The Pink Portrait, Ch. Three

Three

After I finish eating, I go outside and I know that Ales would be at the nearby swimming pool. Knowing that she would probably beg me to swim with her, I stop by Carlyle and check the trunk. Turns out my pool bag was in there after all. I grab the bag and sling it over my shoulder as I begin my walk towards the swimming pool.

I watch the lake go by as I walk. Boats ranging from small motorboats to tall sailboats crisscross the glassy water in inconsistent harmony that is as nerve-wracking as it is calming. I love living near the water. It isn’t like living near Lake Erie, or along the Atlantic coast, or even on the Mediterranean, that Ales and her parents took my mother and I for a two-month-long cruise a few weeks ago, but it somehow brought a certain peace that I found oddly enjoyable. I see the occupants of the boats and I take in their body language with meticulous care. Some look relaxed, others are laughing and shouting incoherent messages that spell out fun, happiness, and joy. The water is where memories happen and it is where I’ve watched the world for the past eighteen years.

I arrive at the swimming pool and I see that business has picked up since I drove by it nearly an hour ago. To my displeasure, I see that a number of the girls from the cheerleading squad are present as well.

As I enter the swimming area, a few girls stop in mid-conversation and glance at me. I smile politely in return. They giggle. I don’t consider myself awkward around girls, but I am not the best at starting a conversation either. I was having enough trouble keeping my eyes to theirs instead of their revealing swimwear. I daresay Ales could tell which of them were aiming to get a few gawks out of their swimsuits.

The guys are a very different story. Some ignore me. Others try to engage in small talk. Times like those, I have trouble responding. That particular struggle mostly came from being unable to relate to what they were speaking of.

Somehow I spot Pauline Marek before I find Ales. Before I was gawking at her beauty, now I am intrigued by what she was doing. Rather than playing water polo in the pool with the other teenagers, she is sitting at a lounge chair reading. It’s not a magazine she is reading, but rather a large book. I look closely at the title, even though I am on the opposite side of the pool, and I see The Lord of the Rings.

“Ciao, il migliore amico!” I jump and yelp as I turn and see Ales already in her black two-piece swimsuit.

“Dammit, Ales, what are you trying to do? Make me fall into the pool before I even change into my swimwear?” I gesture with the pool bag under the crook of my arm.

“Potrei buttare in piscina, se non si cambia presto,” she says raising an eyebrow coyly.

I glare. “You better not throw me into the pool,” I warn, tapping her nose playfully. “Plus we’re with your friends; don’t you think that you can stick to English?”

Ales scoffs, waving her hand dismissively. “How will they know who my best friend is if I am always speaking English when I am around you?” she counters.

I squint sideways at her. Eventually, I raise my eyebrows and cock my head thoughtfully. “Well, I can think of another way.”

“Cosa intendi?”

Instead of giving her the satisfaction of a verbal answer, I smile broadly, set down my pool bag, and scoop her off her feet.

“Che cosa? No, non avete il coraggio!” Her protests are cut off as I throw her into the pool, followed by a chorus of laughter. When her head emerges from the water, her expression is lethal which I return with an open-mouthed smile.

“I’ll see you in a couple minutes, migliore amico,” I say waving my fingers as I pick my pool bag up. Her angry Italian remarks are drowned out as I head over to the men’s restroom. As I go, I steal another glance at Pauline. My throwing Ales into the pool must have severed her gaze from her book. Her eyes find me and I am caught off-guard. Being an artist has taught me a thing or two about the way a person looks at you and this was not just a stare. I think she is actually seeing me. And not that stupid brooding, mysterious teenager stare; it was more of an “I see you” stare. Her brown eyes meet mine like an icy grip that is as rapturous as it is terrifying. That feeling, however, is cut short as the wall cuts off my view of her.

As I change into my swimsuit and apply sunscreen, many thoughts run through my mind. I can’t let myself fall for this girl. I’m in high school for heaven’s sake! I need to focus on getting decent grades and avoiding situations that might otherwise land me in trouble. High school romances are nothing but flings doomed to end either by unfaithfulness, end of high school, inability to resolve issues regarding everything from public display of affection to differences in personality, and finally, a profusion of hormones outweighing chemistry and feelings.

