Outside, the sky brightens with pinks and oranges. Although I can't stand company this early and would certainly be unable to speak coherently, I'm drawn to my window. Grabbing my charcoals, I sit and stare. Fingers act unattached from my brain and begin to sketch the outlines and silhouettes made by morning's newest light. A glowing, dewy sunrise. Some wild itch slowly sears inside my arm muscles and I can tell I haven't been getting enough sleep. A groan comes from my bed.
"What time is it?" A mumbled voice from underneath the covers reminds me that what's-his-name is still here. I ignore him and continue sketching. With the light gradually rising, my sunrise is becoming less beautiful and more common. My fingers scramble, making my drawing a piece of history. This sunrise will never happen again.
"Hello?" The voice is louder this time, but crackly. He also didn't get enough sleep. I grin and tuck my dark red hair behind one ear. Again I ignore him until I hear the ruffle of covers and sheets and the patter of feet on my wood floors. His hands touch and rub my shoulders to get rid of the cold. Almost feverishly, I capture the last of the sun's red rays and my fingers rest. His hands slide further down my arms and I shrug him off. My skin rises into goose bumps and a little part of me regrets not letting him keep me warm.
I rise and walk over to my hotplate. I heat some water and get out my favorite mug. I deserve a big cup of tea this morning, I think. That sunrise was beautiful, but more importantly I'm going to be on time to class this morning. A miracle. His hands come into my view and try to reach for another of my mugs.
"Those are mine," I say, without looking at him.
"Am I allowed to have tea with you?" He presses his chest into my back and kisses the nape of my neck. His arms wrap around me and his hands slide over my hips.
The water boils and I pour my tea, peppermint. The smell relaxes me. My hands are warm from my full mug. I tap my fingernails on the porcelain side of my mug, the tinny sound echoing in my head. My body stays motionless.
"I thought we had fun last night..." His voice no longer crackly, but with a tinge of disappointment. I can hear him getting dressed, the bed creaking softly under his weight as he sits to put on his shoes.
"We did." I stir my tea and take the first hot sip, loving how my tongue gets slightly burned. I hear nothing for a moment, then a deep sigh from him. As he walks towards the door, I turn to watch him leave. I hate this part. He barely looks over his shoulders, a furrowed brow. He starts to say something, then stops. He opens the door, leaves and closes it behind him. I stare at the door for a second. The cracks in paint only adding to the run-down look of my room. In trying to cover my ugly walls with posters of favorite paintings and music idols, I've inadvertently decorated my room like every other college student.
I sit by the window again and watch the world come alive, sipping my tea. I hear a car start up. The morning is upon me. I relax a minute longer and enjoy the last sips of my tea, sighing as I force myself to the bathroom. The hot water of my shower rarely awakens me. I never seem to wake up during the day. The only times I actually feel awake are when I'm drawing. But it's a strange sort of awake. My fingers are awake, my eyes are awake, my skin is awake. My brain just collects all the data from being awake. As if my mind just sits back and lets my body take over.
After getting dressed and shoving my books in my bag, I'm off. Down the hall, Jasmine sticks her head out her door.
"I saw him." A grin creeps onto her face. It's not even 8am and she has full makeup on, her hair twisted into a towel. "Was he good?"
"Even if I had two seconds to tell you, I wouldn't. You know me better than that." I walk a little further and press the down elevator button.
"So, he wasn't that great. Well, at least you got some. It's a whole other story with me lately. Like I'm some funky mildew people ignore in the shower."
"That's great, Jas. I'm set for the day now." I frown. The elevator doors open.
"See you this afternoon." Her door clicks shut just before the elevator doors close.
I turn on the radio during the drive to campus. No music lately has caught my attention. Always so predictable or saccharin. Grateful that I've reached the humanities building, I sit down in the huge auditorium for my art history class. Other students filter in and I can't help but wonder why. Some are taking it for credit I'm sure. Others to fill a time slot to be a full-time student. Me? I thought the professor was cute. I had heard from a friend that his classes were kinda dull, but he's a fair grader and incredibly handsome.
Professor Trawlen enters the room and the class grows silent. A class of about 100 students growing silent is a feat in itself. So many professors take that for granted these days. His eyes glance over the rows of students and he starts the class. He hands out instructions on our next paper topics. We go over a few slides and talk about the evolution of oil paintings across the time periods. As he explains the minutia, our eyes meet. He pauses in his speech and I try to look away as fast as I can. An uncomfortable, heavy feeling sets into my hands and feet and I shift weight in my seat. At the end of class, I try to hide myself behind some tall guy and head for the door, but he catches me.
"Angela, can I speak with you?" My eyes look at the floor as I make my way over to his podium. The rest of the class has cleared the room and we're left alone. He leans over his podium and whispers.
"How are you?" I look up at him, my eyes searching for some non-sexual detail in his face. I can't find it yet. He may be older, but he has no wrinkles. His eyes are soft, his graying hair is fine and wispy.
"I've been fine. Fine." I can't tear my eyes away and he grins slightly. Go to your next class, Ang. "How 'bout you?"
"Oh, I'm good. A bit stressed lately. Can't seem to get rid of it. Maybe I need to relax more." My cheeks feel hot and I know what's coming. My legs are wobbly and I shift to stand up straight. His grin turns into a smile, a genuine one. I remember the last time I saw that smile. It was genuinely misleading.
"Uh... yoga's good for relaxing. Yeah, I've heard that works wonders." I nod my head a little too vigorously and he grins softly.
"Why are you so nervous?"
