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.