Art Is This

Written for my Writer's Craft summative, it's a cute little story for a pick me up.

Art Is This

 

Diana

 

One key, two keys, white, black, and new keys- I find in times of trouble that by reciting my own versions of Dr. Seuss, I can usually calm myself down. Usually. Today is not usually. In fact, today is so much unlike usually that I’m going to have to hire a therapist just to get me past the memory of this horrible, horrible day.

            And will you succeed? Yes indeed, yes indeed! Ninety-eight and three-quarters percent guarantee. Oh, who am I kidding, this is going absolutely wretchedly! I’m going to totally mess up, or fall off the bench, or even do something really embarrassing, like sneeze-fart. Right in the middle of my audition.

            You’ve got music in your soul. You’ve got a small, hidden mole. And this is where I run out of ‘ole’s’. Because finally- FINALLY- I’m done. I am done my pieces, I am done my audition, and now I have probably ruined my life. Probably. If it went well, that’s only because everyone else simultaneously messed up, fell and sneeze-farted during their auditions.

            I feel sorry for those poor people.

            Now, however, I’m going to run off of stage, hurl myself to the bus stop and hyperventilate all the way home.

            Following my own advice, I quickly exit the stage and take my leave of the University of Toronto. That was possibly the scariest audition of my life, and if I make it into the program I’m sure it will be a miracle of monumental proportions. Of course, if I don’t, that means I’ll just have to go to somewhere else… Like Western, or Laurier. Ugh- as if they could match the grandeur, or the culture, or the job opportunities of Toronto. But, I have to have a back-up plan.

            Ladies and gentlemen, Diana has left the building! And I am now on my way to the grungy bus stop with a sketchy looking guy waiting at it. Not to mention its pouring rain outside and I don’t have an umbrella, meaning I’m going to be sitting in a puddle of my own drippings for the hour-and-a-half long ride to my house in the middle of nowhere.

            Upon further inspection (AKA darting my eyes cautiously sideways every other second to make sure that the man at the bus stop won’t mug me) I discover that the guy is actually a senior at my school- he’s taking a fifth year. I don’t know why, though. Nobody at my school ever takes a fifth year. This means he’s a total loner, and I’m doing my best to avoid taking to him.

            Not like I’d even be able to get a word in, since his ‘music’ is turned up full blast and I can hear the vulgar language from where I am a metre away. Clearly he doesn’t know what real music is. I roll my eyes and scoff, as I usually do- it’s a habit that’s very hard to break.

            “I heard that,” he says. I don’t know his name. I never bothered to learn it- and why should I? I just ignore his comment, but he continues, “Do you have a problem with my music?”

            It literally takes all of my inner strength not to smack him. Again, that is not music. Music is an art form. Clearly rap (in other words, crap) is not an art form, “That is not music,” I sniff, rather haughtily, to end the conversation.

            “It is, actually. It’s art,” he shrugs. I shake my head in clear discontent. He takes his headphones off and turns off his iPod, “Then what is? You seem to know all about it. Why can’t I listen to this and call it music or art?”

            “Because you just can’t!” I yell, “It’s terrible, and offensive, and downright stupid. How much skill does it take to speak on a track? None. How much skill does it take to put a drum beat behind it? None,” I twist away and cross my arms over my chest, as if that’ll help my situation, “Real music- real art…” I try to grasp the words but nothing comes to mind. How do you describe art to an infant? Because that’s basically the situation I’m in.

            “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he looks away and points, “The bus is here,” he turns to me, for the first time, and I lock eyes with him. I’m actually thrown back- they’re so dark, almost black. It completes his harsh look- rain soaked hair, a dark, wet shirt that clings to his frame, and rough jeans, “You coming?”

            Suddenly I’m feeling smaller than a Who, and I immediately say, “No, I’m waiting for someone,” which I can tell he knows is a lie.

