I woke up for the second time. This time, no one was there.

My cat had finally turned up though. The fat chunk of mass was nestled right in between my legs and my stomach, as my subconscious had always favored the fetal position. Then, I smelt something. Something really strong was coming from the kitchen. It smelt like my grandmas cooking, which was a strange thing to think about since she had been dead for 10 years.

I got up, petting my cat thanking for her return, and put on my robe. I walked into the kitchen expecting to see the 200 pound lady I had once known, and instead it was a more recent familiar face. Raleigh.

He was cooking bacon, which made me extremely happy, since I had bought the bacon for an extremely vulnerable day. Today was the most perfect day to whip out bacon. I was immediately moved by this act of giving. I wasn't surprised because of my current state, but something about a man cooking for me made me emotional.

"Oh, you're cooking."

He turned around quickly.

"Yeah, I thought you might be hungry. It's twelve o' clock."

"It is. Wow, I usually don't sleep this long."

"Me either."

He smiled.

"Maybe it's because of all of the heart to heart."

He smiled again.

"What do you want to do today?"

"I don't know."

"It's Christmas day. If you could do anything on Christmas day, what would it be?"

I thought about that question. I was never really sure about anything these days. Christmas was the day where I was suppose to be doing something, something meaningful. I thought about God, this was his day today after all. Jesus was the one everyone, well almost everyone, was celebrating. What do the people who don't believe in God do every Christmas? How could they ignore everyone else's impending beliefs, and the fact everyone is celebrating and taking a vacation? Do they spend the free time hating every one else, and gloat in the fact that they know better? I didn't know, I didn't really believe in anything. Sure I felt like there was something bigger, actually I knew there was something bigger. I also felt from time to time that someone was always watching me, maybe that was God. In some sense.

Then I thought about Daniel. I wondered what he was doing. I tried to banish the thought out of my head and not care, but I always couldn't help it. He had somehow in the four year time span weaseled himself into my thoughts. I wondered if he would ever escape.

I imagined that he was spending it alone, sitting at an empty table eating a microwavable turkey. I got a special pleasure out of these thoughts. But I knew better, he had an amazing family. That's one thing I envied about him. He had a family that was inseparable, a family that could trace their lineage back centuries. I couldn't trace mine back 70 years. They were loving, and loved me, once. Like he did.

Then it came to me. It's A Wonderful Life.

"I want to watch It's A Wonderful Life."

"Great! That's one of my favorites."

"Really?"

"Well yes and no."

-

An hour later, we were sitting on the couch watching George chase Marry into her rotten old house.

"I always hated George."

Raleigh said.

"He is such an idiot really. I mean he has no idea what he really has, a great wife, a family. He sells himself short his entire life by thinking he is worthless. Such a tragedy."

"That's one of the reasons why I hate and love it."

"Because it's a-

"Classic."

We both said it together at the same time, and laughed.

"I wish I existed back then. It must of been such an exciting time to be alive in the time when movies were fresh and real."

"Yeah, these really are the best ones."

"You must not watch the ones today."

"Yeah, I saw one recently, but it really just got me down. Why do you say that?"

"I just assumed, I guess."

He shrugged.

"How do you know so much about these movies anyway?"

"I'm a fan too."

"That's good."

The time of day was dwindling down, and the light was fading.

"Where are you staying Raleigh?"

"Some Hotel."

"Which one?"

"The Governor."

"What? That's like one of the nicest hotel's here."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"It's really stingy to me. There is nothing I hate most than a nice hotel, and an empty room."

"Why are you here?"

"I want to be."

"That doesn't really answer my question."

"What do you want to know Molly?"

I wanted to know everything, everything about him. I couldn't bare to ask though, I wanted to hold onto what he had shared in our friendship. The not knowing made everything better.

"Nothing, I guess."

Before he could say anything a key in the lock began to jiggle. We both lurched our heads over to see Laurel rush into the house and throw her things down on the floor in a rage. I could see that she was crying.

"Laurel? Laurel, what's wrong? What are you doing here so early?"

She looked at me, and paused before the words came out of her mouth.

"It's over, all of it. The wedding. I can't handle it anymore."

"What are you talking about?"

Without seeing Raleigh, she rushed up to her bedroom. I looked back at Raleigh, and he just hit me a concerned smile.

"I better, uh, I better go up there."

I said.

"Ok, just let me know if you need me."

His concern still left me in a bamboozlement.

I walked up the stairs and entered her room slowly. She was lying on her bed, back against the bed frame staring into space. I sat down next to her, and looked into her wet eyes.

"Laurel, what happened?"

"Huh, look at me. Now I am just like you, or we are one in the same."

Her words hurt a little, but I knew she didn't mean harm.

"What are you talking about? Why is it over?"

"He doesn't want to marry me."

"What? That's crazy."

"You know his mom, she's never liked me, she's straight from hell, and now this."

It was true. Mark had an amazing family, but his mother was a pill. The rotten kind I would be scared to have as a distant relative, let alone a mother-in-law. Since Laurel started dating mark three years ago she had always put Laurel on the back burner, giving her sarcastic compliments, and treating her like shit, to be frank. She would schedule family occasions without her like she didn't exist. And now, with the wedding, she had recently pretended like Laurel was a saint. I had wondered what she had done this time.

"What happened?"

"They're getting a divorce Molly."
"Mark's parents?"
"Yes. His father wasn't there for dinner. His mother decided to announce right after the toast to our engagement."
"What did Mark do?"
"All hell broke loose. Mark started fighting with his mother, telling her how much of a Agathe she really is. Everyone left. He told me he couldn't handle it, he couldn't handle everything. He told me he couldn't get married anymore, and that he didn't see how he could with his parents splitting up. I don't know what to do Molly. I-"

I grabbed her and she landed in my lap crying soft tears.

"It's Okay. Everything will be okay."

Somehow, I believed my own words. They struck me like an oncoming truck without warning. Okay? How could it be so, with so much trouble, and so much heartbreak? How is one suppose to learn how to go about their daily lives again?

It will be okay.

Somehow, I knew it would, and it only had taken me this long to believe it.

I woke up. It was morning, Christmas Morning in fact.

I felt like running into the living room like I had done so many years ago to the gifts under the tree. My family would be there waiting for me, since I was always the last one to wake up, and smells of bacon and eggs would be steaming from the kitchen. My mother would guard the kitchen, and hide the bacon from me so I couldn't eat it all. I knew though, that this time, there would be no gifts under the tree, and my family was miles away having breakfast or lunch with their new families.

I didn't have anyone today. Even my fat cat was indisposed. Hiding somewhere, and probably napping. She usually thought it funny to wake me up by biting my nose each morning, but this time there was no waking up to sudden outbursts of pain.

Then I remembered. Raleigh was here, or was he?