"I'm not nervous. Um... I need to get to my next class. Professor Hanyan isn't so forgiving with tardiness." I back away from him, my eyes still unable to break from his face.
"Oh, sure. I understand. Don't let me keep you here." His voice is so commanding and I shudder, half with relief and half anxious. He follows me towards the door, his eyes dropping. I finally look away from him and turn towards the door.
I pick up my mail at the Union. A cell phone bill, a flyer about the groundbreaking of the new library and a letter from the Dean. Shit. I open the cell phone bill first, throw out the flyer and stick the Dean's letter in my bag. I'll wait until the end of the day for my bad news.
Professor Hanyan isn't in the room when class starts. I sit and doodle on my notebook, crowding yet another image onto its cover. Not even lunch and I feel like I want to crawl under my covers and sleep for days. I try to recall the last time I didn't feel like this at least once during the day. A random chill runs up my spine and I remember my mom ice skating with me.
Outside the house where I grew up was a pond, which would freeze over in winter. I was great at ice skating. I could turn quickly and make perfect circles with my blades. I remember the first time I tried to jump, an axel. I fell so hard, I don't think I ever wanted to ice skate again. My wrist was broken and I had to wear a cast. At first, my mom scolded me for skating too fast. But when I had my cast put on, she treated me like royalty. She brought me breakfast in bed and massaged my shoulders and neck. She did everything she could to make me comfortable. She was my mom, taking care of me when I needed her. That made me smile every day at school.
I stop doodling and look around the classroom, waking myself from my daydream. Professor Hanyan still isn't here.
"We should leave. It's fifteen minutes into class." Another girl voices concern. "I hope she's alright." Students around her mumble phrases like "teacher's pet". Some students get up and leave, one saying he's going to check in her office. The guy behind me taps my shoulder. I turn around.
"Are you going to leave?" His eyes are bright blue and his hair dark brown. For some reason, I find the combination interesting.
"I don't know." My eyebrows arch up. "Are you?"
He grins and starts packing his bag. I turn around and do the same. Just as my bag is packed, Professor Hanyan walks briskly in, dumping her many shoulder bags onto the floor. I hear a deep sigh behind me.
The class is ordinary and I daydream about my bed. The comfortable blankets, light pillows and utter warmth. I grin, catching myself in a moment. My eyes search for something to lock onto, but they wander. The ticking of the clock is drowning out any sensible thoughts, so I latch onto the rhythm. Something logical to weight me down. Logic seems to have its own rules, its own gravity. My heartbeat seems to beat alongside the rhythm as well. I am captured, locked into this mechanical dance. The shuffle of feet awakens me and I'm on my feet as well. A murmur in my heart. As the class slowly empties the room, our eyes meet. With a blank mind, I smile shyly and tuck a chunk of hair behind an ear. His smile is similar.
"You drink coffee?" He walks a bit ahead of me, his stride longer than mine. He turns slightly to talk to me. Was that an invite?
"No, not really." I slow down and watch him walk in front of me. He's balanced. Balanced in the way an athlete or dancer is on their feet. Each stride is equal and powerful. I walk a bit faster to catch up with him.
"Why don't we just sit?" I spot a bench outside the Union and sit down. He sits down next to me, not sure of where to put his hands. Silence.
"So, why are you in that class? Art major?" His legs bounce from either energy or nervousness.
"Yep, art major. You?" I cross my legs, my dangling foot grazing his jeans. I lean my elbows on my legs and slouch a bit.
"Just thought it'd be fun. I'm not that good at photography actually." His voice breaks mid-sentence and I can tell his legs are bouncing from nervousness. I scoot a bit closer to him.
"It's a bit chilly." He hesitates for a moment and then scoots closer to me. Our shoulders are touching and his legs have stopped bouncing. He's warm and steady.
"So.... yeah." His voice is a bit more under control now. His breathing less shallow. I'm about to say something when a voice interrupts me.
"Oh goodness, Angela! Hey girl!" Bobby. "You are looking good today." Bobby saunters over from the Union to our bench. Today, Bobby wears his faded jeans and a short shirt that shows some skin when he moves his arms. His light brown hair covered in a cap.
"Hi Bobby, " I muster. "How's the nail?" A scoot closer to me and away from Bobby. Bobby holds up his bandaged ring finger.
"Oh, it's alright. That bitch Veronica deserved every slap I gave her. That's more important than my beautifully trimmed nails, now isn't it?" I smile and look from Bobby to Mr. Blue Eyes, his poor face bewildered.
"Oh, mercy me. I didn't introduce myself. My name is Bobby and I'm Angie's best friend." Bobby gives him a little wink and handshake. Bobby's weak wrist contrasting with his sturdy one. Bobby purses his lips together. "Well, I'll leave you two alone. Sorry to interrupt. Just had to say hi." Bobby gives me a kiss on the cheek as he stands up. "Call me later," his hips swaying sharply from left ro right as he walks away.
"Sorry. He's a bit dramatic."
"And a bit gay." We both laugh. "So, you're Angela..."
"Yes, that's me."
"I'm Kyle." We smile at each other, my eyes exploring his face. Yes, I definitely like his eyes best.
"Well, Kyle... Shall we go somewhere a bit warmer?" How easy the words pour from my lips. In my mind, I slap my wrists.
"Actually, I need to run some errands. Maintanance shopping day for me. Soap, shampoo, socks..." He flashes another smile at me. He's getting more handsome by the minute. And he seems to be growing more comfortable by the minute. Good.
"Well, I don't have anywhere to be right now." I flash one of my own smiles back at him.