It got to where he couldn’t wait for 3rd period Creative Writing Skills. It was certainly not because he loved the subject or because he excelled in it. Mr. Hardesty was a crotchety old taskmaster who possessed absolutely no likeable traits or noticeable talent, so it definitely wasn’t him that drew Chris to the class. In fact, he couldn’t have been more out of place in that classroom. There wasn’t a single guy or girl in there that he knew well or hung around with. This was not his crowd at all, in fact, it was like going to a different school and having no friends. Like being the outsider and having everybody ignore him or in some cases even dislike him.
None of that that mattered though, he didn’t care what they thought of him and how much his buddies kidded him about it either. He knew only one thing and one thing only about this class, Autumn was in it. When she walked into class or down the hallway or up to the front of class to read a particular poem or story, he was lost. His stomach would get light, his mind would float and his body would get weak. She drained him.
They had gone to school with each other since kindergarten but had never even talked until about halfway through their Junior year in High School. On that occasion, Chris had accidentally bumped into her and her books went flying. She had began scrambling around picking up her books and he had reached down to help her.
“Here you go….I’m sorry April, didn’t see you there”, he said warmly while handing a book and folder back to her.
“Its Autumn”, She said simply. She looked at him as if she was looking at something that had gone horribly wrong.
“Yeah Autumn….Autumn, that’s right. Well I’m sorry, can I hold those for you while you get those loose papers sorted out?” Chris asked. It wasn’t often he got a girl’s name wrong and he smiled at that thought.
“I’m glad you think this so funny, and no, I don’t need help….especially from you” Autumn replied briskly. God how she couldn’t stand his type, she screamed to herself.
“Okay….well…..anyway, I am sorry I knocked into you” he stuttered.
She had walked off, still struggling with her books, papers and folders while he was still talking. Somehow being called April by him was the ultimate slap.
Normally he would have shrugged his shoulders and walked the other way already beginning to forget about her and whistling as he did. This time though, he had stood there and watched her go. She always wore jeans which was cool but always with some kind of gypsy type top, all loose and billowy. But as she walked away, he’d looked closer this time. She moved gracefully and smooth. As her long hair swayed back and forth with her walk, he thought to himself, has it always been that long and straight, that beautiful? And even if she had looked at him with what was pretty much a look of disgust, he couldn’t help but look back at her hazel eyes. They had little flecks of gold in them, and well, like her sandy blonde hair, those eyes were beautiful too.
That had been last year and he hadn’t seen her very much after that. They had always belonged to different groups. She was smart, read a lot of books and was extremely artistic. He was a jock, got average grades and had a lot of friends. The summer before they both had become High School seniors though, each had undergone some subtle but distinct changes.
Autumn had changed from a mildly attractive but bookish and slightly defensive girl to a mesmerizing beauty with a gifted, free spirit. Chris, while he was still wearing a letter jacket and plenty popular, had begun to look at life without blinders on, with a slightly wider outlook. He had discovered that all books were not necessarily homework. He’d found out that having your heart broken by an older girl named Ann Walker was not fun, but that it actually made you appreciate words and feelings more. Even made you want to express them. In private anyway.
It was by pure chance that Chris had taken Creative Writing Skills his senior year. He had to fill a spot on his class schedule with an elective course. It was basically a throw away choice he had picked it from a small cluster of non inspiring classes and subjects.
As he sat glumly, watching Mr. Hardesty straightening something on his desk that wasn’t crooked and fidgeting around with this and that, he began to think that this had been a very poor choice out of the options he had picked from.
When Autumn had walked in on that first day of class though, everything had changed. His heart skipped a beat, then caught and raced out of control. She had swept by him without so much as a glance, all fresh and free, smelling like a field of fresh bloomed flowers. He watched as she slid into her chair sideways and swung her legs in. He just drank her in, couldn’t take his eyes off her. How had he not noticed her more? He was caught in a trap that he didn’t want to escape.
As she looked straight ahead waiting for class to begin, while at the same time watching old Hardesty fumble around, she knew he was watching. Realized for the first time that there really was something about him that demanded attention, plenty to dislike too, but he had a certain something about him. She had always just thought it was a silly crush and it probably was, but she had definitely felt the pull as she walked past him.