I turned around, and saw his closed eyes. He was completely asleep, and silent. His face was perfect and puffy. I smiled, and restrained from laughing so he wouldn't wake up. I felt so strange. I felt comfortable, when I should of been weird-ed out, or felt something else I'm sure, but again calmness remained. I felt like he belonged here in the house, like he was an old nick knack or family heirloom. He still had a completely stoic nature about him, but in this moment, he seemed warmer than usual. He reminded my of my deceased grandma. Not the fact that he was still, but rather the fact that he screamed warmth.

Then I realized I was an observer, or maybe even a creeper. I was invading his personal space, when one should be let lone to sleep in peace. You shouldn't stare at someone when they are asleep, right? Then why was it so tempting? I couldn't seem to look away, nor leave him.

That's when he opened his eyes.

I almost turned away, but his sudden stare was compelling. He was quiet, we were quiet.

"Good morning."

He said.

"Morning."

Silence.

I found it funny how silence was changing in my mind now. With Daniel, for instance, silence was the worst thing that could of ever of happened. It was deadly. Glances of silent hatred would remain. With Raleigh, it was different. Everything seemed different, stranger, but better.

"How are you feeling this morning?"

I hesitated. I remembered the night before. I almost felt like slamming my head in my pillow and kicking, remembering how much of a pathetic ass I had been, and he had been there to witness it all.

"Ok. Good. Better."
"Three times better."

He smiled.

"Oh, it's Christmas Morning, isn't it?"
"Yes."

I said.

"What do you usually do on Christmas mornings?"

I remembered my family, then frowned.

"Spend it with my family I suppose."
"Well, then I guess we'll have to settle for each other."

I smiled.

"What's your family like?"

He asked.

This time, I didn't hesitate. I knew I didn't want to tell him, but I had felt like he had earned at least that answer after last night.

"We are all divorced and separated. My mother and father, they decided they couldn't stand each other after 25 years, so they divorced. My father now is remarried, to an okay person, and he is happy. My mother, she is a little scandalous because of her mid life crisis, and seems to have a new boyfriend every Christmas, but that makes her happy. So I guess I've learned to spend Christmas alone now. I usually have Laurel, my roommate, but she's now in the process of creating a family of her own."

"Wow."
"What?"

I was sure he thought I was pathetic now, if last night didn't suffice.

"Your family sounds exactly like mine."
"Really?"

"Yes. Sometimes, well, sometimes I feel like we are the same person. Except you are the pretty version."

Without thinking of his remark, my brain farted.

"Oh no, are you kidding? You could be in a Baroque painting."

"What?"

"Yes."

"So you think that I'd be in the back of some rembrandt painting?"

"You know about those paintings?"

"I'm from Europe."

"I've been to Europe, not England, but when I went a lot of the people didn't know anything about their history, except the fact that it was all around them."

"Yeah I suppose you're right. We are always fascinated by other places, apart form where we are from."

"Are you attracted to the horrible U.S.?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"For a lot of reasons, but something here keeps drawing me back."

"What?"

"The quiet. It so serene here."

Something inside of me frowned. I felt like slapping myself for being a girl, but then I remembered I hated love. I wanted nothing to do with it.

"Then there is the company."

I smiled, glad he said something, but also afraid now. He was looking straight into my eyes. I wanted to look away, but his stare was intense. He took his hand and very slowly started stroking my hair, and bangs from my eyes. Touch, touch was scary, so I finally looked down and away. He saw my fear, and I could feel the question slowly arising.

"Molly, What happened to you?"

I looked up now, slowly. I wanted to lie to him, tell him my fiance died of cancer, my mother had been hit by a car, hell, that I had been hit by a car, but I couldn't lie to one of the only innocent friendships in my life.

"My heart's broken."

His eyes weren't surprised, I knew he already knew that, but they were still caring.

"Who did it?"

"Someone close. His name was Daniel. We dated for four years, most of my natural adult life. All wasted."

"That's a long time."

"Yeah."

"I wouldn't call it wasted though."

"Why?"

"Because you are you."

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"You're wonderful Molly."

"No I'm not."

He laughed at my stubbornness. I sighed, and almost hair-balled at his remark. He touched my hair again, then slowly rapped his arms around me.

"You are."

He said.

"You are."

I sighed again. He was releasing my stress, and it was extremely comforting. I put my arms around his, and began to tear up.

"I'm not, but its nice to have someone lie to me out of niceness."

I walked back home in the cold again.
Somehow the cold didn't seem as cold anymore, but everything else did. Life had taken a turn, or had changed a season, and I wasn't able to recognize it anymore. I felt horrible.

Tears were slowly moving onto my face. Slowly, but surely.

I didn't want to go home. Home reminded me that I had no one tonight. I remembered where I went the last time when I felt like I couldn't go home. I smiled.

I walked to Powell's.

It wasn't closing yet, but it soon would be. It was getting even darker every minute outside. I knew where I wanted to go, so I walked up to the same place. Some people were staring, and some avid shoppers didn't even notice as they were trying to get their last minute gifts done. I wondered at how high of a level of pathetic I had hit.

I reached the top of the stairs, and walked over to my book isle. I was waiting to see the place where Raleigh had once come to rescue me. I turned the corner, and instead of seeing a vacant floor, I saw someone.

He turned.

I sighed in relief. It was Raleigh. I was almost unsure as to if I was now going crazy in my grief. Was I really seeing him?

"Molly?"

It was him. He was speaking to me. He sat on the floor, at first staring ahead of him. He sat on our spot.

"What are you doing here?"

I smiled. I remembered I had tears on my face, and was almost embarrassed to look at him.
He walked over, almost ran to me. He looked at me in confusion, and took his finger and wiped my cheek.

"Why are you crying, and why are you here on Christmas eve? Don't you have a place to be?"
"Excuse me? I should be asking you the same thing, well, except for the crying part."

I began to laugh through my tears, which probably wasn't very attractive.

"I-I had to come."

He said.

"I couldn't be in London anymore. I knew it was Holiday, but I just had to get away."
"I wish I could of done the same thing."

He looked at me and smiled that smile. Then he motioned his hand over to the spot on the floor.

"Would you like to join me?"

He said it in a matter-of-fact voice, almost like a concierge.

"Huh, yes I think I would."

Then he grabbed my hand. It burned. It burned in an instant warmth. My hands had been freezing, and I didn't even realize it.
We sat down on the hard cement floor. I rested my head on his shoulder.
Then out of no where I started crying harder. I couldn't help it. I had felt so lost tonight until now. I couldn't believe what was happening. I had been rescued again, and I was so grateful, but I felt so undeserving.

"Hey, hey."

Raleigh looked down at me.

"It's okay."

I knew he was wrong, but I still believed him. I really wanted to believe him.
-



We walked back to the town house once the store lights were flickering, and employees were leaving. He was still holding my hand. All the way there we were silent. It seemed as if we didn't need to say anything, and I felt like I couldn't anyway. I led the way, but he walked so close he could of been accused of hovering.

I didn't feel so lost anymore.

When we reached the porch, he asked me for my keys. I suddenly realized I was handing my keys to a complete stranger, well almost anyway. I couldn't believe he was a stranger though, his eyes were warm and sincere, and I didn't feel paranoid when I was with him. He knew me almost. Even if we had only met once. He was there when I needed someone, and maybe he felt the same way about me, for whatever reason.

