Chaper 8 [The Siren]
For the next few weeks I found myself glued to my phone, waiting for the little ‘ping’ that signalled her interest in talking to me. It was a strange experience, knowing that the person I admired so reverently was talking to me about things that I would never dream of conversing to her about. She likes classical music and dumb dog compilations. She dumps her fries in vanilla ice cream and only drinks cherry cola.
We talked about the idiocy of certain teachers and the brilliance of certain authors (“I don’t care if it’s a children’s book, it was still better than that try hard limp dick of a writer”). But what amazed me was that even as I slowly gained access to her mind and soul, she was still the Queen I imagined her to be – just more...human.
I felt guilty with each text she sent me, about the pedestal that I placed her on like the malleable marble people gawk at. I no doubt respected her, but I realised that respect was more of idolisation than the true respect of her humanity that she deserved.
She was a Queen, but I should have been an admirer of her, not her crown. And as the weeks went by of snarky remarks and mathematical paramedics, I began to fall hard. Like dive-off-a-50-story-building-and-splatting-on-the-floor hard.
My phone never left me, neither did my eyes leave her golden halo. I always looked forward to those Thursdays. It became a ritual for us to walk out of that dreadful class together, before splitting ways on the staircase as I headed to lunch, and she for history. And while I revelled in those precious few moments, I began to crave more.
Secretly I longed to see her face reappear in the doorframe, just as it did that strange Wednesday weeks before. I would close my eyes, as I did then, and stand there for a little while with the hope that I would see her shining smile when I opened them. I never did, but for the first time in a very long while I did not lose hope.
Until one Wednesday, as I walked to the room, I noticed a very familiar blonde standing at its doorway. I’ve been staring at those messy blonde curls for who knows how long, of course I would recognise them.
“Hey.” I said softly, giving her a quizzical look. Not that I minded her presence, not at all, but it was odd for her to be there at that hour.
“Oh hey! I knew you’d come here so I waited for you. I, uh, have a free now so I was wondering if you wanted to run an errand with me?”
Me? She wants me to come along?
“Why?”
She looked put out, her eyes looking everywhere but at me.
Shit she thinks I don’t want to go. Of course I want to go! Just why the hell would she want me to go and now I have stayed silent for too long and have left her wallowing in doubt. Perfect.
“NOT,” I coughed to regain my composure, “not that I don’t want to, I just, erm, why, erm, why me?” I internally cringed at the pathetic look on my face. Great.
“Oh! I just thought you might wanna hang out. But you’re clearly busy with your thing so forget I mentioned it, maybe some other time.”
“NO! I mean, er, no I’m not busy I’m free, Really free! Haha nothing to do at all.”
Cripes I’m a mess.
“What, er, errand do you have to, er, do?”
She smiled and started walking towards the library doors, looking back at me when I did not follow. Right, I was supposed to use my legs to walk. Duh.
I scurried after her, suddenly conscious that I was in an old tank top and worn out sweatpants. So attractive. Of course with anyone else I would not give two shits about looking good. But her? Well, some decent looking clothes would have been good.
“I just need to pick something up from someone at the park. You know, second-hand shopping stuff.”
“Oh yea, cool. Environmentally friendly stuff is important.” I nodded, trying my best to get my last two brain cells to work.
“Oh definitely. I try to thrift as much as I can, most of my clothes are reworked or second hand. This?” She gestured to her signature denim jacket that she adorned, “This was my very first thrift. Served me well for the last three years.”
It was a light blue, heavy weight denim that cut off at her hips. You could tell it was well worn, the elbows and collar slightly whiter than the rest of the jacket. It had an iron-on monarch butterfly on the left shoulder and the sleeves were cuffed to match her jeans. If anything it screamed ‘Bela’.
“It’s a good one.”
I untied my own jacket from my waist and showed it to her.
“My mum bought me this jacket when we went on a ‘Girls Only’ trip to Asia with her best friend.”
It was a dark green bomber with a ring on the zipper. It was my favourite jacket, not just because it looked amazing, but it was something I wanted for so long and though it was pricy, my mum bought it for me anyway.
My mum is great like that. My parents always taught me to be appreciative of what I had and not want more than I needed. But if there was something I needed, they would always try their best to get me a damn good version of it. Need a laptop? It’s not going to be fancy but we’ll get you the best we can afford.
I needed a jacket, so she got me one I really wanted. Who can complain about that?
“Very you.” She handed it back with a smirk and pulled out the keys to a little blue Mazda.
“Like it? I had Peter convert it to electric.”
“I would have thought you were more of a classy, expensive type.”
“You would, wouldn’t you? Nah, I like my cars to have quality.”
I chuckled as I opened the car door, a smell resembling fresh laundry filling my nose as I sat in the front seat.
“Music?”
“Sure.”
“You choose.”
Uh...
You see, my music taste is rather odd, ranging from nose bleed rock, to Bach and Mozart, to weird songs only a select few would appreciate, to Backstreet Boys. None of which are songs that you play for someone when you are just starting to get to know them. So I did what I do best: Evasion.