            “Well,” he blinks and looks back to the bus, “Have fun out here. Waiting,”

            It’s only after the bus pulls away that I realize I still don’t know his name.

 

Damien

 

            I’ve been scheduled for a call-back. At least something isn’t sending me down the same path as the rest of my family- drop outs, O.D.ers, teenage mothers- oh, we’ve had it all. My mom could care less, and my siblings could care less. I, however, care a little bit more. I want to be able to provide for myself- and other people- in the future.

            You’d never know this by looking at me. I know what people think of me. None of it is good. And the things that they see, they aren’t me. They all think I could care less, I dress like I don’t give a damn, and I have no plan for my life. (I’m taking a fifth year- nobody does that here- it automatically labels me.)         

            But the truth is that I’m carefree not careless. I dress because I give a damn about overpriced crap from brand name stores. And, I have a plan for my life that nobody could imagine. I want to go to school for music. Singing, actually.       

I couldn’t tell you if I’m any good. Apparently the U of T liked me enough to invite me to a call back. Unfortunately, this call back is only for vocalists and pianists. And they’re throwing in a curve ball. We got partnered into a duet. And, lucky me, I’m stuck with Bus Stop Girl.

            Of course, neither of us knows this until the day that I arrive, 2 minutes late, to the lone practice room of our school. It’s about the size of a cardboard box. You can imagine the crinkle of tension that pounded in my head. Now she’d know. Not only that, but now she’d probably tell other people, and they’d know. I would be the laughing stock of the entire school.

            “Wait, you’re my partner? You’re Damien?” she asks, and I think her eyes are about to fall out of her head.

            I must give her a ‘No duh’ look, because she turns the colour of a beet and swivels to the piano. She puts her hands over the keys and says, “I’ve been practicing forever- how about you?”

            I’ve only looked at the part once. I don’t tell her that, though, so I just bristle on the outside and speak slowly, “Let’s just start, okay? We’ve only got an hour before the music teacher will kick us out,”

            She rolls her eyes clearly, obviously pissed off, and continues to talk, “Do you need the first note?”

            “No. I have perfect pitch,” I say.

            Now this girl laughs at me. It’s one thing to blatantly roll your eyes, or tell me my music is bad, but laughing? Really? She obviously has no idea what she’s gotten into now, “What is so funny?” I wait as patiently as I can until she calms down a little and the only thing left is a little smile.

            “You would have perfect pitch. I’m screwed. I am never going to get into the U of T with you as my competition. I’m probably just going to make your audition worse. I may as well not even be here,” she sighs and shakes her head, a couple of hair strands fall out of her perfectly kept up-do.

            She’s really annoying when she gets talking like that. This girl probably has more talent and practice than anyone in the school, and yet she’s sitting here being a pessimist. It’s insane, “Do you honestly believe that?” I don’t let her finish, “Because you have to be pretty good to get a call-back to one of the best music faculties in Ontario,”

            Apparently she doesn’t feel like responding and instead just turns to the piano and begins to play the piece. Except she’s not into it. She’s hitting everything right, playing all the notes and rhythms and crescendos and decrescendos, but there is clearly something missing. I know that this little something is what’s delaying her from being shot straight into university.

            When we finish, an hour later, I’m tired. My voice is sore, and this girl keeps massaging her knuckles, so I know she went all out, too. We sounded pretty good, and now we’re leaving the school when she starts to cry. I did not sign up for this, “What is your problem?” I have never been good with tears.

            “Whatever. Never mind,”

            I think I can go home, until she contradicts herself, “It’s just that you’re so good. You shouldn’t be that good. You don’t even seem to care, and yet you’ve got this immense talent that I can never match!” she sniffles once and then says something I never thought I’d hear from her, “Can you help me?”

