Page 60 of A Ballad of Phantoms and Hope
He fits here amongst the dreamers. One of his suspenders has fallen over his shoulder, and the cream-colored shirt he wears beneath it is baggy and already stained with charcoal. With his notebook in hand, he tears out a page.
“I’ve just finished,” he mutters cheerfully.
My brow arches as I approach him, standing an arm’s length away. His cheeks are red; nervous energy fills the space between us.
“Are you going to show me this time?” I tease.
Lanston grins before he turns to face the fence; he tapes the paper to the steel and glances back at me again with those piercing hazel eyes. “You can’t laugh.”
I nudge his shoulder as if I’m offended. “Why would you even think such a thing of me?” He seems reassured by that and steps aside in one fell swoop.
Air invades my lungs and ceases the pulse in my veins.
His drawing is… of me a moment ago, as I watched the elderly couple.
The woman in the image stands alone, people blurring around her as if they are the real ghosts and not her. The dress is vivid, with flowers and lace blowing in a breeze. The woman clutches her dress slightly between her fingertips—not in a violent way, but with yearning. Most of all, I notice how anguished her expression is, the tears not shed but brimming in her eyes.
The pain she experiences while watching love reach its earned end—the way it’s meant to.
He really does see me.
A knot builds in my throat. I’ve never seen such talent, someone who puts every emotion and feeling they have into a piece of art. And into knowing another soul.
Tears spill down my cheeks and I hastily wipe them away before letting my eyes find Lanston. He watches me in silence, understanding all the emotions that wash over my weary mind in this moment.
Because, well, I’ve never seen how sad I truly look to others.
When I look at myself in the mirror, I’m compelled to smile. It’s what we’re taught, isn't it?
Smile. Look pretty.Smile.Even if it hurts, smile.
“You see me,” I whisper, words I’ve never spoken.
His face remains emotionless, studying my expression as he replies, “I see you as clearly as you see me.”
I hesitate. Does he despise the sorrow I carry, the melancholy that holds me fiercely in its dark embrace, as everyone I ever confided in did?
“Do you see the ugliness that lurks beneath my skin?” I choke out the words as tears continue to fall.
Lanston’s face crumples in anguish. “No, Ophelia. I do not see any bad, ugly things. Not in you, my rose. You are the most precious of things, holding far more beauty than I could ever describe to you.”
My cheeks warm at his words, as do his.
I take a moment to straighten myself, sniffling the last of my tears away before gracing him with a wide smile. “Hello, sir. I would like to buy this picture, please.” I pull out my wallet, filled with more money than I’ve ever made in life.
Lanston tilts his head with amusement and lifts the paper from the fence, extending it to me with that charming smile he so easily steals my heart away with.
“It’s on me.”
I laugh and shove a few hundred-dollar bills in his hand. “I insist!” I say loudly, snatching the drawing from him and throwing money his way. He leans in and narrows his eyes at me. I scream as he scoops me up in his arms, lifting me from the ground swiftly and spinning us in a circle before running off with me in his arms.
Our laughs echo through the streets, bustling with cars and people.
No one can hear us.
Our laughter is a lovely sound, louder than the life surrounding us could ever be.
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