“It’s your car, you pick. Driver’s prerogative.” Oh Jaime would have totally sniggered if he was here. I could just imagine Pam’s accusatory eyebrow piercing into my soul.
“If you say so.”
She stopped at the school gate and tapped her phone a few times. A chill beat emanated from the car speakers as Khalid’s soothing voice rang out. Not bad.
“I hope you don’t mind, I like vibing when I drive.”
I looked at her as she pulled out onto the road, her arms and eyes moving like clockwork as she drove. It was such a simple action, one that I have seen countless times and performed myself a few. Yet somehow Isabela just made everything seem that little bit more magical. She cast a spell on me and boy was it working.
We stayed relatively quiet, getting lost in the beats. After a few songs we pulled up to the curb next to Iverstone’s small local park. We got out of the car and headed for the pond, following the park’s winding pathways shaded by nearly bare trees. It was almost the end of autumn, my favourite time of year. The cool crisp air that hasn’t learnt to bite, the beauty of dying vegetation crunching beneath my sneakers. Autumn was peaceful, a special melancholy where the underlying feeling was not of sorrow but of hope, that nature would survive the harsh cold that was to come and bloom again in the spring.
She wandered off the path toward a lone bench in an empty field. On that bench was a man in a woollen vest over a plaid button up shirt, with faded jeans and cedar wood loafers. He had sunglasses on, and a scarf that covered his chin. He looked familiar, though I could not place it. He probably just had a familiar face, they all do once faces start blurring together as everyone speaks one mind, when all they say is what they see, a whore, a vinx, a seductress.
I took a deep breath and shook out my hands, looking around me at the few odd glances I received. A short brown haired man winked at me, his girlfriend horrified as she pulled him away. A girl looked at me in confusion (oh she’s going to have a fun time questioning her orientation tonight). As with any place at any time, there were the stares and glares.
I was used to it, being an object that the human eye was constantly drawn to. And I wasn’t sure what was worse, the unwanted attention, or the scorn that came from it. Nevertheless I learnt to live with it, trying my best to ignore them. But I never could. You can only do so much to avoid the heated stares of everyone around you. One time quite literally when Isaac burned a hole in my shirt with the glare he sent me for making his boyfriend gawk. As if I had any control over it.
It was one thing to control how strong the attraction was to me and how much I wanted to make them perform my will, it was another matter to find the off-switch. I couldn’t just stop. It is literally in my genes. The worst part is that I cannot not see it myself. I look in the mirror and see the flaws that any other teenage girl would see – the stretch marks and flab and my overly-large forehead that I inherited from my mother.
But somehow I made people blind to those society-embellished blemishes and see some sort of underwear model. I wear grandma underwear, there’s nothing attractive about that.
So I take deep breaths to calm my shaking hands and rapid fire heart, and trudge through the glares and stares into the arms of the people who did not look, but saw me for who I was. At least, that is what I hope they did.
I watched as Isabela returned with a small package, about the size of a card.
“Hey, sorry.” She breathed as she tucked the box safely into her pocket. Hm.
“No worries.”
We stood there for a while, awkwardly, before Isabela asked, “Do you want to walk around?”
It was a lovely day, the wind was gentle and the sky was clear. The world had a slight yellow hue as the sun prepared to start it’s daily descent.
I shrugged, “Sure, why not?”
She smiled her usual smile and started walking down the path, her shoulders next to mine. I noticed she smiled a lot. Well, why wouldn’t you if you had her smile?
It was a smile that warms your heart, that tells you everything is going to be ok. It was a special smile, one that only a special person could produce, one that graced your soul with its kindness as its owner graced you with hers.
I looked at the path ahead of us, spotted with the occasional runner or cyclist. It was peaceful, untroubled, even the usual unwanted looks did not bother me as much.
Then she did something quite unexpected. She held my hand.
Her rough fingers found mine and intertwined them as we ventured on through the park. Thankfully she was too focussed on the path ahead to notice the slight blush that escaped to my cheeks.
I was not shy to physical displays of affection. I had kisses from people who I thought I was in love with, though with time I learnt it was an effect of my uniqueness, and what I thought were butterflies in my stomach was actually guilt for not feeling the same way, if there was any feeling to begin with.
My hands were not estranged from being held, Pam holds my hand all the time while we walk or chill or are generally in the same room. Then again, she holds everyone's hands.
But this felt more...comforting. It was as if she was my tether to the world while I was threatening to float away into fantasy. For all the insanity of this life she was, at that moment, the only thing that felt real, comprehensible. It was odd, this feeling. There were no butterflies or guilt in my stomach, but rather a light flutter in my chest as if I could suddenly feel the air I was breathing.
I looked at her angelic face and questioned everything I knew of affection. Here was this beautiful goddess who not only could kick my ass, but save it. Of all the things she could be doing with her life, she was here in this little park wasting her time holding my hand. What had I done to deserve this precious moment, one that I knew no matter how much I treasured, would disappear like water through my fingers.