"Nice place."

He said. He seemed uptight, as if he didn't belong, but I also figured he knew he should stick around for me, for my sake. I felt pathetic again. At this time, I didn't care who was with me. I just needed someone. To my surprise, it wasn't just anyone, it was Raleigh.

I didn't respond to him. I just went over to our sofa and collapsed on it's hard cushions. I could see him staring at me from the corner of my eye.

I thought about John. I wondered if I would become like him, so completely alone. Driven by grief. I started crying again.

Instead of leaving me, or standing around awkwardly, Raleigh slowly came over. He sat down next to my sprawled out body, and took his hands and placed one at my side and then the other through my tangled hair. He did this extremely slow, he wasn't sure if it was okay, but it didn't feel wrong so I said nothing.

"What happened, Molly?"

I was thinking about everything again. I couldn't really find any words.

"Why are you alone on Christmas?"

"Everyone I know has somewhere they need to be. They have someone."

I shrugged.

"Even the soup kitchen didn't want me."

I sobbed. He chuckled a bit. Then put his backhand on the side of my face that was revealed.

"Well, I'm here. If you want me."

"Thank you."

I was grateful.

"How long are you here?"

"Well, for now, I'm here until you tell me to leave."

"Okay."

I needed something form him, but I hesitated. I didn't really care about what I was going to ask, but I wondered if he did. I sat up and looked at him.

"Raleigh?"

He looked back at me. He didn't reply, but instead he grabbed me and held me close. He knew what I wanted without even me having to say it. It was strange how well he knew me, without experience. Was it possible to know someone so well without having time with them?

I cried again. This time harder. I cried until I couldn't anymore, until my breathing had become scarce and my exhaustion had lured me into a sleep.

I felt him pick me up, and a door close. I felt my bed, my warm bed. I felt his hands lay me down, and then lift a blanket over me. I opened my eyes. He smiled at me.

He walked over to the other side of the bed, and laid down next to me over the blankets. I felt his arms slowly go over mine. Then his nose into my hair.

I felt safe. I didn't know how long it would last, but right now,

I didn't care.

Chapter 7.

I remembered when it happened. I was walking down the sidewalk in the pearl when I saw this guy who looked like his eyes were going to cave in. Regardless the fact that he was Asian, he was squinting his eyes like Robert De Niro, and making an obviously important business deal over the phone. I thought, "I want to draw him."

Then I kept on walking.

Later on I saw another person. A man holding a cat clinging to his chest. I still remember his thick black rimmed glasses, and the dazed look on his face. I probably had the same look too because he was holding a cat outside in the city. I thought, "I need to draw him."

I saw too many people that day. Too many interesting people, and I still remember each line of their faces, every dimple, and every interesting expression.

And then It then hit me,

I could draw anyone.

I felt empowered. Like I had a secret no one new, no one else but me. It was almost like realizing you had learned a new language (except I wasn't fluent in anything but Art). I was thinking like an artist, or that's at least what I had guessed.

I saw everything completely different.

I was different, but also the same. It was like I was what I was going to become. I was there, in the future. It was now.

I had never felt a high like that any other time in my life, until I had met John.

I had met with him every Saturday now, and things were starting to lighten on my chest.

I couldn't believe how fast time had gone, and the non existent school year that I had had. Completely non existent in fact. Life should of seemed extremely dissatisfying without school, but oddly enough it was strangely the opposite. I had a lot of time to reflect on my life, so I made an effort every day to fill it up with odd jobs and things to do.

John was a plus.

-

It was Christmas. Christmas Eve.
I knew this year I would be spending it alone, away from loved ones, or just a loved one. My family was away on Holiday, and Laurel was the only real friend I had. She was spending this year with her soon to be in laws and Mark, but the worst thing about it all wasn't the fact that she was going to be away for Christmas, but all of the wedding shit that was currently happening.

I never realized how much time and effort went into wedding planning. Of course, I hadn't been to a wedding since my father remarried, but that was at the court house. Short and sweet, idealistic really. I never thought anyone should wait as long as people do these days. They spend a year to years planning, 'The best day of their lives'.

When really isn't it the best day when you finally know who you want to marry? They should just do it, like on a whim when they know.

But Laurel saw it otherwise, and I loved her too much to append my opinions and advice on her like I had always did. So I refrained.

Another bad thing was how her parents ha been these past few months. No one really knew what was going on with them, but they had been acting funny. They weren't lively anymore, and they seemed sad all the time. I figured it was because they're one and only daughter was getting married.

So I was alone.

John had said he would be at the Rescue Mission today for their Christmas eve service, so I decided I would show up.

I walked there from our small town house in the cold. Snow left a micro thin sheet on the ground, the kind that everyone here freaked out about. It always made me laugh. Snow fall here on the news was like CNN the day Michael Jackson died. They always came up with new and interesting names for the snow, like 'Arctic Blast', or 'The Blizzard of the Decade'. These were some of the reasons why I never watched television anymore. Some people dread the snow thanks to them, instead of being grateful for the specks we got.

I had my boots on, the rugged kind that made me look like a wanna be bad ass. They were black too, so that helped.

Some people were running frantically through the city singing Christmas carols, but for the most part the city was quiet. Cold and quiet.

I made it to the mission, and noticed for one of the first times there was hardly anyone outside. Normally, homeless people of all ages were lined up or just hanging around. This time it was vacant, and the windows to the doors were lit with a serene warmth. It was welcoming. I felt like scrooge outside looking in on tiny time and his family. People were eating, tables were filled, and a Christmas service was going on.

I entered in quietly and took in what was around me. People of stature, and people who didn't even have a status except on the street were eating with one another. It was a strange sight, but at the same time oddly comforting. It was almost a glimpse of a picture of how the world could be if there really was such a thing as peace.

I saw John. He was sitting at the edge of a table listening to the service. I quietly walked over and sat across from him.

"Hi."

He looked over, and seemed happy and surprised to see me.

"Well, hello. What are you doing here?"

"I had a gift for you, and plus I'm kind of a loner."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"I suppose that's another thing we have in common."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"So what's this gift?"

I smiled, and pulled out a very shitty wrapped package from my bag and gave it to him.

"I thought you could, I don't know, reminisce."

He pulled the book out. His face became somber, but also appreciative. He stroked the cover. It was one of his books. His old publishing house had republished a nicer hard copy of it. It was called, "The Art of Rembrandt". When John had told me he wrote some books, I went out to search for them. I knew his name and where he was from, and what he had studied, so I started from there. I had never known that he minored in art history as well as English literature. I felt like we were more alike then we really realized.

"Where did you find this?"
"Online, I ordered it in."
"This was one of my first books. You know, this took me years to write, and to finally publish, but it was one of the first ones I knew I had to write about."

"You talk about Rembrandt as if you knew him."

"I used to feel like we were old friends."