Day after day, he watched her, said hello whenever he could and tried the best he could to make conversation after class. She was polite enough, but obviously, she had no interest in him whatsoever. ‘And why should she, you goof?’ He had asked himself disgustedly. She is everything you aren’t; talented, brilliant and not tied down by certain friends or cliques or groups. She’s free, unique and special. He didn’t care though, didn’t care that they would never be alike or see things the same and be able to really connect with each other. He just wanted to be near her, listen to her read one of her stories or poems to the class, and watch her move.
He had changed, there was no doubt about it, she thought as she watched him walk to his next class. Maybe she didn’t hate him; maybe it was just people like him. He was still popular and still an athlete that was both feared and respected. He could not walk down a hallway and not be noticed. He had always been polite and he definitely wasn’t showy, although you couldn’t help but think he was conceited. She liked him and liked being around him, despite herself. At the same time she also knew that they would never be in the same circles, even out of high school, into college and past that, they would be too different, too estranged in almost every way. Not that she would want that anyway. She didn’t care though. She liked watching him and lately she liked to read what he wrote.
As a semester final Mr. Hardesty announced, while looking at Chris with one comically raised eyebrow, that he was determined to point out in a humiliating manner just who the pretenders were in his class. The class had gotten quite a few chuckles out of that and Chris had felt more than a few smirks and looks bearing in on him. He had taken it good naturedly and had sheepishly grinned back at most of them, but when he looked at her she was not chuckling or smiling or anything really. She was just looking at him. No frown and no grin, instead it was an almost curious gaze, her pretty eyes locking him all the while. If he had felt jitters and lightheaded before, this was total submission. He didn’t know it then, but sadly, he would never feel anything quite like that again. He smiled at her finally, an honest smile, a decent and sincere smile that said something to her and she returned it with the corners of her mouth turning up ever so slightly.
All weekend he had written ridiculous short stories and horrible poems. Torn, ripped and crumpled up papers littered the floor around his small bedroom desk at home. About ten o’clock on Sunday night he had just crumpled up his latest writing attempt. A short story. A really bad short story. As he stared at a fresh white sheet of paper, ready to just write anything and turn it in she came into his mind like the sun coming out from behind the clouds; warm and bright and strong. Barely aware of himself doing so, he began to write the poem, began to write it as if someone else was dictating it to him. He was almost frantic to get it all down before he lost it forever.
What made this semester final so difficult for some was not only writing something of real substance, but also having to read it in front of the class. There was in some, a real fear of public speaking, the kind that makes you lose your breath and scatters your thoughts. While Chris wasn’t necessarily bothered by that, he had confidence in most cases - many times when he had no real business being confident, but this was not one of those times. It was the message and the feelings, not what the other students or Mr. Hardesty would think that mattered. It had to be written perfectly and read perfectly, that was what made him so nervous.
He had to let her know that he was not some hollow thing, incapable and too shallow to feel. That he was not too foolish and ignorant to transfer emotion into words. He just wanted her to know that. For some reason that was all-important.
As he was called up to the small lecturn that Monday morning, he walked slowly up and stood behind it, his toe tapping nervously away but hidden from view. She wasn’t even looking at him so he looked elsewhere around the classroom. The looks he got back were a combination of bored, snotty, smirking and polite. None were expecting much from him. Finally, he came back to her and their eyes settled on each other with a soft gaze, they smiled and he fumbled with smoothing his paper down. She knew he would be nervous and had decided to look down at her story when he got up there, but she had given in and looked up when she felt his eyes. At that moment, she just knew it would be good. She knew she would never forget it. Never forget him.
“I have a poem” he said solidly and looked at Mr. Hardesty with purpose and determination. Hardesty had looked slightly uncomfortable for a brief moment but then quickly regained his somewhat bored but slightly amused expression. Obviously, he was expecting, almost betting on, a disaster.
“The title is April” Chris stated, once more looking briefly at Hardesty and then settling back on the girl he so desperately wanted to be with, but knew he never would. When he had finished, he couldn’t stand to look at her anymore because it hurt so much inside and he walked back to his chair. He slowly sat down and looking at the poem he had written, read it once more to himself. Then despite himself, he peeked over at her. She had just turned around to look at him and her eyebrows were slightly raised, a look of deep sadness in those hazel eyes. A look of thank you. A look of where have you been? And maybe, a look trying to convey something else.
Somewhere, he still has that old poem on a faded and folded up piece of paper. Somewhere, she still hears him reading it. Sometimes, he thinks about where she is, who she’s with, if she’s happy. Sometimes, she wonders how he is, if they could have been happy together.
