his shift. He didn’t mind the wait, even when his
fingers started to go numb from cold.
Will was content to watch The Girl, enjoying the frequent bursts of
laughter that punctuated her smiles as she sat at her computer. He didn't get to see such careless happiness
very often.
Sometimes he took out his sketchbook and drew her, but only
when it was warm enough that his hand wouldn’t cramp. The first time he drew her, it hadn't been
intentional. Will liked to draw
strangers. He often drew pictures of
random people he saw walking down the street or who came into the
restaurant. He found it much easier to
draw strangers than people he knew; the image in his head wasn't muddled by the
things he knew about them. He'd never
even come close to drawing an accurate picture of himself. One afternoon after The Girl first started
coming to the café, Will found himself doodling on the back of a receipt, with
no particular image in mind. He didn't realize until he'd finished that he'd
drawn a picture of her. After that, he
couldn't seem to stop himself from drawing her again and again, even though he
knew it was a strange thing to do. He
didn't tell anyone about his drawings, but he didn't think it was a big
deal. He told himself that she was no
different from the other strangers he sketched.
He was never going to meet her, so what did it matter if he drew a few
pictures of a pretty girl in a café?
It was too cold that day to draw, so Will leaned back
against the bench and watched her. He
was a little worried that she would look up and catch him staring, but she was
much too engrossed in her typing to notice the likes of him. He was just a skinny, 18-year-old busboy with
shaggy hair and too many freckles. She
was interesting and beautiful; she looked to be somewhere close to his age,
maybe a little older. The Girl was
confident, cheerful, self-assured…everything that he wasn't. They were worlds apart, and Will felt every
inch.
The Girl had bushy black hair that fell down her back in
long, curling waves. She often wore a
ponytail or headband to keep it pulled back, but today, she didn’t seem to mind
that it was falling in her face. Every now
and then, she’d pause in her typing, pushing a hand through the curls to hold
them back for a moment as she reread what she'd written. The curls would inevitably fall forward again
when she resumed her typing and needed both hands. She wore a thick, overlarge, green sweater
that fell past her hips, jeans, and ankle boots. She had one leg tucked underneath her, and
the other one swung freely under her chair.
When she got really into whatever she was writing, she’d lean forward,
moving her face closer to the bright screen.
Her eyes would widen, and her fingers would fly across the
keyboard. He found her fascinating.
Will couldn’t help but be attracted by her. She seemed incredibly cool to him. (God, did
he just call her “cool?”) She gave off
an air of sophistication and carelessness; perhaps it had something to do with
seeing her in a café every day. She
always seemed so relaxed, like nothing in the world was more important than
typing at her computer while sipping a cup of coffee. He’d never seen her upset in any way; her
café visits were riddled with smiles and laughter. Will envied and admired her carefree
happiness; he and anxiety were close friends.
He could never let go of the idea that everyone around him was watching
and judging his every move, even if he knew that wasn’t true. The Girl didn’t seem to care who was watching
her or what they might think. It was in
the way she carried herself and the way she interacted with her
surroundings. She exuded confidence
through her every movement.
He watched, absorbed, as she closed her computer and sat
back in her chair for a moment. She
ruffled her hair and looked around the café like she was seeing it for the
first time, like she'd just woken up from a vivid dream. She shook her head a little, slipped her
computer back into her bag, and took one last sip of her coffee before tossing the
cup into a trashcan and heading for the door.
A car stopped in front of Will, startling him and blocking
his view of The Girl. His sister,
Courtney, rolled down the window a crack and shouted for him to hurry and get
in the car. As he stood to open the car
door, Will glanced over at the café window, hoping to catch one last glimpse of
her, but she was already gone. He
slipped into the car, mind wandering, as he sang along to the song on the
radio.
“Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter
box. They tumble blindly as they make
their way across the universe…”
--------------------
Will thought of it as their routine. It was a constant in his life, and the only
thing he had to look forward to. The
Girl appeared at the café early in the afternoon and generally stayed until
five or six. Will spent his shift
relishing the rare glimpses he got of her throughout the day, then he would sit
and either watch or draw her from his usual spot in front of Floyd’s until his
sister showed up. It was
well-established that The Girl never left first – she remained at the café
until Courtney picked him up. He wasn’t
sure what she did or where she went once he was gone. He’d once considered
following her to find out, but he knew that was crossing the line. Will wasn't a stalker, he was just an observer. He wasn't a threat. He didn't even want to meet her; he
just liked to watch from afar. What was
the harm in that?
It was also a given that she always spent her time in the
café by herself. In the weeks that
they’d followed this schedule, Will had never once seen anyone else sitting
with her. He figured she had a boyfriend
(she had to have a boyfriend…look at her!), but she was always
alone when he saw her. Will thought
maybe the café was her place, a place where she could be alone. He respected that, envied it, even. He felt privileged to be able to share in
this time with her, even if she didn't know he was there. It was another reason he could never speak to
her. He didn't want to ruin the magic of
her café.
A shout from downstairs startled Will out of his
daydreams. His parents were fighting
again. He couldn't hear exactly what was
being said, but he didn't need to. He'd
heard it all before, and he didn't want to listen to it again. He turned up the volume on his record player
to drown out the hostile voices. He
hummed along to the music, trying not to hear, drowning out his own tension and
dread by turning his thoughts to her.
He was sitting in his room, his sketchpad open to a series
of drawings of The Girl he’d done earlier in the week before winter had
announced its undeniable presence.
Drawing was the one thing in life that Will knew he was good
at. As long as he held a pencil in his
hand, he could forget everything else in his life: his parents, the fighting,
his own failures and mistakes. He didn't
have to think about being a busboy or not going to college like his
sister. He didn't have to worry about
the future or the aimlessness of his life.
He could put the fact of his own lifeless, stagnant existence out of his
mind and just let the images flow through his arm and onto the blank page in
front of him.
He looked through the sketches, fixing a few errors, adding
a mark or two to improve the picture. He
couldn’t help but be impressed by his own skill. He’d managed to capture the essence of The
Girl on paper, tiny details he felt sure no one but him ever noticed: the way
her hands rested on the table beside her, the way she leaned over her book or
computer whenever she was interested in what she was doing. He’d noticed how she idly tapped her fingers
or curled a lock of hair around her finger whenever she was deep in
concentration. She tilted her head to
the side when she was confused or thoughtful about something - he could tell
the difference: confusion meant a furrowed brow, but thoughtful meant looking
at the sky through the window. He felt
as though he knew her intimately.
He thought of meeting her, introducing himself, having an
actual conversation with her, but he never let that fantasy go far. He couldn't even picture himself crossing the
street, much less entering the café and speaking to her. Though his thoughts were riddled with images
that was the one thing he couldn't picture.
Looking up, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in his
window. He turned to look at himself,
trying to lock his own image into his brain.
He flipped to a blank page of his sketchbook and started to draw. He could tell as soon as he started that it
was all wrong. He could get the shape of
his head, the way his ears stuck out, the look of his protruding Adam’s apple,
but his face was a blur. He couldn’t
draw himself as he actually appeared.
The true image kept getting mixed up with the image in his mind, with how
he felt he should look. His own face wasn’t clear to him.
He crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it at the
garbage can, missing by a long shot, then slid the sketchbook underneath his
mattress. He always hid it because he
was afraid of what his father would say if he found out how much time Will
spent drawing. He switched out the
records and put on a Beatles album instead, setting the needle to his favorite
song. Leaning back in his desk chair, Will
closed his eyes and pictured her: graceful, beautiful…he didn’t care how cheesy
it sounded. She moved and swayed,
dancing in his mind’s eye as he sang along to the soft sound of the music.
“Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you
see…Strawberry Fields forever…”
--------------------
Will stood at the window in shock, his rag lying forgotten
on the table he was supposed to be cleaning.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the empty table in the café across
the street. She wasn’t there. He craned his neck, trying to get a glimpse
of the other tables; she had to be there somewhere. She couldn’t just not be there. She was always there.