            Great. This is just great. Now, not only will I have to spend time with her for my own sake, but for hers. I can’t just say no, though. As much as it pains me to agree, I give in. And once I say yes, her whole face lights up. This girl is a roller coaster and I do not like it one bit. She says thanks and bye and then turns to head to the nice part of town, where she’ll probably practice a thousand times and forget all about my perfect pitch and singing. But it’s when she stops and turns back- the sunlight illuminating her face just right- and yells, “My name’s Diana, by the way,” that I realize I’m never going to forget her, because my dad killed her brother.

 

Diana

 

            Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not. I know that the wise words of Dr. Seuss should be comforting, but they just don’t seem to have the same effect. For instance, could he explain why in the world I went out on a crazy-whim and asked Damien for help?

            I didn’t think so.        

            But now the fact is I’m stuck between a rocker and a hard place. Sure, Damien’s a good singer, but he’s… Damien. (In case your English teacher didn’t tell you, that particular baby name means ‘Devil’. Do you see my problem?)

            I said what I meant and I meant what I said. I suppose this is true. I do need help. And we have to practice again at some point, right? Right. (That’s what I’ll keep telling myself, at least.)

Damien

 

            She’s got no clue. She’s perfectly oblivious that I’m my father’s son. We met again, back in that stupid practice room with the out of tune piano, and she doesn’t say anything. I wonder if I should bring it up. Give her fair warning before it all blows up on me. Or maybe not. Maybe I’ll just leave it be. Maybe Diana didn’t even like her brother…

            Oh, who am I kidding? This girl and her family probably ate every meal together. They probably talked all the time about how great their days were at their big, mahogany dinner table with silver cutlery that all matched.

 

Diana

 

            I couldn’t tell you what, but something’s up with Damien. He’s quiet- okay, more quiet than he usually is. I can’t figure it out. Maybe he’s just having a bad day. I heard that his family wasn’t the best one around, if you know what I mean...

            Not that I’d let something like what his family’s like change my opinion about him. (Which, after that rap music, is not very high.) Because I know that some people might get the wrong impression about me from what my brother was. A partier. A drinker.

            Well, now he’s dead, isn’t he? He was hit by another moron speeding down the highway. My brother, Ty, wasn’t even supposed to be driving anywhere that night. He was grounded, almost indefinitely. You see, Ty was a good football player. Just not a very good student. So, his average slipped, his game went up. He had a scholarship all lined up- provided his average went from a 70% to a 75%. So, my parents, when I was just ten years old, grounded my 18 year old brother. Ty had just come home from winning the final between our school and another county high school, and he was going to go out and party. Until my parents grounded him.

            So, since he couldn’t technically go out the front door, he turned to me, that starry night, and said “Tyke, don’t tell anyone, okay?” as he ruffled my hair and opened his window, before disappearing into the dark.

            I didn’t know.

            I didn’t know that he’d go to the party, get drunk, and come back. Technically it was the other driver who hit him. Technically, Ty wasn’t at any fault. But still- he died. He could’ve killed someone. And that’s the guilt I have to live with. Knowing I could have stopped all that, by just disobeying my brother.

            But I didn’t.

 

Damien

 

            I can’t just not tell her- right?

            How much of a jerk do you have to be to not just tell someone that your dad killed their brother?

            It was a while ago. But still. I have to tell her.

            I guess I’ll do it later.

 

Diana

 

            Putting my past behind me, I go to school again. Today’s a little different. I just don’t know it yet.         

            My first class is music. Usually, the instrumentalists sit in one room, and the vocalists are down the hall a bit. Not today. Apparently termites have been eating apart the old-school risers for gosh-knows-how-long and the vocalists now have nowhere to go. Of course, I was a little surprised to see Damien in the vocal class. I thought he’d be too cool to actually show his skills in front of other people.

            “Damien?” I see his dark blonde hair turn in the direction of my voice, and for a second I think I see a smile. (I could be imagining things... Damien? Smile?)

            “Diana?” he slowly walks up to me, “Sorry to crash your party here...”

