Niraja Surendran. Blue-Green Sea. 10 th Grade. 1,860 words

Transcription

1 Niraja Surendran Blue-Green Sea 10 th Grade 1,860 words

2 Cecilia take this umbrella, it s wet outside! my mother called after me. I could not help but giggle as I ran outside into the rain, tilting my head a little so that the smooth droplets would slide down my cheeks and into my lips. I savored its sweet, pure taste as I walked to the bus stop. I imagined that my mother would be watching me from our living room window, shaking her head in disapproval, and muttering, What is wrong with that girl?, and I threw my head back and laughed. There was something about the rain that made me want to act like a child again, tossing homework, friends, and high-school drama into a pile of forgotten memories. A single, fat droplet plopped onto my straight, freckled nose and I giggled some more. Get under here. I jerked back, so startled that I nearly tripped over myself, and finally noticed a boy my age holding a large black umbrella, standing further along the sidewalk. I tilted my head in confusion: I had never seen this kid before, and usually I was the only person at this bus stop in the mornings. I like the rain, I said meekly. You ll catch a cold, he returned. And when you sit down on the bus you ll get the seat wet, and the person sitting next to you wet, and you ll be soaked for no reason. His voice was soft but firm, friendly but commanding, and I inched closer to him until I stood awkwardly underneath his umbrella. Thank you, but I really do like the rain. So do I, but I don t need to foolishly stand in it to enjoy it. Looking at, listening to, and smelling is enough. He stuck his hand out into the rain, and I watched the droplets pool around his long, lean fingers before slipping to the ground.

3 I haven t ever seen you here. Cause I haven t ever lived here. His eyes met mine, and they were a deep blue-green, the kind of blue that fills you with a sense of warmth and welcome. They were pellucid and bright and glistened with magic and mystery, and the longer I looked into them, the sense of sadness underneath them became stronger. They contrasted the darkness of his hair and the bronze in his complexion, and I suddenly realized that I had been staring for too long and quickly averted my gaze. I m Lucas. He smiled subtly. It s my first day of school here. Care to show me around? Sure. I smiled back, relaxing a little as we stepped onto the bus. Through the course of the next few weeks, I got to know Lucas better. We rode the bus together in the mornings and the afternoons, and sat together during lunch. One particular day, after biting into my turkey sandwich, I noticed a bruise on his upper arm, and asked him about it. How d that get there? Oh this? Lucas s eyes flicked from me to the bruise and back to me. I fell off my skateboard yesterday. He looked away, busying himself by picking olives out of his sandwich. You skateboard? I asked, stealing an olive out of his plate and popping it into my mouth. He shrugged. I m not very good at it, he said carelessly. He waited a beat before adding, You know what I am good that, though? I raised an eyebrow at him as he whipped out a paintbrush and a small pan of watercolor paints from his backpack. Show me your arm, he prompted me, visibly struggling to maintain his intrinsic aplomb.

4 Before I could even formulate a substantial thought, Lucas grabbed my arm, pushed up my shirt sleeve, and began applying black paint on my arm. I watched his deft fingers move with versatility and precision, the end of his paintbrush caressing my arm as it rolled over my pale skin. I watched him, the green specks in his eyes sparkling in the sunlight. The blue in his eyes reminded me of the bottom of a fire, burning with an intensity and passion that could not be described using words. He flicked his hair out of his eyes and adjusted his head so that it was back in the shade, so that his eyes become a familiar blue-green sea. Done! he announced with a grin. I gaped at the small black birds dotting my arms. They were so petite and breathtaking, and I felt I could ramble on about how mesmerized I was about something so simple. Something so beautiful. I peered at Lucas, scouring my mind for the right thing to say as he devoured my expression, his eyes filling with pure delight. You don t have to say anything, he coaxed me. Because a picture is worth a thousand words. I am not sure how long we admired his painting of the little black birds on my arm, but it surely was not long enough. For the rest of the day, I walked from class to class, hallway to hallway, with my shirt sleeves rolled up, sneaking glances here and there of his birds. Several weeks later, I realized Lucas left his textbook on the bus and decided to go to his house to return it to him. I rang his doorbell and waited patiently until a woman, who appeared to be in her late thirties, opened the door. You must be Lucas s mother- Stepmother. She corrected me, her tone distant and stony. She seemed agitated and malnourished, for she was extremely skinny, her collarbone protruding grotesquely beneath her

