Short Stories

Short stories

The closest I ever got to being Shakespeare was when I was in high school. I never liked school very much and I always thought there was something seriously wrong with it; it was the kind that would make life in a monastery bearable for most of us.

I had no girlfriend. Frankly I did not think I stood a chance. I was only comforted because I knew I was not the only one. You see, I had many ‘girlfriends’, just none that would be my mate. I had not romantic expectations whatsoever but something made me stand out. I possessed a skill that left most of the mannish trembling, − I was a romantic. And embarrassing as this may be to me I was hit on by one of them.

You must know that I was at an all-boys junior high school so I did not see much of girls. To tell you more about this would be a story on its own. Despite this I had ideas. Ideas I want to tell you about. High school was a lot different. There were girls. Very few girls. Sometimes I believed I had a Midas touch but I was too afraid to become another drab or womanish frill so I abstained from many of my desires, ideas and schemes. My only outlet was poetry. I must tell you that I engaged in the one I resented but the irony was that many people adored it. I will never understand why. Darn Cupid. People cannot see.

I started to write poems for everyone. Sometimes anonymously, sometimes to girls and most of the time I wrote for guys that wanted something nice for their girlfriend’s birthday, anniversary, valentine’s day, and those with wild expectations. It was charity work for me because I could not price my work… Now I have decided to write a short story about it.

The first time I did it was Valentine’s Day in my tenth grade. I still cannot believe how emotionless I had been through it all, and the days that followed. I was stunned by those who rejoiced in things I did not feel. But I rejoiced with them. That was ironic on my part. I was such a stoic.

The case I want to tell you about is different. In the story I appear to be Shakespeare but I am more than just a writer of stories. I am a watching eye. A watching eye watching me. I hope you understand that this never happened. I was not even there. It was not me or anything like me. But you should hear it anyway.

We liked to use little codes back then. I was called Sunburst and I loved it. All these things had some meaning to us.

Buttercup for Orion

It did not rain much that year. Something about a drought in this part of the world. I was lazy and bored most of the time. We were in school for just a month and I had made new friends. I remember watching Buttercup walk in the summer sun. She was so focused I never understood why. I remember first seeing her walk in a dreamy drizzle. Something I envied but could not bring myself to do. It was a high school thing I later came to understand.

Buttercup liked to walk back to the classrooms at specific times; after class and immediately before lunch when everyone was away. I watched her pace stately along Blue lane always facing down when she reached Martin square. I wondered if she sensed my gaze when she passed by. Later on, she had to sense all those eyes watching her because I was joined by everyone else in the dormitory. They were fascinated too but I believe not nearly as much as I was.

It became a habit that every day after class Orion and I stood by my favorite window which had the best view from my dormitory and waited for her; always with her pencil case, always in her slightly high heels. Orion was crazy about her and I knew why. But there was more to her I knew he did not know.

We both agreed that she had a whimsical side (one which led to many things on my part). I guessed she had a peculiar urge which needed a little teasing and she would give in. Orion agreed. After that, he became madly in love with her. We missed lunch together just to watch her.

Two weeks later, in fact two weeks before Valentine’s Day he said openly to me that he was in love with her and he wanted a shot at her. But he would need my help.

For a moment I said nothing. I was so unwilling that I did not understand a thing he said. One can easily suspect jealousy but I had absolutely no feelings for her. He asked me to write him a poem for her. I thought that was insane. But that was hypocritical of me. I had done that for the last two years for everyone else. So I agreed to help.

This task was going to be very difficult. Buttercup was not an ordinary girl. There was nothing I could relate to her that I could relate to other people without finding out and proving it to myself. I had watched her. I had suggested theories about her. But I still felt absolute discontentedness. There was nothing I was sure I knew about her.

The most logical thing to do was to ask Orion to do whatever he could to find out what her interests were. I had imagined that a person like her hid behind a lovely façade and lied about their interests just to be associated with other people. I did not want the lie. I wanted the truth about her. If I did, I was sure I could blow her mind with my skill, − my schemes really.

Orion tried. He told me things about her I never imagined. Buttercup kept me second guessing her by keeping Orion at the edge of her being. So far, I was right about her whimsical side. She could do anything for no particular reason. She could even be a mannequin if she wanted. She said things that left Orion completely captivated. I thought she wanted to scare him away but Orion was inexorable; he wanted all of her.

I had become frustrated in my efforts to discover this rare person. On the other hand, I had helped Orion so much because, as I suspected, she had started falling for him. One day I watched them walk together along Blue lane and she was most unusual [to me] because then I knew she had changed. I also realized that Orion had changed with her.

The problem started when he thought he had enough of her. I think that even though I had stopped telling him to do things or say a thing, which was largely due of my frustration, he had lost that passion he had for her because he saw me in him, and in her, and he had enough of me. Some guys are like him. They have wild expectations with so little effort…and when things kick off, they back down, and find someone to blame.

Orion blamed me. He said in the end that it was a mistake to involve me in the first place. But I warned him. I did not argue with him because in turn that would mean I would be arguing with myself… I had gone too far with them. It was only two days before Valentine’s that I decided to write whatever I thought I should have just done in the first place. I promised myself to write one once, read once and give it to Orion for whatever it was worth.

It is true that usually we bring out the best in us when we are under the influence of an external force. My external force was the frustration I had developed from the wasted hours spent on what I later deemed useless, and of course Buttercup and Orion. I wrote beautifully.

On Valentine’s Day, after Orion had copied my little work, I decided to take a walk around school. I saw lovebirds everywhere over-excited I thought. I was judging them. I would not be like them so I was judging them. I saw Orion and Buttercup seated under a small mango tree reading a piece of paper.

“There, another happy ending,” I muttered to myself. I had been doing this for three years but this time had frustrated me enough to realize that it ought to be my last time.

Evening came and I was at Martin Square on my way to study when suddenly a voice called from behind me. No one usually did. I stopped and turned to see Buttercup pacing briskly towards me. To be fair, I knew why she stopped me. She called me by name therefore, suggesting whatever it was had something to do with Orion.

“I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time,” she said apologetically.

I was a bit reluctant in answering but I gave her the impression that I was ok with it.

“So Orion told me. Beautiful poem you wrote me,” she said, this time hoping I would say much. I laughed. This was the first time someone for whom I had written approached me about my work and I felt awkward.

I knew Orion was watching me now. I would have done the same. He had played it beautifully I thought. Buttercup and I talked a lot that night and also days that followed. Orion and she were still a couple and the three of us had become best friends even after high school. But what distance can do to a relationship; they broke up three months after school. And now, we all just send each other emails.