            I’m about to respond, but then my teacher interrupts, “Okay, both of the classes, we’ve got a bit of a change here. Obviously we can’t just have one class at a time, so we’ll combine them. Open mike, let’s hear what you’ve all been working on, if you wouldn’t mind,”

            “Crap,” Damien scowls, “I hate this,”

            “Damien,” his dark eyes look at me, “It’s not the end of the world. We should do our audition,”

            “No,” he whispers, as someone else from his vocal class starts on something I’ve never heard before, “We are not doing that,”

            “What’s your problem?” I say, lightly, “Do I sound that bad?”

            He shakes his head, and almost laughs. He nudges me with his shoulder, “Nah, you know what I meant,”

            I pause for just one second before replying back, “Nope. No clue,” and I stand up, “We’d like to go next!”

Damien

 

            At this point, I’m pretty sure I want to become part of the room, like the sailors in Pirates of the Caribbean. Everyone is staring. I mean staring. I think one girl is going to start drooling before she snaps her jaw back up, “Are you crazy?” I say, covered by the extraordinary amount of chatter now going on (all about me, I can tell).

            “No, but I’m going to look crazy if you don’t get up, so come on!” Diana leans over and grabs my hand.

            Wow, she’s got soft hands.

            Then, just as quickly, she lets go and I realize I’m now on my feet, standing by her at the piano. Come off it.

            The rooms silent again, and Diana, clever as ever, remembers that I do not need the starting note, and begins to play our piece, by memory. She plays the intro twice, after I chicken out the first time, and I finally come in.

            It definitely was not my best. Or hers, since she’s going sans music. Still, by the end, everyone’s just staring at us. We couldn’t have been that bad. Right?

 

            “Thanks, we’re done now,” Diana pipes up, and the room starts that slow clapping thing. They all look ridiculous, “Mrs. Michaels, can we go practice that some more?” Diana smiles at her teacher.

            “Sure Diana...” Mrs. Michaels has a very odd look on her face, as though she’s forgotten what comes next.

            “Okay, thanks!” she hops off the bench and then grabs my hand again, leading me, out to where the practice room should be. But, again, she lets go. At least this time I’ve managed to keep my senses up.

            She narrows her eyes, “Was that so bad?” She doesn’t let me reply, and instead begins to leave the music hall.

            “What? Where are you going?” I call after her, running to catch up.

            “We’re skipping. Shhh, don’t tell. My parents would disown me,” she laughs at what I think is my stricken look then runs out the side door into the sunshine.

 

Diana

 

            I know Damien’s probably embarrassed right now, which is why I had to get him out of the school. He tends to get angry when he’s embarrassed. My first skip ever should shock him out of it, I think. Plus, I was pretty nervous myself, so I’m on this life high that really can’t be described. My parents can ground me later. For now, we’re going to the city bus.

Damien

 

            “Diana,” I call out, as she walks out down the street, “Diana!”

            “What?” she laughs and turns around, finally stopping. She waits patiently as I catch up, again.

            “Your books? Your locker? It’s the last Friday before March break. Don’t you want them?” She looks at me like I’m insane, then shrugs and begins to walk away again.

 

Diana

 

            Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened. This is the first thing I’ve ever really done that’s not Diana-like. Unless you count pouring into an entire tub of ice cream after a bad breakup. I try not to. And yet, here I am, doing this, and Damien’s asking if I want to go back? This might be the only chance I ever get to do something drastic, and he’s trying to ruin my moment, “Damien, you need to take a chill pill. We’re going to go to the bus and the-,”  

            “Diana, if you’re going to cut class,” he replies, stopping again (seriously, what is with this mood killer?), “At least let me have the honour of driving,”

            Heck. Yes, “You should’ve said that earlier,”

 

Damien

            My car’s not exactly new, not exactly a beater. Just a car, really, nothing special. But Diana’s having a freaking meltdown over this, “I’ve never been driven by anyone my own age before,”

            “I’m not your own age,” I tease, walking around to the passenger side door and opening it for her.