5 skin. Her complexion was pale too pale and her straight blond hair hung limply by her head, dead like straw. Well I came to- He s upstairs, in the bedroom to the right. She shuffled back inside, towards the kitchen I assumed, for I heard the disturbing clang of metal against metal as I scaled up the stairs. I knocked on the door of the bedroom to the right, which was ajar, before entering. I saw Lucas lying on his bed face down, shirtless, and caught a glimpse of his bare back, which for some odd reason was covered in bruises. I felt the heat of a pink bloom of embarrassment rise up my cheeks and looked at the walls instead, which were bare and beige. Within a few seconds, I mustered up the courage to whisper, Lucas? Lucas jolted out of his bed, his eyes widening when he saw me. I had never seen him like that before, his expression wild like that of an animal s, the color in his eyes crashing like a stormy ocean instead of the tranquil blue-green sea I had come to know and love. I noticed the faint, white trails of liquefied salt on his cheeks. Cecilia what are you doing here? he thundered. His anger left me breathless and I stuttered, I-I just wanted to-to give you this back. I placed his history textbook at the edge of his bed and slowly backed out of his room. I watch his shoulders loosen, his posture slacken as he began to relax a little. I m sorry for snapping at you, but you simply can t be here right now. Why not? I asked, my brows furrowing. My father will come home any minute, he shook his head with distress. His eyes pieced mine when he whispered with agony, He s dangerous! He s cruel!

6 Before I could react Lucas took my arm, his grip tight and clenching, and guided me down the stairs to his front door. We stood by the doorway in suffocating silence. I desperately tried to make sense of what had just happened, all the muddy puddles of confusion in my head. I pried his fingers off my arm and ran my eyes over his body his arms, chest, stomach, all covered in scratches, bruises, and scars. He kept his head down in shame, even as I ran my hand across the small of his back, feeling the countless scabs, imagining the immeasurable pain and suffering he had gone through, at the ripe age of seventeen. I could not bring myself to leave him like that vulnerable, alone, and afraid. Go, Lia. He pleaded. I will, but let me ask you something. All those times you told me you hurt yourself from skateboarding, all those times were lies weren t they? Do you even know how to skateboard? And what about your stepmother? Lucas, she doesn t look well! You don t look well! You need to get help, please listen to me. This isn t right. My voice shook with fervent emotion. He simply shook his head before shutting the door in my face, leaving me on his doorstep with nothing but the chilly spring breeze to accompany me on my walk back home. *** I did not see Lucas at the bus stop the following morning, and anxiety clawed at my stomach, ripping me apart into small pieces. I stared at the puddle between my feet, the remnants of last night s storm. I imagined the water being blue-green, and longed to sink into it, to drown in the blue-green sea. To my surprise, Lucas headed towards me at lunch. I was not sure how to feel; I was both relieved to know that he was alright, or as alright as he usually was, but I was also anxious to see

7 how he would treat me now that I had infringed upon his privacy and discovered one of his gravest secrets. I noticed that he walked with his head down, his eyes flitting hurriedly from one student to another, his feet shuffling cumbersomely. He walked like his stepmother, like someone who had been exposed and stripped of his dignity. I fought back tears when I realized that I was the sole reason he was like this, and I longed to see the old Lucas again, the one who towered over me in a protective manner, not the one who needed my protection. Cecilia he began, his voice trailing off distractedly. I told myself that whatever he said did not matter, because I knew that I would always be there for him, whether he wanted me or not. He was still the same, he was still strong, but now he was even stronger, because he finally had someone who he could trust: me. I would always be his ally, I would always be his friend, I would always be the loving mother, father, family he had been deprived of. He sat down next to me, our shoulders touching, and stared at his shoes for a while before breathing, I never told you, but He fidgeted, wringing his hands in a clear sign of discomfort. I wrapped my fingers around his and shushed him, because there was no need to rush things. I knew he would tell me at the right time and place not here, not now. And even if he did not, some things are better left unsaid, because the scratches and bruises along his strong, lean body told me their story. They told me everything I needed to know about him. Because a picture is worth a thousand words.