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.