            She shakes her head and laughs, “Whatever, you know what I mean,” I go around the front of the car and slide into my seat, turning on the ignition in one swift motion. I really have no idea where we’re going, so I just start driving aimlessly around the neighbourhood by the school. The radio’s off, and I turn the heat on a little- even though the snow’s gone, the brisk air slipped into my car. Neither of us have coats, and I’ve just got a t-shirt.

            “I don’t want to be a bad influence on you,” I joke. 

            “Trust me,” she says, a little more serious than before, “If anything, my brother was the bad influence, and I’m completely fine still. I know better,” a silence fills the car, though she probably doesn’t notice, I do. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know. She has no idea.

            “Oh,” I say, just to fill the gap a little, “Well then,”

            “Ty was an idiot,” Diana sighs, “And even though I miss him every day, it still doesn’t make up for the fact that he was just as drunk as that other driver,” she pauses, then looks at me, “Did you hear the story about him? I know it was a while ago- eight years- but it was a big thing for this small town,”

            I’m shocked. Her brother was drunk too? “Yeah, I definitely know what it was,” I just pause before asking, “Where are we going?”

            “My house,” she says, “You can sit in the chairs and later it’ll be funny when I see my perfect parents walk around, completely unaware. Little things like that make my days a bit easier,”

            I know where her house is. It was in the police reports, the news reports- it was hard to avoid seeing it everywhere, since my dad was the one who did the deed. I ask anyways, “Where is it?”

            “You know the little ice cream shop down by the park?” she holds up her hand to block the sun.

            “Yep. Definitely,”

            “I’ll let you know from there,” she smiles.

 

Diana

 

            If you never did you should. These things are fun and fun is good. My parents work full hours, and they won’t be home for a while. I grab juice, an orange for me, and an apple for Damien, and I show him to the sun room at the back of my house. There’s a little view of my fish pond, which has only about 5 fish in it since I’m terrible with animals, “He used to love fish. Ty, I mean. He’d get gold fish every March. After he died, my family stopped buying them. I finally decided this year to either get fish, or fill in the pond. The fish seemed like a better option,” I hear Damien crunch his apple, “I personally hate red delicious apples. My mom’s crazy for them, though, so I don’t complain,”

            “I like them,” Damien says, between more crunches, “I just prefer golden delicious,”

            “You’re kidding!” I say, turning around in my armchair, “Same!”

            He glances at me, “I think we have more in common than either of us originally thought,” For some reason, I get the feeling he isn’t talking about apples anymore, “Diana, I really have to tell you something,” he shifts and obviously forces himself to face me, “My dad-,”

            The front door opens and we both widen our eyes and sit completely still. There’s nowhere for him to go, since the back door is locked, and the only way to get out now is through the doorframe, right into whichever one of my parents just walked in. Judging by the footsteps, it’s my dad. Also judging by the footsteps, he’s getting extremely close. We have two options- wait for him to catch us both... or...

            “Dad?” I jump up and stand in the doorway to the sunroom, so he can’t get through, “What are you doing home?”

            My dad looks shocked that I’m not at school, “I just forgot my Blackberry, and I need it- why are you home?”

            “Didn’t mom tell you?” I play innocent, still right in the middle of the doorframe. Damien’s sitting in the armchair to my left, so far he’s hidden from view, “I had, um...” Think, think, think, “Lady problems. Yep, this morning. I couldn’t go to school,”

            My dad blinks a few times, “Oh,” he clears his throat, “Well then, I’ll just see you later then,” he turns around abruptly and heads for the door, giving me time to shoot into the sunroom, grab his Blackberry, and rush to give it to him before he can change his mind.

            “Don’t forget this!” I smile, handing it to him as he stumbles out the door, “Bye Dad, see you later,” he gets into his car and I close the front door. I turn around and I see Damien standing in the doorway of the sun room, trying not to laugh. I’m pretty sure I’m bright red, but I can’t help it. This is just too funny for words.