I return outside and I see that Pauline has returned to her book. I also see Nigel Payson approach her and snatch her book away from her, to which she protests. I can’t hear over all the cacophony, but I can tell that they are arguing. I even see Nigel threaten to toss the book into the pool.

I want to storm over there and teach the punk a lesson, but I look away callously and claim an empty lounge chair next to one with Ales’ towel on it. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ales rise out of the pool and walk over to me. She places her hands on her hips and stares down at me with an aggravated look. I say nothing.

“You’re gripping your paintbrush really hard,” she says finally.

I glance down at my hand and gaze at the old paintbrush thoughtfully. I have had that paintbrush for years. I have never used it, but I was always twiddling it in my fingers either to keep my hand busy or when I was lost in thought. I have even used it as a weapon once, which I do not like to think about. That was what earned me the nickname, “Paintbrush”. I loosen my grip on it and stare off into space.

“What has you so tense?” asks Ales, sitting down on the lounge next to me.

“Pauline’s eyes terrify me.”

“Terrify you?”

“They feel like an iceberg against bareness of my skin.”

“That could just be attraction, Kieran,” Ales points out.

“That’s the problem,” I snap.

“You need to let go of the past, amico,” I inhale as Ales places a comforting, but wet hand on my bare shoulder.

I decide to shift gears before the atmosphere turns disconsolate. “So how come I don’t recognize her? How come I’ve never seen her before?”

“She moved in last year,” Ales answers. “She is a skilled gymnast, multi-instrumentalist, bookish as you can see, and very, very reticent.”

“Is there anything that didn’t happen last year?” I wonder aloud.

“Sì, naturalmente.”

“Like what?”

“Non ho speso del tempo con il mio migliore amico perché era seimiladuecento chilometri di distanza appeso con i Vichinghi!” Ales pulls closer to her wraps her arms around me in a loving embrace.

I grip her wrists affectionately. “Mi dispiace, honey.” I raise an eyebrow questioningly as I twist around in her arms to face her. “Oh, and you’d be surprised by how keen some of those people were on tracing their genealogy all the way back to the Vikings. I daresay they were more dedicated than the Daughters of the American Revolution considering that they have way more generations to cover. Oh, and I thought I was doing a decent job of making up for our time apart.”

“What, you think going on a two-month long cruise through the Mediterranean was enough to ameliorate an entire school year where our only method of communication was hour-long Skype conversations?” Ales’ eyebrows come together in an angry frown.

I gape, hurt. “I thought I was doing a rather outstanding job making up for our time apart.” I smile deviously. “Shall I toss your pom-pom-brandishing ass into the pool again?”

There is so much fire in my Italian-American best friend’s eyes that I might run for my life was I another person. Then she breaks into a devious grin of her own, probably finding a sense of magnanimity, as she leans in to whisper in my ear. “Only if your paintbrush-brandishing culo follows.”

I’m left there staring as she gets up and dives into the pool. What the hell, I think. I take off my glasses and follow in after her. The cool water engulfs me like a gentle caress as I slowly skewer my way towards the surface. No sooner that my head emerges do I feel a bombardment of splashes descending upon my face like London being bombed all over again. I turn my face away as I send splashes of my own in the direction that I feel them. I take my best friend’s yelps as a sign that I am hitting my intended target. I submerge and plant my head between Ales’ legs and rise out of the water with her on my shoulders. She laughs and yelps as toss her in a direction where she wouldn’t hit anyone. When her face appears from the water, she shakes her head while trying without success to suppress her laughs. The reaction of the people around us is mixed—some, mostly the guys, steer clear of our silly water dual while others, mostly the girls take sides and it turns into one large battle of Team Kieran (or Paintbrush) versus Team Ales. The lifeguards, I guess they were just enjoying the show while making sure that everyone was being safe.

Eventually—I don’t even know how long we were all splashing each other to death—someone throws up a white flag. Well, a white bra anyway. After shouting at the girl to put her bra back on, Ales and I swim over to the middle of the pool and shake hands. Before we turn away from each other, she slaps me in the face and I flick her in the nose with a “Doyng” sound effect. We laugh and share a meaningful hug.