"I never knew you liked art so much. You know, I do art, John."
"You do?"
"Ha yeah, I guess I'm so interested in you and your thoughts I never even thought about talking about myself."
"I knew you would with time."

I looked down. He was so understanding.

"John?"
"Yeah?"
"I found out something else."
"What?"

I didn't know how to say what I was going to say.

"Well, I- I found your family."

He looked down. I knew what was going through his head, he probably thought I was some horrible person who liked to get involved and control other peoples lives. Daniel had said I was like that once, and it had stuck with me...
A girl, or maybe just a person, never forgets something like that.

He looked back up, this time concerned.

"Where are they?"
"They are in Denver, Colorado. They have actually been looking for you."
"Have they?"
"Yes. It's in an old news report John. Do you want to tell me what really happened?"
"You must already know by now."

I stumbled into silence. His eyes were piercing, but extremely sad.

"Your daughter, Your daughter was killed, in a three car wreck."

He looked to the side now, his eyes were swelling.

"Your family didn't leave you John, you left them. They want you back."

He looked back at me, and his eyes were angry.

"I can't go back."
"Why not?"
"Because it was my fault."
"No it wasn't, John. I saw the news report, a tire gave out on an icy road? It was just a freak accident, they happen everyday."
"That day wasn't everyday. And it was my fault, I hadn't gone to get the tire fixed..."

He threw the book onto the table. Tears were falling now. I reached over and grabbed his hands, but he pulled them away. He stood up.

"Don't try to act like you know my life, like you know who I am."

With one look, he stormed away.

I was alone again, and I felt it.

Chapter 6 continued.

John went to the soup kitchen every Saturday. He told me it kept him still involved with people, and that he needed to eat every once and a while. I was inspired by him telling me everything the PRM (Portland Rescue Mission) offered. He estimated that more than 700 meals were given daily, and that clothes, and showers were open to people who stayed overnight.

"I can't stay there forever, so I guess every now and then when I get horribly dirty I go in."
"Don't they offer rehabilitation programs?"
"Yeah, they do."

I looked at him curiously, and he knew what I was thinking.

"Look, I don't have any drug problems or a problem with the way I live. I don't need anyone's pity, just a good meal every once in a while."

His anger was evident, but I still felt pity for him. I felt more of fear for him. His situation terrified me. My biggest fear was being who he was, or rather what he was. Alone with nothing. Alone with no one. Just alone.

In a way, were both alike in that respect. I had lost someone, but not nearly as bad as he so briefly stated. We both were abandoned. I began to look at myself differently when I was with him for that hour. I was pathetic. I had a place to live, I had an opportunity at success, and I had a dear friend who loved me. A friend who would never give up on me. I also had a cat who loved to hate to be close to me. Compared to him, I had everything.

But I still felt so alone.


Thinking of this, I suddenly had an urge.

"You go every Saturday there, right?"
"Yeah."
"Do you mind if I went with you this Saturday?"
"What the hell for?"
"I've always wanted to see the inside of that place, and you know, see the people I guess."
"I suppose we are a sight to see."

Chapter 6

Sometimes I think I lied to myself.
It was only four years ago, but I feel so old now. I look back at who I was in my mind and in some scraps of my writings, and I see someone else. I was way more passionate, more driven. Now I am dwindled to move on because of survival issues. Not because of love, which it once was for. It was just because I had someone who had once wanted me. If that was selfish or not, I don't know. Maybe all of those expectations I had once of myself diminished when that love was gone. I always thought that if

I

had love,

the romantic kind, that I would be invincible in my actions. Not because I was worthy or deserving, but because I had someone at the end of the day who believed I was. Or did, maybe, once.

But I see now, that love is something more.

I still have no full idea of what that may be, but now I have certain factors that are helping me define it.

Like:

Love is Blind.

Love shouldn't be selfish.

You shouldn't have to make excuses.

and

You shouldn't have to lie to yourself to make those excuses.

These enlightenment are the only things I can ever thank Daniel for.

-

"So, what did you do today?"

"Hung out with a Bum."

"What?"

"Nothing."

She wouldn't of believed me. I think every time we came in contact with someone begging on the streets together, I was the first to walk past them acting as if they didn't exist. But John was different. He wasn't begging, he was trying to be hidden. He didn't want to be found. Or did he? Maybe I was subconsciously drawn to him because I wanted to be found myself, like he did probably, only he was too polite to ask anyone for anything.

I later found out John had written several books, of all he said were complete crap. That was usually what I said about my art, so I liked him. Or I was mesmerized by him. Here I was, a nobody to myself, sitting with someone who was somebody, well, once. He gave advise on life and the world in one setting, almost as if he was an observer on some godly cloud hovering above. Which is probably what he had become. Just an observer, or maybe even a god, who knows. He probably saw life in a whole new light just by watching people all day go to their jobs, and get to their daily lives. Something he had had once.

I envied him. I could never see people the way he did, the way I knew he saw life. I was too occupied with myself, and how I wanted to be someone else.

"Sometimes you have to face the music, or say fuck it."

John had said.

At the same time, I felt an immense sadness for him as well. He had no home, no where to go. He was a drifter, as well as an observer. All of which was really fascinating. He left me with so many questions, both philosophical and just out of curiosity. I blame that on Art School as well. It always had me thinking conceptually, something I knew would never go away.

Questions like:

How does one leave his own life?

Is he forced?

How does one give up on himself completely?

I was in awe.

Chapter 5 continued.

I woke up.

Put on my comfort robe, made some coffee, and sat on the sofa.

I stared out the window.

"Molly, what are you doing?"

It was so tempting for today to be another one of those couch days, so tempting. But I knew for the better of me, I had better get up.

I got up. I Got dressed, and headed out the door.

I was walking, but I had no idea where I was going. So I went to Old Town, where wanderers go.

I couldn't believe how the city was so nice in the fall. Beyond nice. Everything, no matter how ugly, was now beautiful. The cold and the newly warm colors warmed me to my bones.

I was awfully close to the waterfront, watching early biking commuters running into early morning joggers. So I moved past them to get closer. The water was quiet and serene. When I looked into it, I could see my reflection. My face. The water was as still as it could of been, but my facing was moving. Moving in vast chunks, and never in one place. I felt like the water was the only one who truly saw me for who I was now. I wasn't me, I wasn't in one place. I was a mess of things I used to be, floating around, trying to put myself back together again.

I took one last glance and walked away.

I was walking on a sidewalk where nicely large bushes laid. I thought this made something man-made look more earthy, and thought it silly that we needed both environments in the same place. Then I saw something.

Something in the bushes.

It was a large lump, human size, with a blanket barely covering it. It didn't hit me at first, I thought it was a pile of garbage, but then I realized it was a person. It was so cold, but everything got colder at that point. I hesitated. I looked around me. People were farther away now. I knew then I had to do something. The thing I had waited for, maybe the thing that would make me normal again, had presented itself.

I hated homeless people. Not because of who they were, but what they represented. They represented the ultimate fear that was in my mind. Being alone, and not knowing where you belonged.