            “Oh, my gosh,” he starts and walks towards me, “That was just...” his eyes are finally smiling, “Too good,”

            “I know,” I say, and then we’re both laughing like fools. Today was good. Today was fun. Tomorrow is another one.

Damien

 

            I’m petty sure that I’ve done the stupidest thing a person could do. It was an accident. I really didn’t even realize that it was happening until it hit me.

            I’ve had girlfriends before. None of them were quite like Diana. None of them were so determined. None of them cared. None of them had any ambition. Also, none of them made me feel so unsure of myself. If I did something wrong, I wouldn’t care. I do now. And I’m not even with Diana, but I feel like I have to prove myself to her. I feel like she wants me to succeed, and that makes me want to work harder.

            The sure-fire trigger that I had- when I knew I was into her- I’ve been doing my math homework every day since she asked me to. No one’s ever done that before. (And, the second sign that my life was changing, my math mark actually went above a 70% for the first time…)

Diana

 

            Is it wrong that I like his eyes? They’ve seen a lot, in his life. And now they’ve seen me, and whether that means something or not… well, I hope I can find out that answer soon.

Damien

 

            I tried to tell her. Honestly, I was about to tell her. I wish I could’ve. Now I’ve dug myself a hole I can’t get out of. Once again, I’m a failure.

 

Diana

            Our call back is in three days. I don’t know how I’m taking it, right now. Even Dr. Seuss can’t help me in this state. Half the time I’m nervous, the other half I’m raring to go. Damien seems... different. I’m sure it’s just the anxiety of the call backs. He shouldn’t be nervous. (That’s what I keep telling him, hoping that I can eventually convince myself of it.) We’re the last pairing to go. I don’t know what that means for us. I’m hoping that there’s still a few number of spots left so that way we have a bigger chance of acceptance.

Damien

 

            You tell me how to do this. I see her every day now. I have to live with the guilt every day. I know what she doesn’t. And now I’ve left it too long. It’s enough to make me go crazy. It’s enough to make me want to leave her alone. To leave this sorry excuse for a town and just make a decent life for myself somewhere else, where I never have to see her again. Where there isn’t a mention of her brother, or of how her social life is going down the drain. It’s all because of me, I know. People have told me. She keeps hanging around with me. The rumours are going around. But how do I stop them? Not talk to her? Ignore her? Ditch the audition? Ruin my dreams? Ruin hers?

 

Diana

 

            I can feel something changing. I couldn’t tell you if it’s for good or bad. What I can tell you is that the change comes whenever I see him.

 

Damien

 

            I haven’t told her. We’re literally sitting in front of these three music professionals in Toronto. I can do this, but I can’t tell her.

 

Diana

 

            We’re done. The man across from me is clearing his throat. I put my hands down to stop shaking at the keys.

 

Damien

 

            I’ve got to tell her. I will. I’ll tell her today. Right after this.

 

Diana

            “I’m sorry, but you did not make it through the call back,” he says.

            I think I’m going to cry.

 

Damien

 

            Shoot. She’s going to cry. I can tell. She doesn’t even move from the piano bench. It’s like she’s waiting for them to all smile and say ‘Surprise! We’re kidding!” But they aren’t going to. They’re sitting there, too. Staring. Diana’s staring at the grand piano. They’re staring at her. I’m not sure where to look. Until I see her shaking hand. Time to man up.

Diana

 

            I feel like my world just caved in on me. There’s nothing I can do to change this. We didn’t make the cut. I didn’t make it. What if I let Damien down? What if he hates me now?

            Suddenly, those thoughts are torn away with a simple whisper of fingertips against the back of my palm. I look up and Damien’s there, beside me, shielding me from the big music professionals. His hand’s palm up, in an unspoken question. I suppose my reaction could be called the answer. I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.

