I woke up to the sound of raindrops plummeting against my roof.
I'd never really liked rain all that much. It wasn't really because of the fact that it got everything wet and messed up my hair, but because I couldn't help but think that the world was crying. When it rained, you couldn't see the colors in the sky or breath in the fresh air. Everything was washed out, grey.
I'd met a lot of people that had told me they loved the rain. They said it was poetic, that when they felt the drops spattering around them there was something peaceful about it, as if the sky was allowing a calm sense to spread around the town.
But the rain reminded me of a certain day a long time ago. And I didn't like to be reminded.
Soon enough, I heard the front door slam shut, meaning Adrian had just left, and that was my warning that if I wanted to be on time for school, I had to walk out the door in ten minutes. I had nothing to do in the morning, but I always took long to pull on my one pair of jeans and straighten my curly hair.
I was done with both of those things within seven minutes before grabbing my bag, phone, and keys, slowly padding down the stairs on light feet. The house was empty and I could feel it, the dust in the air cold, my skin pale where I could see it in the darkness of our hallway. A stair creaked when I landed on it wrong, but I ignored the sound as I continued towards the door.
I stepped outside, quickly pulling my umbrella over my head as I trudged down the driveway, shoes splashing in small puddles no matter how lightly my feet settled with each step.
My gaze wandered upward when I heard shouting, my legs coming to a stand still when I realized it was coming from Phil's door. I looked over, watching the rain cascade around me, the drops bouncing against the gravel.
I saw then, as the boy exited his house violently, the way he was breathing heavily, the way his hands were clenched into fists so tight I was sure his nails were cutting crescents into his palms, and I wasn't sure what to think. Each time I'd seen Phil Lester do anything, it had been with a gentle look at the world, his eyes holding mysteries and wonder that I was sure I would never discover.
Phil had always been so calm. Free.
But here he was, breaths ragged as his feet slapped against the sidewalk, splashing water up onto his legs. He didn't seem to care.
It was dark because of the rain clouds, but just before he turned to walk in front of me I was nearly completely sure I saw a purple and blue stain on his jaw.
***
It was now the end of my second to last class, meaning it was off to my last class: art. I was glad, considering some work we'd done today had been stressful, and I couldn't seem to get the way Phil had looked this morning out of my mind.
The image was constantly there, the way his eyes had for once looked something other than fearful or gentle.
An idea for a painting popped into my mind suddenly, one of a hand with fingernails digging into the skin, and I stashed it away for later.
My bag was resting lightly on m shoulder, my hand brushing against the strap as I kept my head down, not making eye contact with a single soul. It was my usual thing I did. I didn't like looking at people, and I didn't like people looking at me. I especially didn't like people talking to me, considering that always meant they expected me to reply.
But I haven't spoken a word to anyone in six years, not since that day.
I was not mute or anything. And my vocal cords weren't damaged because sometimes, late at night, I would open my window and I would sing, or read one of my stories out loud.
I just always made sure no one heard.
It had gotten to a point four years ago when my mom was so exasperated with me never speaking that she put me in a therapy group. What she didn't seem to know was that everyone there was deaf, so one of the girls who had only gone deaf four months before had taught me how to speak sign language. It wasn't exactly that useful of a skill, since no one I knew spoke sign, except by now, my mom had taught herself some simple phrases so I could still say things to her. It felt good to know I could speak in a way that didn't involve my mouth.
I liked to think I did that with my paintings.
I walked into the art classroom, my eyes lifting off the ground for only a split second, long enough to notice that the only one's in here were me, Phil, and two girls named Louise and Zoe. I'd never noticed anyone in this class, really; most of us were quiet, loud only within our paint brushes and charcoal pencils. Louise and Zoe liked to talk though, usually being the most talkative in the room.
Silently, I sat down in my seat next to Louise and across from Phil, letting my fingers grab my canvas from the basket in the middle of the table. My paint bag was next to it, so I retrieved that, too, and got to work on mixing the colors, wanting to clear my thoughts as soon as possible. It was easy, when I painted. To forget everything troubling, to focus only on the brush in my hand.
One thing I'd learned over the past three years was that Phil didn't paint. He sketched. Never had I once seen him create something that contained color. It was always graphite and charcoal, smudging his fingers to a point they were dark enough to match his hair. They were messy, his sketches, but unique. With slight glances, I sometimes managed to take in what he was drawing. Usually mediocre things, like trees and cats but every once in a while I would notice charcoal sketches of a boy. A different one each time; the boy would either look down or up or straight ahead.
I noticed the boy in his sketches never once smiled.
At the moment, however, I forced myself to not pay attention to Phil, or anyone else in the room. Today I was going to paint, and hopefully finish this one either today or tomorrow.
Currently, I was working on a painting of a girl beneath a tree. She was holding a guitar, her hair long enough to fly behind her as wind blew through the trees. She was black and white, and the world around her was all color.