When I first started college, I was on my own. My parents were divorced, and I had lived with my father since I was fourteen. I had felt the sense of abandonment when I was younger, but not so much until I was finally legally an adult. On my birthday, my dad announced he wanted me out of the house. We had been close friends since the divorce, but when he pushed me out, I had never felt more alone or scared.

I bummed off of friends for months until I saved enough from my minimum wage job to move out in some ridiculously small space.

I thank him now, for forcing me to grow up. If I had not found my own way, I think I would still be stuck under his roof.

I bent down close, but not too close, to the person and whispered,

"Sir, excuse me, sir?"

Nothing.

"Sir?"

I gently put my palm on his back. I didn't need to nudge him, as soon as I did, he slowly came back to life.

"Ugh, don't worry, I'll be out of here soon."

His voice surprised me. I expected someone much older, but it seemed the guy was only middle aged, maybe younger.

"No sir, I'm not trying to move you. I was just wandering if you were alright."

The lump removed his blankets. I saw him now, a real person. He was a young man in his thirties, probably. He had a full grown beard, and long shaggy hair that outlined his face and eyes. His piercingly sad eyes held a hint of malice, maybe at the world, government, but at the moment, it was me.

"I'm fine. You can leave now."
"Are you sure there isn't something I can help you with?"
"No."
"Are you hungry?"
"I'm Homeless. I'm always hungry."
"Well, we are right by Stumptown Coffee. Do you want some coffee?"
"I can't go in there."

I felt horrible for him. He seemed like what I was on the inside, only I was clean and had a home. Behind the beard and the gruffness, I could tell he was somebody once. Someone who used to be handsome, and maybe even liked life when it was going his way.

"Well, how bout I get some food or something, and bring it back here to you?"

He was hesitant. I knew he wanted food, I could see it in his face, but even though he was a street man, he was polite.

"Um, if you want."
"Yeah. What would you like?"
"Whatever is cheap I guess, and maybe a coffee."
"What kind?"
"Black is fine."
"Great."

I ran away, I had a sudden burst of excited energy. At first I was unsure why, but then I realized I was overwhelmed with gratitude. This man had given me a purpose, even if momentarily, to not think of my own problems and issues.

I came back with the hot coffee, and a small regular doughnut. When I went to hand it to him, he just sort of looked at it for a minute as if it wasn't real. Then he took it slowly.

When he drank from the cup, his demeanor seemed to ease everywhere. He looked up at me.

"Thank you."

It was sincere.

"Not a lot of people would of done this."

"Yeah...To tell you the truth, in all honesty I'm surprised I even did."

I felt pathetic. Not for him, but for myself. He wasn't surprised though.

"Yeah, it's ok. A lot of people are self driven. That's just how it is here. I suppose we all should just move to Iceland."

"Why is that?"

"It's proven it's the happiest country on earth, because when people fail over there, it's accepted. It doesn't matter."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"That sounds perfect."

"There's no such thing."

"Yeah, I guess your right. But it's something desirable. Where did you hear about Iceland?"

"Something I read once..."

"Hmm."

There was a moment of silence. Not so much the deadly silence though, the one that means death. It was a nice silence. I suddenly realized at that moment I was sitting next to a bum who was eating my breakfast. It was so odd. So odd for me. I was sitting next to my biggest fear. He was what I never wanted to be, what I couldn't even look at most days. What I was afraid to look at.

"So what's your story?"

He said.

I almost laughed that he was the one asking me.

"My story?"

"Yeah, everyone has one. I hear almost a new one everyday. A lot of people tell me, even without me asking."

"Mine isn't very interesting."

"I'm sure it is."

I didn't know what to tell him. I didn't really feel anything. I was a dead beat.

"Well, maybe I'll tell you mine."

"I'd like that."

"I grew up in Boston, Massachusetts,"

I shrugged. Just the sound of the place...

"I had a nice family, they treated me well. Somehow, I hated them for it. So i left. I went to college. Got my master's in English Literature, had a family of my own, and they hated me like I hated mine. So they left me, and I left the world."

Silence.

"Wow."

"Yeah, that's life though isn't it?"

"I would hate to think so, but some things turn out really fucked up."

"Yeah."

"What's your name?"

"John."

"I'm Molly."

"It's a pleasure."

Chapter 5

"Molly?

Listen, I'm just calling to-, to catch up I guess.

Truth be told, I miss hearing your voice...

A lot's going on over here, I think you would like it. Everyone's busy with life, it's exciting...

Apart of me feels like I don't belong, though. Maybe you know why, you always knew.

You can call if you want, if not, then I guess at least I got to hear your answering machine..."

The last time I saw him was when we mutually agreed to part ways. We were at our usual place, some old Italian get up. I guess it seemed natural to go because we had spent so many of our occasions there. Birthdays, Holidays, celebrations of accomplishments, big or small. I order a rough chocolate dessert and stare at it, not finishing for another hour. Stupid dessert. I remember how grateful I felt to the dessert. It was the only thing that brought me some comfort in the place. It had all seemed foreign to me now, and growing colder by the minute.

He reached out and grabbed my hand to get my attention. The chocolate layers held my attention, everything else held my attention more than him now. Finally, slowly, I looked up at him. I shouldn't have, I knew I shouldn't have. It meant vulnerability. I had power with not looking, but I gave in. I wanted to hope, but I knew I didn't have a chance really. I met his gaze, and instead of expecting sadness, I saw nothing but happiness. He was awkwardly happy, and he couldn't hold it back. I felt like slapping him. How could he be such a schmuck?

I didn't know this person anymore, he had transformed into a perfectly irritating stranger.

I thought about that night when I had finally laid in my bed. The weather outside made my room even more appealing, and I was excited that warm jammys were finally appropriate. I tried laying on my side, but then resulted to my back. I looked straight up at the ceiling like I eventually did almost every night. Except this night felt different. I realized apart of me was coming back, the part where I felt at peace a little. I smiled. I wasn't sure why, but I guess time was finally running its course. Slowly but surely. I was still sick with the feeling of being numb.

I thought about Raleigh. His name was so friendly, it was the perfect name for him. I was sure he was perfectly friendly to everyone, but I had the feeling he picked the revolting bitter heads for himself. I smiled again. I was so confused why he chose to bother me, to spy on me, and why he didn't just leave me alone sitting there in my hole.

"I'm leaving tonight. But I want to see you again."
"Why?"
"Just tell me I can see you again."
"Maybe."
"At least that's not a possibly."

Perfect smile.

"Where will I find you?"
"Maybe you'll run into me again."

I smiled.

"Just don't move to England or anything."

We smirked.

I left him there at the cafe. I could feel his eyes burning into the middle of my back. I glanced over my shoulder once, and he gave me a devastatingly sincere smile. He didn't have to say anything. We both felt the same way, like we were leaving a dear friend whom we knew nothing about. Except I was trying to conceal it more than he.

I wondered in my bed when I would run into him again. Or would I ever?

I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. I knew it was Laurel coming to check up on me.

*Knock* *Knock*

"Molly?"