 

Damien

 

            She lightly takes hold of me, as though she’s not entirely certain of herself. I don’t blame her. I know Toronto was her dream school. I know a lot about her now, I think. She knows a lot about me. Probably more than anyone else.

 

Diana

 

            Anyone can give up; it’s the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that’s true strength. I wait until we’re off the stage before I start rambling, “Talk to me,” I say, “Anything will do,” I say, “Anything to help me not think about that,”

 

 

Damien

 

            Of course, this overwhelming sense idiocy decides to overcome me at that instant, because I’m pretty sure I blurt out something along the lines of, “My dad killed your brother,”

 

Diana

            I smile. The poor guy, that’s what he’s been worried about. Not the audition. He was worried I’d be mad, “Damien,” I stop him once we’ve stepped outside. It’s sunny, I note. I get such a different view of him. He’s changed. It’s only been a month. But look at that. He’s not so dismal. He’s smiling now. He’s changed so much. Every time we’re together, he does something just to make me happy. He listened to Beethoven for me. He went to a movie with me after my friends decided I was no longer good enough. He ate my mother’s disgusting apples. He’s different from the dark boy I saw that first day we locked eyes. Everything’s changed. I’ve changed. Today You are You. That is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer that You.

 

Damien

 

            And then she stops me and a look passes over her face and she’s smiling. Smiling. I’m wondering what the hell is wrong with a girl who gets pleasure out of a fact like that, until she speaks again, “I already knew that,”

            Well, damn.

 

Diana

 

            Reality is finally better than my dreams. “I’ve known since the first day in the practice room, you know,” she just looks at me, “Why do you think I was so... bristly that day?”

            He scoffs, “I thought you hated me,” Damien still looks puzzled, “Are you going to explain? Even a little?”

 

Damien

 

            She opens her mouth to say something, but then she gets a text from her dad. She reads it and laughs. Again, what’s with the laughter? “You’ll never believe it,” she says, “My dad said he couldn’t help it. Apparently they opened my Laurier letter. I’ve been accepted,”

            My jaw drops, “Seriously?”

            “No I’m lying,” she teases, “Of course I’m serious,”

            “Diana, if you’re lying...”

            She huffs, “Why are you being so obtuse?”

            “Diana,” I say, “I just got my letter this morning,” I watch as this realization comes over her.

            “Oh my God,” she laughs, “Me and you, we’ve got a few more things in common than we thought,” she winks. After that, I couldn’t really tell you if it was me or her that moved in for the kiss.

 

...

 

After that whole audition, I realized something. No matter how much time you spend, or how much effort you put into something, sometimes things just aren't meant to be.

            But sometimes- just sometimes- that's all right. Because, for now anyways, I'll be fine. Diana will be too. And even though I don't know where I'll be going from here, or if things between me and Diana will escalate, I know one thing for sure. I've done this.

            I've learned, too. I can't keep to myself all the time. I thought I was protecting my family and myself from my dad's stupid mistakes, but really I was just hurting myself. I am not who my dad was. I'm my own person.

            Thinking back to that first day, when Diana crept up to me at the bus stop outside of Toronto, I didn't know that the shy girl would turn out to be such a great person. I didn't know that she'd answer my question "What is art?", without even realizing it.

            I'll tell you what it is. Art is the melody of two people's voices, the joining of both of their stories, and the snapshots of moments together that make the big things- like being rejected from Toronto- seem unimportant. Art is this.

 

 

Diana

 

            I suppose I could tell you all about what happened next. What happened at Laurier. What happened with me and Damien. What happened when my parents and friends found out. However, Dr. Seuss does it pretty well, if I do say so myself. We are all a little weird and life’s a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love.

Author's Note

I believe I use the name Damien in some other stuff that I might post later. I just like the name. :)
Oh, and yes, those are all Dr. Seuss quotes- except for the beginning where 'Diana' changes them to fit her situation.
Couldn't have done it without a genius man like Dr. Seuss. Inspiration for this story lies with him.