He was distracted throughout the rest of his shift. Josie yelled at him several times that he
needed to get his act together. He kept
leaving cups on tables, forgetting to wipe the table down, not rinsing dishes
and putting them in the drying rack still covered in soap. He didn’t understand why she wasn’t
there. What had happened? Had he missed something, some subconscious
sign that she was changing their routine?
Josie let him off early that day - Will hoped that wasn’t a
bad sign. He couldn’t help glancing at
her table again as he stepped out into the cold afternoon. Still empty.
Disappointment crashed over him when he realized he wouldn’t see her
today. If he couldn’t rely on their
routine, there was even a chance - he admitted it was slim and a little
overdramatic - that he’d never see her again.
The thought depressed him.
Courtney asked him what was wrong when she picked him up
half an hour later, but he avoided her question. How could he tell her he was disappointed at
the disappearance of a girl he didn't even know? She'd think he was crazy. Even worse, she might say something to their
parents. He didn’t want to deal with the
fight that would inevitably break out.
Will wasn't up for being yelled at.
The Girl didn't make an appearance for the rest of that
week and all through the next. He was
starting to give up on ever seeing her again.
Will hadn't sketched at all since he last saw her. He just couldn't bring himself to do it. When The Girl disappeared, she'd taken all
his passion and energy with her.
Things at home had gotten worse. Will and Courtney came home one night to find
their father drunk and their mother gone.
She didn't come back until the next night, and then the fighting started
again, worse than ever. Will and
Courtney didn't talk about it. They each
went to their separate rooms, turned up their music, and tried to pretend that
all hell was not breaking loose downstairs.
That was the way it had always been.
Will hated it.
Even Josie had noticed that something was wrong. His work performance was suffering. She'd tried to talk to him about it, but Will
just shrugged her off. She gave him a
few days off to gather his thoughts.
Will knew she didn't want to fire him, that he wasn't giving her much of
a choice, but he couldn't seem to shake the feeling that none of it mattered
anymore. Everything just felt like a
deep shade of grey, and he didn't want to deal with any of it. Will didn't want to think about his job, his
parents, or his own lack of purpose. Who
was he, anyway? What difference did he
make to anyone? He wished he could sleep
through the next few months or maybe even years, just to get away from the
nauseating thoughts that pierced him like knives whenever they surfaced. Even getting up in the morning took a
monumental amount of effort. Will felt
like he was moving through life in a thick haze of fog, and he was unable to
reach the other side no matter how hard he ploughed through.
He tried not to think of The Girl. He knew it was a bit strange that he missed
her so much, but he couldn't help it.
She'd brought a certain light to his life that he'd been missing ever since
she left. He’d looked forward to seeing
her every day. She inspired him and made
him feel like the world was full of endless possibility. Now that she was gone, nothing felt
worthwhile. Even drawing felt like a
chore. Sleep was the only thing that
held his interest. He didn't know what
was wrong with him. He just knew that
life felt difficult these days.
Something in him was broken, and he didn't have a clue how to fix it.
As the fighting escalated downstairs, Will put in his
headphones and tried his hardest to drown out his life.
"Suddenly, I'm not half the man I used to be. There's a shadow hanging over me. Oh, yesterday came suddenly…"
--------------------
His sister had class on Wednesdays, so she drove Will to
work in the morning before her early class.
Will didn't remember that Josie had given him the day off until after
Courtney had driven away. He pulled out
his phone to call her, then changed his mind.
She was already running late, and he'd just have to go to school with
her anyway. He'd much rather spend the
morning here than at the university, surrounded by people who were actually
doing something with their lives. He
didn't want to be reminded of what a total failure he was. He got enough reminding of that from his
father.
Will couldn't help glancing up at the window of the café as
he shuffled over to his normal perch in front of Floyd's. Nor could he stop the tiny bubble of hope
that bloomed inside his chest as he did so.