"Yeaahhh?"

Without a welcome, she came in anyway. She knew she was already welcome regardless any circumstances, especially with the recent one with me being a zombie and all.

She jumped and sat next to me on my bed, turning on the low lamp light on my night stand.

"I was at school today."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I had painting."

"That's cool."

"I saw you."

"Oh, you did?"

"Yeah, with a guy."

My face was in my pillow, but I could see her smirking in my head. I didn't respond to her, I knew she was going to make a big deal out of it.

"He was really cute. No, I take that back. He was handsome. Stoic, really."

I bounced up.

"I know, right?"

"As soon as I saw his face, I wanted to remember it, maybe draw it even."

"Ha ha! I felt the same way."

"So, what was up with that? Why were you with a guy?"

"I just met him today. It was really strange actually."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I ran into him at Powell's. I tried to make him piss off, but he wouldn't leave me alone."

"That's strange, I can't imagine that."

Her sarcasm was perfect. Probably from living with me. It had finally taken it's tole on her innocent niceness.

"Don't be like me."

"Ha, whatever. I can't be like you, I'm still in school."

"What? How do you know?"

"You kidding? I followed you and overheard. Plus, I'm an aid to student services. How else do you think people are going to react? You had one year left, and then you could of done anything you wanted."

"I could do anything now. That's what art is, right? You don't need a time limit in art."

"It's true, but if you had finished you could of gotten a job anywhere Molly. You know that."

"Do I? I don't think so."

"Well you should. People would kill for you."

"Not everyone."

Then she remembered how pitiful I was.

"You need to snap out of it. It's been more than two months now."

"Doesn't feel like it."

"Yeah, well the asshole keeps on calling, so I guess not."

"You're so lucky Laurel."

She smirked a smile. She made sure it wasn't to happy in my presence, but I knew she was happy. I was happy for her too, but extremely angry as well. She had Mark. She had someone, someone who was good to her. I had no one.

"Molly, I have something to tell you. But I don't want you to get upset."

"What?"

"Well, he proposed."

She was right, I was extremely angry. I wanted to cry angry tears, but I held them back. Happy little ones seeped through. I immediately hugged her so she wouldn't see.

"Molly, are you okay?"

"Yeah Laurel, I'm just really happy for you. Really."

"Oh good, I was so worried."

"Don't worry about me anymore, okay? I'm gonna straighten some shit out."

"Really? Please, don't do anything drastic."

"I won't. I've decided I need to do something, something I've never done. I'm still in search of what that is, but I know that whatever it is, it has to be extremely vulnerable so I can find myself again."

"That's good. But you know, you still are Molly."

"Yeah I know, but I don't feel like it I guess."

"Ok, well, what are you gonna do tomorrow? I don't want you to be here again by yourself."

"Don't worry, I'm going out."

"Ok, you want me to come with you?"

"No, it's okay. I'd rather be alone tomorrow."

"Ok, well, goodnight."

"Night, and congratulations."

"Thanks, Moll."

I was frustrated.

My best friend was getting married, and I would be the lone bridesmaid. It was so cliché. But I was happy for her, I would lose her, but I was happy for her. Another friend, my favorite one, was getting her dream with the best guy for her.

I thought about a lot of things in my bed. The coming months, what I would be doing, how I would be making money, and how I would be changing my life.

How does one change their life?

How does one live a life?

This is when I realized I was too much of an artist again. Stupid. For once, I wished I thought like a regular human. Like someone who doesn't know too much. Someone who has seen it all, and still likes life.

Someone who was the opposite of me now.

Chapter 4 continued.

We sat together at Jamison Park, notably drumming our fingers against the concrete of the cold ground. Little words were exchanged, as well as glances. Instead, our attention was held by the little kids screaming in the icy cold water of the fountain. Fall was finally here, as well as the cold weather, and the fountains hadn't been turned off yet. I thought it was funny how resilient these kids were, and how strange the city was not being on top of things.

"So this is the pearl district?"

"Yeah."

"I can see why they call it that."

"Because it's so clean?"

"Yeah, but it looks like it's also where the rich people live with their young kids. Kind of like they are sheltering them from the rest of the not so pearly city."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"So you know what I think we should do right now?"

"What?"

"I think you should show me some cool places here."

"Don't you have a map, or something like that?"

"Because I'm a tourist?"

"Yeah, maybe you should just join them."

I pointed to a large Asian tourist group that just got off the street car.

"Yeah they look like they fit in."

I looked him up and down.

"Maybe you shouldn't."

He seemed to be gladly surprised at my approval. I thought it strange.

"Does this mean I look like a Portland person?"

"It's Portlander actually, and not quite yet. You do have the old vintage look down, but your still missing something."

"What's that?"

"A coffee in your hand."

"Ah, and you know the place?"

"Yeah, I think so. Plus it's in a good area. Somewhere where you will really see what Portland's like."

He smiled.

"Great."

We walked all the way there, into old town, about 20 blocks. He didn't seem to catch a sweat, so I guess he walked everywhere at home. Everywhere we walked, he looked, almost in awe of Portland's raw edginess and ambiguity. It made me think of the first time I saw the city too. I was five years old, and my parents had brought me to an opera. Don't ask me why, my parents always had their hand on whether I was 'truly' educated or not. But I remember feeling so small, smaller than I usually felt. I wasn't scared, but more of hypnotized by it's other worldliness, unlike the country.

"What part of England are you from?"

I had to know.

"Well, I live in London now, but I actually grew up in Painswick."

He looked at me and realized I had no idea what place he was talking about.

"It's a really small town in Gloucestershire, England. Actually, extremely small."

"Probably not as small where I grew up."

"Try 2,070."

"Never mind. Maybe the place where you grew up just seems small."

"I thought you were a portland native?"

"I am I guess. My parents brought me here a lot ever since I was five, but I grew up in Gresham."

"Where is that?"

"About a half hour away if you drive. It's a real resolute town. The Vortex."

"The Vortex?"

"Yeah, everyone there is close-minded. That's all that's there, close-minded people, and hair salons."

He smiled that smile again.

"I'd like to see that."

"No, trust me, you wouldn't."

"No, it would be nice to be somewhere like that. I've been in an extremely in your face environment for a long time now."

"In London?"

He shrugged.

"Well, yeah."

We finally reached the coffee shop. It wasn't the lunch hour yet, so the place was quiet and resolute. You could see through the glass. Quiet people were backed into corners, either on their laptops or reading something quiet but content with the late morning. The hot steam from their cups was almost memorizing. I hadn't had my usual for the day because of the commotion, brought on by myself, so my stomach was craving something warm and addictive.

We entered, and he stood behind me. I think he wanted to see how it was done, I wandered if he had read in some hipster book about portland how coffee shop people were.

"Hi," I said.

The barista slowly looked up at me, it seemed like he needed a coffee too. There was no response, except for one of his eyebrows lifted over the other.

"I'd like a 12 oz latte."

"Alright." He said.

