Sweet Dandelion

“My mom always said I lived up to my name. I needed the sun to thrive and the freedom to move.” I look over at Mr. Taylor and he’s studying me carefully. He doesn’t say anything, but I can tell he’s thinking. “I can’t move like I used to, not anymore.”

I walk away from him, the slight limp I still have slowing me down.

He doesn’t tell me to go back to class.

I think maybe he knows that was me trying.

Trying to be honest. Trying to give a truth. Trying to get better.

You have to start somewhere, one small aching step at a time.

“Meadows, the library is for books, not food.”

I look up from my chicken salad sandwich and find Ansel grinning down at me.

“Mind if I join you?”

I motion to the empty table. I can’t keep him from sitting where he wants even if there are plenty of other places to sit in the library. He pulls out the chair across from me, slapping his messenger bag on top. He pulls out a paper bag for his lunch, a sketchpad, and pencils.

He digs into his sandwich, peanut butter and jelly I note, and says to me around a mouthful, “You know, if we’re going to be friends you’re going to have to start to talk more.”

“Pourquoi devrions-nous être amis?”

“Why wouldn’t we be friends?” he counters easily. He stuffs another bite of sandwich in his mouth and flips the sketchpad open. “I’m awesome. Everyone wants to be my friend.”

“That so?” I nibble at my sandwich. Mr. Taylor was right. It’s way better than the turkey and homemade. Unfortunately, I don’t have much of an appetite at school.

“I’m fucking great,” Ansel decrees, adding shading to whatever he’s working on. I can’t tell exactly what it is upside down but I think it’s a close up of an animal’s eye.

“If you’re so great why are you in the library with me?”

He flicks a piece of hair from his eyes and I’m reminded of a young Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic.

“Because, you didn’t come to lunch yesterday, and I saw you head in here today. I didn’t want you to eat alone.”

“I’m fine if you want to go back to your friends.”

“I’m good here, thanks.” His tongue sticks out slightly as he bends over the sketchpad, working on his creation. His half-eaten sandwich sits lonely and forgotten beside him.

“Suit yourself. I’m kind of a bore.” I pop the last bite of sandwich in my mouth.

I open the bag of chips I swiped from home, tossing a salt ‘n vinegar chip in my mouth. Sage makes fun of me for loving them so much, but they’re the best chip in my book.

“What are you working on?” I figure it’s best to try to make polite conversation with him.

He flips it around so I can see.

There’s an eye like I thought, but I still don’t know what it is.

“It’s a bear,” he explains. “A personal project. I was watching a wildlife documentary one day and thought the bears were cool.” He turns the sketchbook back around.

“I wish I could draw.”

He looks at me with his strange pale blue eyes. “If you can’t draw why the fuck are you in an art class? That makes no sense.”

“I didn’t get signed up for classes until late. So, I didn’t pick any of my electives.”

“Shit, that sucks. What else did you get stuck with?”