And just as in my thoughts she let go, and I dropped my gaze as my heart did the same. I was mostly disappointed, but a tiny part of me had hope as I unconsciously began rubbing my fingers together.
"I want to show you something. How well can you climb?"
She led me to a large oak tree at the edge of the open field as she pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail. She grabbed one branch with her hand and swung her leg up onto another and began to climb. It was effortless, graceful even. Like an orangutan.
Alright, not the most flattering of metaphors but from the way she climbed it was as if she had been living in trees her whole life. She knew exactly where to place each limb, which branch to hold and which to avoid, like a puzzle master solving riddles one after another to finally reveal the big picture.
"Are you coming?"
Right. No more thinking about the wonderful woman in front of me who makes climbing a tree look like Swan Lake. Nope. Just climbing. Because my overprotective mother has totally let me climb a tree before.
In case you didn't get the sarcasm – no, I have not climbed a tree in the 17 years of my life. Am I a loser? Well you have read up until here, haven’t you?
It can't be that hard. Just one foot in front of the other, except that if I trip I take a nice long fall and crack my head open. Perfect.
"Do you need help?" She asked as she peered down from the branches above. How the hell did she get there so fast?
"NO! I mean, no I'm chill. I'm all good."
Smooth.
Nonetheless I started to climb and thankfully some rare bodily coordination came through and I reached Isabela with minimal scrapes.
"Took you long enough."
"Well not everyone is naturally gifted with the skills of a baboon."
"Did you just call me a monkey?"
"...Maybe."
"You little shit", she laughed.
I never noticed it before but she had two types of laughs. One was her normal gutsy laugh that was almost way too loud, but so contagious that you can’t help but laugh too.
The second type was the special one. It was rare to hear and you would be lucky if you heard it at all. It was light as air, like a butterfly fluttering its wings. It was a whisper that carried secrets of sweet promises, a breeze of melodic harmony that gently brushed you with starlight honey. It was a special laugh, one that made you feel like there was nothing more important in the world than hearing that laugh again.
"Well don't just look at me. You can do that any day. Look out there."
I could not help but let out a small gasp. It was a literal bird's eye view of the east end of the park. From this angle, the lake shimmered in the setting sunlight, trees dorning a faint gold glow that made everything seem almost magical. It was like everything was coated in a magic glitter that set the world aflame in a gentle light.
As I looked down I saw elderly couples strolling hand in hand, children zipping past them on scooters and bikes while some poor dog owner tried his best to keep his schnauzer from chasing after them. People living their life, ignorant to the troubles of the world, safely tucked away in the magic garden.
It was refreshing, to say the least, to be able to look at the world around me from a different angle. It was as if we were–
"Watchers. From up here we aren't part of the world, simply watching it go by."
I tore my eyes away from the sunset symphony and found myself face to face with the blonde haired beauty. Much like the rest of the park, she was soaked in the golden light of the setting sun. With the halo of her blonde hair, it looked as if she was literally glowing. The sheer simplicity of the beauty before my eyes was breathtaking. How did a simple free day lead to such a sight?
There was no special effort put in her looks, you could still see the shadows of mascara she slept with last night, and her hair was definitely not washed. But if anybody ever cared to know, she was the most beautiful thing in that park, no flower or glistening lake could compare.
"I always come up here to get away from it all. I guess you could say it's my secret hideout. Up here, you aren't part of the chaos, there's no such thing as responsibilities or consequences. You are just a spectator detached from it all. It's like Nick from The Great Gatsby."
"Never read it."
"It's pretty good.” She closed her eyes and smiled as she breathed in the cool autumn air. She never looked more stunning.
“Just being up here with music and a book – it's how I stay sane with all the...never mind."
A rush of emotions crossed her face – sorrow, anger, hatred, and finally peace. Her small smile returned to her face. I felt like she was hiding something, but who on this earth lives a secretless life? That was something for her to tell and myself to not expect from her. Though I could not help but wonder what was so terrible that could make her look so forlorn.
"Sometimes I wonder what it's like to be normal, you know? Without the Uniqueness.”
Her fingers curled in air quotations and I could not help but blush as the feeling of her hand in mine flashed through my mind.
“Imagine just waking up and not having to think about tempering your emotions or fearing that one day you might lose control and hurt someone.”
“Must be boring.”
She laughed her usual guffaw and I felt myself getting infected by her contagious mirth. We sat there in that tree, clutching our stomachs and trying not to fall off the branch that might have only been meant for a single person to be sat on.
The laughter died down but the smiles stayed on our faces and I felt a new kind of happiness, one that only Isabela Patterson could produce. It was peaceful joy, one of contentment and intimacy that somehow developed between us.
And as I lay in my dorm that night with the ghost of that smile still sewn on my face, I rubbed my fingers together, reminiscing the intimacy of her hands in mine and the peace she gave my raging soul. With that, I closed my eyes and had the most peaceful sleep I had in a long time.