He seemed happy with my quick response. But after writing down my order and getting to work, he looked at Raleigh with the same agitated eyebrow.

"Uh, the same. Please."

We payed, then sat down with our hot coffee. Instead of looking straight ahead, we just looked at each other. Partially because we had to due to the sitting across from one another, but also because we were curious about one another. I wanted to know what he did, who he was, etc etc, but I didn't want to cross the line. I knew if we did, we would be asking for more and more, or nothing at all. I didn't want to take that risk. I liked him for what he was now.

"I-." He said.

He stopped, then smiled. He thought about what he could say, or wanted to say. He thought too hard.

"Listen, I'd like to see you again."

"What's wrong with just now?"

"The fact that I wouldn't see you again."

I smiled at his frankness, and talent for trying.

"I don't know if that's a good idea."

"What are you talking about, it's a great idea."

"Ha, yeah, I just-"

"I'm leaving tomorrow. I'm going back, and I just want to know if it was possible if I could see you if I come back."

"So you want a tour guide for then too?"

"Yeah, maybe a shofar too, I don't have a car. No-"

I started laughing hysterically. His accent was too much. I had to repeat him.

"I'm sorry, 'Shofarrh'? I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

I was waiting for him to get angry, because most people do at my bluntness and lack of not caring now, but instead, he laughed too. We laughed together.

Chapter 4

Did he really just say 'sure', or was I imagining it all? Was it a selfish plea maxed over in some form of a hallucination? No, he was real. He was really there, walking next to me, helping me make my rash decision with his support. I was so thankful he was there, and yet I didn't even know him. He was just a friendly stranger. Just a friendly stranger.
The odd thing about it though was how surreal it was. He didn't seem like a stranger at all when he talked. His voice was smooth and comforting, the only thing that sounded reassuring for these past couple months.

"What are you studying?" He asked.

"Art." I said.

"What sort of art?"

"What kind do you think?"

"Hmm. I'm guessing probably everything?"

I stopped, and looked at him. I was surprised at his answer, even if he was trying to be smart ass.

"I think you are probably the first outsider to have ever answered that question right."

"An outsider?"
"Yeah, the Art world is like one big party, and we don't like to invite everyone in."
"A party of misogynist art critics?"
"Something like that."

I started walking again, leading the way. He slowly caught up with me. I knew he was questioning his motives, and if he should really be here with a total stranger.

"Normally people always assume Art is just painting, drawing, and scultpure. I think it's really interesting. It reminds me of when I was little, and drew shapes in preschool instead of stick people. I saw the world differently then, and it's almost like a precious memory knowing I can't get it back."

I was rambling again, like I do most of the time, only to an actual someone. I suppose I can thank Art school for that. When I looked at his face expecting a strange look, like I was sure I would get from my mother, there was something else. He was deep in thought, but he almost seemed happy to be there with me. In some blank nothing.

"Video."
"What?"

"That's my favorite. video, well video and sound I guess."

He smiled.

"Why is that?"

"It's the best way to reveal the world around you for what it really is. Something moving, something fast, and something you can't have once it's gone."

"Molly?"
"Ha, I'm surprised you remember my name."

I reminded him that we were strangers, but he didn't even notice. Or did he care?

"Why are you quitting?"

I frowned. He had interrupted my moment of peace on reminiscing about the one thing that had made sense until now, my passion for art. I had to quit. I couldn't go back and be some emotional scared wreck like I was there today. I needed to find myself again, and I couldn't do that there. I needed to find myself in the most irrelevant and vulnerable place. I kept on thinking of one quote I read,

“When we allow ourselves to become vulnerable, to take chances, and to risk our pride, that is when we find our own glory.”

"I can't tell you."

"I know you don't know me."

"There are some things I wont tell anyone,

We just have to be two people that help each other for no good reason at this random time in our life. OK?"

He wasn't angry, instead he looked like he understood completely. I could tell he was fine with it. Fine with it all.

"OK."

"So what do you do Raleigh?"

He seemed struggled with this question. I knew he didn't want to tell me. He didn't know me, and it was so comforting. It was odd, and almost ironic to think that, because he didn't know me, he knew me better than anyone. I wanted to keep it that way.

"Lets just be two people that help each other at random times in our life."

I smiled.

"No specifics?"

"None that we want to share."

"Sounds like we are going to be good friends."

I grabbed him by the arm, and led him inside. All of it was really strange, but then my world had been just that recently.

Chapter 3

Molly,

I'm sorry for how I treated you. You were right. I acted like an asshole. A real cold insensitive person. There is no excuse for the way I handled things. But I just know, that this is the way it's suppose to be. You were with me at some of the hardest times in my life, and I thank you for that. We grew up together, and I wouldn't replace those times with anyone or anything.

I've realized though, that you and I, we can't be together anymore.

It came to me month after month, like a bleeding thought in my head, and I just couldn't continue to ignore it.

I can't be what you need.

I have no faith in myself anymore, and now, after this, it's going to take me a long time to get it back.

I want to talk to you, because you are so important to me, but is that right? Is it too painful for us? I don't think I can talk to you without seeing you the way I did, and still do.

Please forgive me,

Daniel.

My first class was another basic drawing class. I make it my primary objective to take one each year so I never lose touch of the human figure or the beauty of still life. Sure, I often take it with upcoming freshman, but I think being surrounded by them brings me comfort. They remind me of myself, or when I used to be so ambitious and so sure of life. I can't help but play the role that I am older though, and that I can crush them like tiny bugs. It's so tempting, and they fall for it so easily.

By now, I know this class by routine. The instructor introduces him or herself, in my case a herself. Then we either draw a quick still life, or have a model. This year, we had a model. She was new, and petite and perfect. When everyone watched her, or shy eyes pretended not to watch her, she embraced the attention in a beautifully timid way. She stepped onto the pedestal, and removed her grandma robe to the floor. In one fast movement, people were shocked at the sight of a naked person. Some pretended to fiddle with their drawing instruments, while others immediately began drawing.

I just stared. I couldn't help it. I always see people as objects when I draw them naked, but this time I felt differently. She was someone. Someone delicate, someone pleased, and someone fresh. She seemed familiar.

She seemed untouched by life, by heartbreak.

She was me. WAS me.

"Molly?"

The instructor gave me a quick smile and glare. I knew what she meant by the sound of my name. It was rude to stare for so long, to look at beauty in the face. I picked up my charcoal, and began to draw. I started on her face. Perfectly round, perfectly proportioned. She was not tired, she didn't have lines. She had wide eyes, looking for new things to fill them. Then she looked at me, only for a second. I saw her. I had to look away, I almost lost it. I dropped my charcoal, grabbed my bags, and ran out of the room.

I walked to the street car. I instinctively was going home. Then I realized I couldn't, so I walked to Powell's. Outside was a man playing the violin, almost like it was for me. Some sad tune. I had to laugh roughly, almost insanely. Today, was not going so well. I felt like I was going to burst any minute with the commotion of outside. So I ran past him, ran past those annoying people with flyers outside, and ran past the homeless man wanting to sell me some newspaper. They all wanted something from me, money for sure, but I felt like besides being a poor college student, I didn't have anything to give.