The disappointment was that much worse when he saw again that her table
was empty. No sign of her at all. He cursed himself for getting his hopes
up. It was just one more bitter
disappointment he could add to his growing list.
It was freezing outside, and Will started to shiver. He refused to enter Floyd's Pizzeria on
principle, so he was stuck out here sitting on this bench, freezing his ass
off. The thought occurred to him that
this was going to be a terrible day. He
shook his head. It wasn't the first, and
he was sure it wouldn't be the last.
He didn't have anything to do but stare at the café
window. He sat there in the freezing
cold, eyes glued to the empty window until he couldn't stand it anymore. He couldn't look at that damn window for
another second. He dug through his bag
and found his sketchbook. Will didn't
know what to draw, didn't feel any desire to draw at all, but he'd do just
about anything to avoid looking at that window.
He didn’t care how cold it was.
He grabbed the pen he always kept in his front pocket and
began to hack away at the page, fiercely scrawling line after line, not paying
any mind to what sort of monster was forming underneath his hand. Ink bled across the paper. His vision blurred from the icy wind, and he
felt as though his hands and face were being pierced by needles. But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. He didn't want to. After a week of feeling nothing but grey and
fog, Will felt something different. It
was small, barely perceptible, but he felt something in the pit of his
stomach. He couldn't quite put his
finger on it. He didn't know if it was
anger, spite, or maybe even pleasure, but it felt better than what had been
there before. So he kept drawing.
After half an hour, he couldn’t move his hand. It started to sleet, and the freezing slush
chilled Will to the bone and melted onto his drawing. He tucked the sketchpad inside his coat and
looked around for a covered area to sit.
There wasn't anywhere to go but into Floyd's, but that was the last
place in the world he wanted to be. Will
looked around again, desperate to find a place to finish his drawing. The tiny bit of feeling that had crept into
him while he drew was fading away, and he clung to it, trying to hold onto it
just a little longer. He swept his eyes
around wildly, his wet hair slinging bits of ice and freezing water into his
face. Finally, his eyes lit upon the one
place where he could go, the one place he would never have considered in a
million years.
He stared at the empty café window, trying to calm his
racing heart. She's not there, he
told himself. She's not there. So what does it matter? He stepped into the street and took a calming
breath. It took every ounce of
determination he had to put one foot in front of the other and keep himself
walking. He felt like he was crossing
into another universe, one where he didn't belong. He was changing the constants, altering the
equation. He had no idea what the new
answer would be.
The bell on the café door clanged as he entered. Will paused in the doorway, waiting for
something to happen. He felt like he was
crossing some invisible line, entering her café.
He'd never been inside before, but he could already tell
why The Girl would want to spend her afternoons here. The café wasn't squared off like most normal
buildings. Instead, the walls tucked and
folded in on themselves. There were
corners everywhere, creating nooks and crannies all over the place that had
been stuffed with tables and armchairs until the place was bursting at the
seams. The café was filled with
life. People were chattering at almost every
table, but the place didn't feel crowded at all. Everyone was talking to each other. The people at one table were having
conversations with people at three other tables, and those people were talking
to people at still other tables. Several
of them even smiled and waved at Will as he stepped into the café and closed
the door behind him, shutting out the howling wind. Will imagined it was like being at a large
party with group of good-natured people who all knew each other. He thought it was brilliant.
The smell of the place was intoxicating. It smelled like coffee and old books, and it
sounded like laughter. Will drank it all
in as he bought himself a small coffee, then glanced around the room, looking
for the table he'd always seen her occupy.
He found the table around the corner of a partial wall, nestled against
the window. The wall blocked out most of
the room, creating a secret refuge in the midst of the cheerful crowd in the
rest of the café.
He felt a slight ache in his chest as he stared at the
empty table. He never dreamed he'd be
standing here, taking the chair across from hers while a wintry storm raged
outside the window. But her chair was
empty. She wasn't here, but he was
instead. He smiled to himself at the
sudden reversal, surprised he remembered how to smile at all. He couldn't think of the last time he'd felt a
real smile on his face. Probably the
last day he saw her.