As we leave the pool everyone returns to their own water sports. We simultaneously groan in exhaustion as we sink into our respective lounge chairs.

“So, how do you feel about helping me set up for a party at my house this evening?” asks Ales after a few minutes.

“I feel that teenage parties are playground for condoms, beer kegs, awful music, and overall perfidy,” I state explicitly. “However, I can’t change the hormonal behaviors of the commonplace adolescent so I would be overjoyed to help my migliore amico set up for an end-of-summer party…after I’ve cleansed myself of this chlorine stench and napped.”

“How does a girl who maintains a dual-citizenship end up being friends with a guy as verbose as you?”

“How does a guy who most consider to be an abstruse person end up being best friends with a head cheerleader?” I counter.

“We were best friends before I even involved myself in that stupid cliché of clique,” she reminds me. “As I have told every cheerleader and jock that have approached me with a similar question, I will tell you that they can suck it up or go to hell with their inability towards someone breaking the social barriers of high school.”

“You make us sound like a living, breathing example of The Breakfast Club,” I joke.

“Sometimes I believe we are.”

“I’m sure that would make John Hughes very happy, God rest his soul.” I stretch, feeling some of the dryness of my skin crack as I do. I always hated how chlorine did that to my skin, and how I always seemed to forget to put a bottle of Vaseline in my pool bag. “Unless you want to find yourself another ride, I’m ready to go.”

I think Ales takes the silent message for what it is that it is time for me to tear myself away from this wildness as she gets up and heads over to the women’s locker room. I head over to the men’s locker room respectively and I step into one of the shower stalls. After rinsing all that chlorine from my body, I put my clothes back on and return outside. I catch myself scanning the area. I don’t even realize what I am looking for until my eyes land on Pauline. I don’t find her in that lounge chair with a book in her hands; I find her in one of the swimming lanes.

What impresses me is her swimsuit. It is a one-piece swimsuit and it is blue. Why did it have to be blue? And not just any blue; it is a deep shade of blue and as she rounds about to do a backstroke, a graphic streak of a much lighter blue starting from her hip and ending just above her breast on the opposite side is revealed. I avert my gaze, ashamed.

I leave the swimming pool area, quietly. I see Ales beat me to Carlyle, which is still parked in front of her mother’s restaurant. I get into the car without even saying a word to her. She follows suit.

“Qual è il problema?” she asks after a while.

The question catches me off-guard. “Nothing,” I answer almost too quickly.

“Kieran, sta in realtà cercando di mentire a me?” by her tone, I can tell that she already knows the answer.

“No, I am simply withholding the truth from you,” I answer stubbornly.

“Questo è mentire, genio.”

“It’s nice to know that you think I am a genius.”

Ales grumbles. “Look, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but be truthful; you and I have come way too far to be doing that to each other.”

A few minutes go by where neither of us say anything, finally I exhale. “I just feel that I might be running the possibility of finding a certain girl to be extremely attractive.”

My best friend lets out a happy squeal that make me cringe. I think she sees my expression as her excitement soon dies down. She puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Oh, amore, non è niente di cui vergognarsi.”

“I’m well aware of that,” I say, but I know that my tone does not hide my shame. “I’m just—I’m just not ready.”

“Raramente siamo.”

“Isn’t that a fact?” I think I sound a little more impertinent than I mean to, but Ales doesn’t seem to take offense. Her comforting hand slithers across my shoulders and turns into an affectionate hug as she rests her head on my shoulder. I catch a whiff of her beautiful red hair that still smells a little like chlorine mixed with a more prevalent TRESemmé shampoo and conditioner.

“If you don’t want to come to the party tonight, I won’t make you,” she says, tacitly giving me the “go” sign for letting me have my alone time for the evening.

I take one of my hands off the wheel to return her hug. “I told you I’d come and help you with the party so that’s what I am going to do.”

Instead of letting out any vivacious outburst of excitement, she just holds me tighter lets the silent affection engulf us both. She knows that I dislike parties and, up until now she has never gone to any length to talk me into attending one. It is the summer before our last year of high school and, I guess I feel that I could do with helping her finish this summer off with bang.

Let’s see how this turns out.