CHAPTER 1: ART & POTATOES
I could not believe my eyes. It was the first time something unimaginable was happening. I honestly did not think that I was worthy of this. It was like my very own Halley’s Comet. What was this rare occasion? THERE WAS A GIRL IN MY ROOM!
Before I start to sound like a desperate, love starved teenager, let me explain the events leading up to this moment. To answer the question of who she was, lets rewind the tape to 3 months ago.
16th July, 2016. It was like any other foggy July afternoon. Some local welfare club was hosting an exhibition about modern art. Having nothing planned for the weekend, I decided to the attend the event, alone. In reality, I thought modern art was a joke. Turns out, she did too. I can still recall the first time I saw her. Amidst a crowd full of pretenders, she was the real deal.
There stood this confident, young girl, dressed in clothing which was reminiscent of an 80s French movie. She had an aura that felt like the right mixture of brashness and humility. Her demeanor clearly indicated her strong sense of self-belief. It was hard not to notice her, and to my horror, she noticed me noticing her.
Fearing that she might get the wrong impression, I quickly turned my eyes away, and began to stare at a random art piece on the wall. From the corner of my eye, I had noticed that she had started to walk towards me, slowly, with her arms folded. A sense of foreboding washed over me. I was definitely going to be embarrassed in a room full of strangers.
Contrary to the dreadful scenario I had constructed in my mind, she simply walked up to me and just, stood there. After around a minute or two of observing the same art on the wall, she spoke, “ Do you like art?”
I turned to face her. It was then that I could clearly see her features. To say that I was awestruck, would be putting it mildly.
Her skin was the colour of lightly brewed cappuccino. The reddish-pink colour and the pulpiness of her lips went well with her diamond shaped face. Her wavy brown hair was something straight out of the 70s. Her “imperfections”, like the freckles on her right cheek or the tiny mole below her lip, only added to her brilliance. She was shorter than me, as her head reached my shoulder. My gaze met her dark, hazel eyes, as I started to get lost in them.
I was snapped back to reality by her voice, “Um? Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry, what?” I managed to reply.
“I said, ‘Do you like art?’ ” she said, with unexpected patience. Her voice had a distinct softness to it, but it wasn’t timid.
“Oh! Well, I don’t think you can call this art. I think its just paint splattered on a canvas,” I replied.
“I agree, it really is sad to see the state of art today.”
“Indeed,” I said tersely. After a brief moment of silence, she spoke.
“I’m Violet,” she held her hand out, “Violet Andrews. And you are?”
“Robin Hastings,” I said, while shaking her hand.
“Aren’t you a little too young to be here Robin Hastings?”
Trying to maintain the light heartedness of the conversation, I spoke, “Hey! I’m 17, so I definitely qualify. For all I know, YOU could be the one who’s too young!”
“Too old actually. I’m a ten thousand year old vampire here to feast on fat and rich humans,” she joked.
Violet managed to get small laugh out of me. I replied,” Those are some big words for a sixteen year old.”
She broke into a smile and said, “How’d you know?”
After a brief moment of silence, she spoke, “ So, what’s a guy like you doing here?”
“I just wanted to see how foolish these ‘art critics’ are,” I replied.
“Well, I can assure you that they are like extremely arrogant potatoes. Some are even shaped like ‘em!” She let out a giggle when she said that. I laughed.
With absolute honesty, I commented, “At least there is one person here who is not full of herself.”
She retorted, “And… there is at least one sensible boy here.”
She managed to get a smile out of me, the first of many to come.
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