He pulled his sketchbook out from underneath his
jacket. The picture was a bit smudged
from the melting sleet, and the image was unclear. He wasn't sure how he was going to finish it
yet. He uncapped his pen and pressed the
tip to the page, relishing the feeling of what he recognized as excitement
swelling inside him. He arced the pen
across the page and continued drawing.
He couldn't help feeling that it was more than just ink seeping onto the
paper in front of him.
He was so lost in his drawing that he almost didn't hear
the soft “oh” of surprise from behind him.
He paused and looked up from the sketch, feeling as though he were
surfacing from the deep pool of his own mind.
It took him a moment to realize what he was looking at.
Soft eyes stared back at him from under a mess of dark,
curly hair. She held a steaming cup of
coffee in one hand and a book in the other.
Her hair and thick sweater were soaking wet, and she was dripping water
on the carpet. She'd just come in from
outside; her cheeks and nose were still pink with cold, and her eyes
shone. She lowered her eyes in
embarrassment and backed away.
"I'm so sorry," she muttered, turning to walk
away. "I didn't realize…it's just
that I usually…sorry."
Will couldn't believe she was standing in front of him,
speaking to him. He thought that
something had to be wrong with his brain to be conjuring such vivid
hallucinations. As she turned away, he
lurched to his feet.
"Don't go," he heard himself saying. "I can leave, if you like."
"No, of course not," she said, shaking her
head. "I can't let you do
that. There aren't even any other
tables. You just…just enjoy your coffee
and forget I was even here."
"No, please," he begged. "We could share if that'll make you feel
better. I promise I won't bother
you." He didn't know where this was
going, but he couldn't let it end so quickly.
She paused for a moment, considering. Will's heart thumped in his chest as he
watched her eyes skim the room for another option before she finally stepped
forward and lowered herself into the seat across from him.
"Thank you.
That's quite nice of you. I'm
Lorraine, by the way." She held out
her hand across the table.
Will's thoughts ground to a halt. Lorraine?
Was that her name? He couldn't
wrap his mind around it. All this time,
she'd been The Girl to him, and now he had a name to go with her face. Lorraine.
He thought it suited her. He couldn't
help smiling at how well the name fit the face before him. Her face reddened, and her expression changed
to one of confusion and awkwardness.
Will realized her hand was still hanging across the table, waiting for
him to take it, and he was just staring at her and smiling like an idiot.
"Sorry…sorry," he said, reaching over to grasp
her hand before she could take it away.
"Will. My name's Will. It's nice to meet you, Lorraine."
She gave him a small smile, but the blood didn't leave her
cheeks. Will cursed himself for being an
idiot. Not only had he stolen her table,
but now he'd embarrassed her as well. There's
a reason you've never crossed the street, you idiot, he told himself. You can't even hold a proper
conversation. What did you think was
going to happen?
Lorraine opened her book and buried herself in its
pages. Will turned back to his drawing
and continued mentally berating himself for his stupidity. You never should have come over here. All you've done is ruin her morning. In the back of his mind was also the terrible
thought that he couldn't ever watch her again.
He knew her name. They'd
officially met. She couldn't be a
nameless stranger to him anymore. He
felt a sinking regret. He'd ruined
everything by coming here.
He peeked up at her without moving his head and made a
decision. If he was going to ruin their
relationship as strangers, it was going to be for more than an awkward hand
shake.
"So…do you come here often?" he asked, then
realized he knew the answer already.
Lorraine glanced up at him, her eyebrows raised.
"Did you really just ask me that?" she asked
him. Will opened his mouth, confused, to
ask her what she meant. Then he realized
what she was talking about.
"Uh…yeah," he laughed. "I guess I did. I didn't even think about how bad of a line
that is. I promise I was just asking a
legitimate question." Lorraine
grinned back at him.
"Okay, then I suppose I'll answer it. Yes, I come here all the time. I take classes at the university down the
street, and it's only a short walk here.