That's how I felt, sometimes. Like I was a walking bundle of blacks and whites while everything surrounding me was bright, colorful, vivacious. I ignored it most times, but I used to consider that that might be the reason I was so obsessed with colors. I was void of them.
Sooner than I'd expected, I was drawn out of my trance by the day's last bell. The room emptied slowly, and then it was only me and Phil.
With gentle fingers, the boy across from me shut his sketchbook, piling his pencils into the basket between us, breaths slow as if he were preparing to sleep. I knew he wasn't; he was simply like me: quiet, fragile, nimble. But as these thoughts came to my mind I couldn't help but remember his face that morning.
I set my brushes in the basket before piling my canvas on top, to make sure nothing touched it and ruined the currently drying colors. As soon as I was satisfied, I swung my bag over my shoulder, looking up.
Phil had already gone.
I let out a sigh, letting my steps speed up as I left the room and headed down the hall towards the side doors. My surroundings were mostly empty by now, the initial instinct of most students being to get home as soon as possible. I never liked people rushing around me, so I always made sure I took some time after art to pack everything up.
The sound of my footsteps echoed against the tile of the hallway as I kept my eyes trained on the boy ahead of me, who was now walking extremely fast, clenching his bag strap, obviously in a hurry to get home. I pursed my lips, wondering if I should speed up as well, or just walk and watch him from afar.
The fact that he was already out the door and around the corner made my decision for me. I ran, the stuffy air of the school blowing across my face and sending my hair back before I was successfully outside in the rain. The drops were lighter now, calmer, but it didn't stop me from pulling out my umbrella and continuing my walk towards home.
A big part of me was tempted to just go up to him and give him my extra umbrella, considering his clothes had been wet all day from this morning and now wasn't helping as he half-ran, ignoring puddles as the water splashed up onto his knees.
I didn't, though, just switching between watching my own gentle feet across the pavement and watching his violent steps in the water.
My pocket suddenly vibrated, and I stilled my feet, coming to a stop on the sidewalk. I fished it out, flipping the screen over so that the light glowed against the gray air around me.
Going to Susie's today, sleeping over and getting a ride to school tomorrow. I'll see you tomorrow at dinner time.
Also, Mom called and said she lost her job.
-Adrian
I blanched, the last sentence hitting me. She'd lost her job? It was hard enough for her to get that job two years ago, she was always there, and we never even had enough money to buy food. The only way I ever had enough money for all my painting supplies was because I'd stashed away money I'd gotten from working at the library about a year ago. They'd fired me because I never talked.
I need to get a new job, I thought glumly, and flinched when I heard a door slam up ahead. I looked up, and my eyes caught that Phil wasn't in front of me anymore, and my surroundings were dark considering the clouds above me.
I quickened my pace.
Soon enough, I was through the front door of my house, shoes squelching against the wooden floor of our hallway. My mom had to be home, unless she was at the bar or with some guy. I hadn't seen her in a week now, or spoken to her. She never called me because, well, I didn't say anything.
I padded lightly into the kitchen, not bothering to turn on any lights because of the electricity bill. I could live with my eyes straining against the darkness of our living room as I headed to the kitchen.
I saw her then, leaning over the counter with her head in her hands, and I noticed the way her back was shaking slightly, as if she couldn't bear to hold herself up any longer. She'd lost weight in one week, and her hands were dirty, wrinkled.
I couldn't deny the fact that I loved my mom. She could be rude to me, and she was never here, but she tried her hardest to make sure Adrian and I got food in our stomaches and clothes on our backs. She was the only person in the world who'd shown any love to me, besides when my dad or even Adrian did.
She looked up when she heard my shoes against the tile, brown eyes bloodshot, and I knew she'd been drinking tonight. I pursed my lips and stepped forward, engulfing her into a hug, closing my eyes as I rested my chin on her head and felt her sob against my chest.
The last time I'd hugged someone had been six years ago.
I stepped away after a moment, and signed a sentence I knew she would understand.
I'm going to get a job.
She looked at me sadly, "Dan, you don't have to do that. I know you're already stressed out, I don't want you to make it even worse."
I don't want things to be difficult for you, I signed.
My mother nodded slowly, patting my arm. "Okay, son. Did you want some of these potatoes I brought home?"
I shook my head, gave her one last look, and walked upstairs.
Later that night, at around three in the morning, I opened my window quietly, looking out at the stars that lightened up the night sky, shining down at me. And I sang, my voice sinking into the night.
_
i wrote this chapter in less than one day and im proud of myself okay
ye something happened to dan six years ago and youll find out soon what that is
STUFF happens with phil next chapter too
btw i realize that with his signing being in italics it could get mixed up with inner thoughts, but dan doesn't have inner thoughts much. but i'll try to make it clear which one it is each time i use italics.
ok bye now <3