I felt selfish.

It was quiet in the book store. Probably because people were engulfed into it's largeness and lack of animosity. I found a quiet corner on the top level in American History. I figured no one hardly went up there, except looking for school books, and I was right. It was silent, and vacant. I hit my back against the large long shelf of books and sunk down. I had to release.

I tried to cry, but I couldn't. I had cried too much already.

Instead, I felt.

I felt too much for one person. Too much bitterness. Too much nothingness. I felt like I was vacant, just like the place. A giant nothing, staring at nothing.

Then I realized there was a shadow. Someone WAS there. A person invading my private space. They were across the other side of the shelf. looking at me for sure through the cracks of American Radicalism and the Civil War.

"What the fuck are you looking at?"

The shadow almost tripped at my remark. Then awkwardly, and slowly, removed American Radicalism. All I saw was eyeballs. Bright round blue eyeballs, in quiet eyes. He, whomever, had quiet eyes. I then began to calm down.

"I'm sorry. I have a bad habit at staring at interesting people."

His voice was young and strong. Almost sure of himself, but humbled at my vulnerable position.

"Well you should probably cure yourself of that," I said. "Not a lot of people like being stared at."

"You know?"

He then removed The Civil War. I could see his entire face now, framed by the books.

He was almost too shocking to look at. Like an old renaissance painting, romantic. He had stepped out of one, and didn't know it. The lines of his bone structure were flawless. His hint of a smile, delicate. I hardly ever see people that look like that anymore, they are rare, but when I do, I remember their faces, and sketch them later. I'm almost like a stalker, but I can't help it. His was going to be hard to forget.

"Yes, I do. I also have this problem. It gets me into trouble sometimes, but I think I've learned to cure it."

"How?"

"I ride the bus now."

"Don't they notice you staring at them?"

"I wear sunglasses."

"Genius."

"I know."

He stepped away now, and put the two books back into their place. I realized he was coming towards me. Peeking his head around the corner, he slowly smiled, then walked up to me. His clothes were plain, to bring out his wonderful face, and his brown hair cut but wild around his eyes.

"So, what are you doing down there?"

I didn't realize it before, but he had an accent. I wasn't sure exactly where from, some European country for sure. Most likely, England. Just like all of those british people. Always charming without needing to be.

He had the perfect stature to, probably from growing up in a more refined life than I. I didn't want to answer his question. I didn't want to answer any questions. The answer was apparent in my mind. Always there, but never announced. I didn't want to admit what I was. Lost.

"Nothing." I dismissed him.

"Can I join you?"

I was almost happy at his remark, but then I realized I had no idea who this person was.

"You can do whatever the fuck you want."

He smirked, not touched by my rudeness, and slowly sunk down next to me, leaving a good amount of healthy space between us. He stared in front of him, just as I did.

"Well....Fuck."

I couldn't help it, I had to laugh hysterically. All of my laughter at myself burst out of my mouth.

I wasn't looking at his face, but I could feel him smirking. I saw he had a book in his hand, 'The Radical Reader: A history of American Radicalism'.

"Interested in the American People?" I said.

He looked down at his book, fiddled with it in his hands, then looked at me. He was so smooth, but he didn't even know it.

"Yeah," He admitted. "You guys are pretty inspiring. First you leave our country with an "F You" then you go on and beat our asses at our own game. That's pretty cool."

"So your from England?"

I felt stupid for asking.

"Besides my terrible teeth and unnoticeable accent? Yeah."

He lied. He had almost perfect teeth. They all came complete with a great big smile. His accent was perfect too, not anything like the my fair lady bums.

"So what brings you here?"

He struggled at this question, almost shrugging.

"Well, I'm just here visiting. I had some money saved, and I've always wanted to come here."

"To Oregon?"

My sarcasm was ruthless, and he began to laugh again. A perfect laugh.

"Yeah. I'm a big fan of green."

"Please don't tell me your one of those environmentalists."

"Um?"

"That's all the rage here in America now."

"The latest fad?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

His pronunciation was amusing, and I now knew why so many of my college friends took trips over to England, besides the booze.

"What else do you guys do?"
"Besides being green?"
"Yeah."
"We spend money."
"Oh, really? That's funny, because I still have some left over for my trip, and I have no idea what to do with it."
"Then you have come to the right place, lots of people spend money here on nothing important."
"Like you?"
"If you think school isn't important, like some people, then yeah sure."
"Ah, yeah, I guess you could say I'm one of those people. But I do think school's important, even though in the end, it wasn't for me."
"That's OK. I'm quitting too actually."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"How long have you been going for?"
"It's my last year."
"Wow."
"Yeah."
"What made you do that?"
"It's none of your business."

I reminded him we were strangers. I almost regretted it after, but then he surprised me. He jumped up.

"You're right. I'm sorry, my name is Raleigh."
"You are English."
"Ha yeah, I guess no one here has that name, right?"
"I've never met a Raleigh before."
"Well, I'm going to take that as a compliment..."

He was trailing off, hinting for me to interrupt him. I didn't really want to give him my name.

"Molly."

He smiled, and repeated my name. The way he said it, I liked hearing it.

"I have an aunt named Molly."
"What's she like?"
"Well, she's a little bit like you."
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah, she's quiet, but not afraid to tell anyone what she thinks. She also has big eyes, and even larger ears."
"Excuse me?"
"Yeah, I guess she's not anything like you."

I laughed again. It felt weird laughing for amusement instead of at myself.

"So I take it you are a natural Oregonian?"
"Yes."
"You must know all the sites then."
"Like attractions for tourists like you?"
"Not really. I'm more of here to see the landscape, and things that are more interesting."
"Then you have come to a good place."

He smiled.

"Would you show me around?"
"Um, I don't even know you."
"Sure you do, my name's Raleigh, remember?"
"A name doesn't tell you who a person is."
"You could be right, but I think it does, actually."
"Right."
"Like you, Molly, a good gentle name. For someone quiet but strong, someone who has insight and is beautiful."

I looked at him weird then, I didn't want to be hit on, but I got the impression that he wasn't trying, he was just analyzing.

"And the way you said your name."
"What about it?"
"You have insight, but you got more in a bad way. You have experienced pain, like many others do, and you feel like yours is nothing special because of it, so you have to ignore it to get over it."

I just stared at him. I had only known him for fifteen minutes, but it felt like he had been watching some helpless movie about me up till now.

"Will you have coffee with me?"
"What makes you think I like coffee?"
"I heard somewhere that Portlanders like coffee."
"Really?"
"No, I just noticed there happened to be a coffee shop on just about every corner. Will you?"
"I can't."
"You're just going to sit here?"
"No, I have to take care of school business."
"Oh."
"Actually, would you come with me?"

I couldn't resist asking. I had already felt so alone, and I didn't want to make a big decision like this alone. I had already done that once before. Expecting a no, I was surprised to see him sincere.

"Sure." He said.