I discovered this place at the beginning of the semester, and I've been
coming here almost every chance I’ve gotten since."
"Nice," Will responded, nodding. "It's an awesome place. This is the first time I've ever been, even
though I work across the street every day."
"At Floyd's? I
see that place every time I’m here, but I've never been. I just sit here and watch it through the
window sometimes."
"Yeah, that's it.
I'm just a busboy over there, but it's decent money. And I'm the same way, but with Floyd's. I'm always there, so I've never been
here. It's a nice place."
"I love it here," she said, beaming. "It's such a lovely space. The atmosphere is great, everyone here is
friendly. It's like an artist's
dream."
"Oh, are you an artist?" he asked her, surprised.
"Well, sort of.
I'm a writer. And while I think
writers are definitely artists, that's not what most people think of whenever
you say 'artist.' They think of people
like you," she said, gesturing to his sketchpad.
Will shrugged.
"I just like to draw things. I don't know if that's really being an
artist, but okay." Lorraine
laughed, and her eyes grew wide in disbelief.
"Are you serious?
You're an artist. Trust me on
this. I can tell, and all I've seen is
that one drawing you're working on."
Will laughed with her.
"How can you tell, then?
Just by my drawing?"
"Well, that, and you just seem like one. I spend a lot of time with writers, but I
have friends from all walks of art. I
know an artist when I see one, and especially when I talk to one. You're an artist, Will."
Will smiled at Lorraine, feeling more happy and content
than he'd been in a long time. It wasn't
even just her or how much he enjoyed talking to her. It was having a real interaction with
someone, an actual, enjoyable conversation about nothing in particular. He didn't often do this.
"I guess I'll just have to take your word for it,
then," he said.
"As you should," Lorraine said, nodding in false conceit.
"So you said you're taking classes at the
university?" Will asked, and Lorraine nodded. "What are you studying?" Lorraine, in the process of taking a sip of
coffee, held up her book so Will could see the cover. It was a copy of Charlotte Bronte's Jane
Eyre. "You're studying Jane
Eyre?" he asked, and she rolled her eyes.
"I mean, technically yes. It's one of the books I'm studying. But I meant English. I'm an English major. I’m taking creative writing for the most part,
but this is what we're reading in one of my lit classes."
"Interesting.
I've never read it. Is it
good?" Lorraine's eyes bugged out.
"'Is it good?' What is wrong with you? It's fantastic! You should read it. You should walk to the campus bookstore, buy
a copy right now, and start reading it tonight."
Will held up his hands.
"Whoa, okay. It's a great
book, and I need to read it. Got
it."
Lorraine closed her eyes for a second.
"Sorry. I go a
bit overboard with books. My friends
won't even let me talk about books anymore because they say I'm always trying
to shove my favorites down their throats.”
“Ah. I can see why
they might feel that way,” Will said, laughing.
Lorraine smirked. “So what sort
of stuff do you write?”
“Short stories, for the most part. I’m sort of working on a novel, but I haven’t
gotten very far with that. So it’s just
short stories for now.”
“That’s cool. Do you
plan on publishing anything?” he asked, and her face fell.
“Apparently not.”
Her voice sounded harsh.
Will was a bit confused, and he wondered what he’d said to
offend her. His confusion must have
shown on his face because she sighed and explained.
“Sorry. It’s just…I
just sent in a short story I finished about two weeks ago to a couple of
places, and none of them wanted it.”
“Oh,” Will responded, unsure of what to say to that. “Have you sent anything in before?”
“No, this was my first time, so it’s not like this was
unexpected. But it’s still disheartening
to be rejected.” She took a deep breath
and forced a smile onto her face. “Anyway,
that’s enough about me and my failures.
What about you? Are you in
school?"
Will couldn't help grimacing. He hated answering this question. It always made him feel like a slacker or a
failure.
"Not at the moment, no."
"Oh. Well do
you plan to?" she asked, clearly not catching onto his discomfort. "The university has a great art program,
from what I've heard."
"No, probably not," he said, his voice hard.
