She was a painter in Fine Arts, probably younger than me. Long locks of dusty brown curly hair framed her oval-shaped and stereotypically bookish face, with slightly buck teeth that definitely once wore braces, squarish glasses, and freckled pale skin. I liked her nose – it was annoyingly prominent, but that suited her. Her smile was extraordinarily wide, that I felt it would take over her face entirely. When she would smile, her cheeks would lift into her eyes. She expressed with all her features.
She glanced at me, then looked away furtively. Perhaps I stared for too long. I took my time casually settling my gaze elsewhere, as though I couldn't be less interested in her. She spoke.
"Why do you do that?"
I looked back at her. Her brow was furrowed in agitation, her voice slightly high-pitched in nervousness.
"Do what?"
"You act like... You look around, like... so full of scorn," she finished with a huff. "You never say anything out loud, but anyone can tell."
I paused. I hadn't really anticipated interaction. I liked the way she spoke; despite stumbling over choice of words and her nerves, her speech was steady and articulate.
"Well?" she demanded.
I continued staring into the distance, thinking about what to say or not to say. Slowly I ventured, "Are you asking because you want to know why I was looking at you?"
She seemed to relax a little, but her annoyance stayed. "Well, that too. I've seen you before in between classes like this, and you just seem so snobby, like you can't be bothered with anything or anyone. I just want to know why you do that." She nearly spat out snobby. Maybe she saw me with other members of the "graphic design posse." We were notorious for turning our nose up at anything or anyone that didn't meet our standards.
I laughed. "Snobby... I probably am. And I think a lot, stay in my head too much. Are you sure you want to know what I was thinking? It might get awkward. Much more than now."
"Were you thinking how stupid I look or something?"
I leaned forward, resting my elbows along my knees, gathering my thoughts. "I was thinking... I don't know you. We've never spoken to each other before. But I guessed what kind of person you are. It's just a guess, something I made up," I soothed as she started to say something.
I continued. "I guessed that you're the kind of person who is sensitive, probably emotional. Sometimes you overreact. You stand up for your feelings and whatever you think you believe in. I think your life sometimes could get messy because of that." I paused, but she waited quietly.
I tapped my chin, contemplating. "I guessed that, because you're like that... the people around you love you more. You're sensitive, because you leave yourself vulnerable to many different people and experiences. You leave your feelings bare, and to some, it looks like you're just an emotional, perhaps naive person. You might frustrate people. But you explore the world with your heart, and all the feelings you show are true and honest. This means you constantly connect with those around you, and it makes people feel like they belong somewhere, like they will always have a place next to you. You are cherished, probably, especially by your grandparents and teachers. A person like you brings brightness to the lives of people close to you. Outside, there will be people who would not understand or appreciate you... They wouldn't understand why I would envy you." She remained wordless in her seat with her face lightly flushed, possibly dumbfounded at my totally made-up story based on her appearance.
I sighed, leaning back on my hands and lifting my legs straight out in front of me, lazily gazing at my shoes. "I could never be like that, so... open-hearted. I could try and make it work, but it isn't me naturally. It's uncomfortable and exhausting." I stretched my back and turned side to side, then settled back again. "But for you... Being vulnerable energizes you. I don't think a person like you is naive. I think you deliberately walk into the unknown, knowing you could get hurt. It's not that you embrace pain; you embrace the fact that the world can be ugly and cruel, just as it can be warm and radiant. Your life could get messy... but you wouldn't have it any other way. That is admirable and beautiful." In fact, it is very artiste.
I leaned forward and held out my hand toward her. She blinked, taken aback, not comprehending. I smiled and said, "Hi. I'm Jess."
She stared at my offered hand and took it cautiously, saying, "Hi..." She looked at me. "It's Finley. Most people call me Fin."
That suited her so much – such a mundane word, but it's odd, delightful and hard to forget. Stifling laughter, I nodded. "Nice to meet you, Fin."
Her face slowly and then suddenly broke into her remarkably wide grin. "Same to you!"
All characters and events are fiction, although they may be loosely based on existing persons or events in reality.
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