"Why not?"
Or maybe she did notice his discomfort and was just ignoring it.
"It’s just not something I want to do. I…didn't do very well in high school, and I
just don't think college is for me," he said, trying to close the subject.
"I think you should at least look into it," she
said, then changed the subject before he could respond. "So what are you drawing?" Will took a second to decide whether or not
he wanted to go along with her subject change.
He shrugged, figuring she could think whatever she wanted.
"I
haven't decided yet."
"It looks like a person," she said, twisting her
head to the side to get a better look.
"But you haven't done the face yet.
You just have the basic outline."
"Yeah, pretty much.
I haven't decided who it's going to be."
"You could draw me," she said, grinning and wagging
her eyebrows.
"I could," Will admitted, his heart racing. "But not for this one. I feel like this one is special."
"What, I’m not special?" she said with mock
offense. Will couldn't stop himself from
smiling.
You have no idea, he
thought.
"Oh, you're special, trust me," he said, leaning
forward and giving her a sly smile.
"I know a special person when I see one, Lorraine, and especially
when I talk to one."
Lorraine started laughing, and Will joined in, unable to
resist the sound of her mirth.
"You know what?
I like you," Lorraine said, pointing at Will and nodding her
head. "I’m an excellent judge of
character, and you seem like you're alright, Will."
"Why thank you, Lorraine,” he responded, giving her a
mock bow. “I appreciate your
approval. I think you're pretty alright
yourself," he said.
Lorraine smiled at him for a second before glancing out the
window. Will followed her gaze and saw
that the rain had stopped. She sighed.
"I should get going," she said. "I've already missed one class today,
and I should probably show up for the other one."
"Yeah, you might want to do that," Will said.
She tipped her cup back and drained the rest of her
coffee. Will did the same, then made a
face because it had gotten cold.
Lorraine rummaged through her purse, then pulled out an iPod and a set
of headphones, which she plugged into her ears.
She clicked something on the iPod, pushed her chair back, and stood up.
"Well, Will, it was nice meeting you," she told
him.
"Nice to meet you too," he said.
She waved and turned to go, pressing a button on her iPod.
"Wait, Lorraine," Will called after her. She turned back to him. He didn't know what he was going to say, but
he felt a need to say something, to let her know that she meant
something to him, even though he'd just met her an hour ago. He didn't want things to end between them
like this. He wanted this to have
meaning.
She pulled a headphone out of her ear.
"Yeah?" she asked.
Will hesitated, and the music from her headphone drifted
over to him. He could hear it blaring
from the tiny speaker dangling over Lorraine's shoulder. The words were familiar to him.
"Let me take you down 'cause I'm going to Strawberry
Fields Forever."
Will smiled to himself and shook his head. He looked back up at Lorraine, who was
waiting to hear what he had to say. The
sight of her standing this close and looking right at him struck Will
suddenly. He felt visible.
"I'll see you around, Lorraine," he said finally,
smiling at her.
"See ya, Will," she said, giving him a parting
salute. She replaced her headphone,
pulled the hood of her sweater over her head, and stepped out into the chilly
afternoon. Will watched her go and found
that he was content to be left sitting alone at her…no…their table.
When she'd turned a corner and disappeared, Will looked
back down at his drawing. He considered
it for a moment, several options running through his mind, until one idea
finally presented itself, and he knew what he wanted to do.
--------------------
When Courtney drove up several hours later, she was
surprised to find Will on the wrong side of the street. She didn't say anything about it, but she did
give him a funny look as he opened the car door and climbed in. Will just smiled back at her. He settled himself in the seat, balancing his
sketchbook on his lap, pen still in his hand.
It had taken him all afternoon to finish his drawing.
"What's that, Will?" Courtney asked.
"Just something I drew."
"You drew that?"
"Yeah. Josie
let me off today, so that's what I've been doing all day."
"Will, that's…it's excellent!" she said. "It looks just like you!"
"Yeah, I think it does," he agreed, smiling down
at his own inked reflection.
