Juilian

Some days you walk the frosted streets with your head held down to avoiding their staring; because everyone stares at something they can’t understand. And let’s face it, you’re a fucking Picasso painting that sprouted legs and decided to venture out in the cold. They stare at your skeletal frame, the loose green jacket stained with cigarette burnt marks. They stare at that mound of hair on your head that never lays flat no matter how hard you mat it down, and eyes the same gray as the sky before it’s about to snow. That’s what makes them stare; those eyes that make you look like a person with a fucking eye disease. Some days you wonder, why bother? Why do I even come outside? I have no reason to when school’s been over for a year.

You pause at a corner where a crossing guard is ushering small children across the street. A mother is hugging her child tightly to her chest before she watches him go to the other side of the road. Beside them a young couple huddles against each other, their hands intertwined as they crossed. You stop there in a rigid stance and watch like this is the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen. The mother has already turned and started home, and the couple has already disappeared into the crowd, but you seem to still be staring at where their exchange took place, like the energy of their love is still in that same spot.

“You crossin’?” asks the crossing guard with an irritated look. Before he can complain, you stuff your fist into your pockets and cross without even a glance back. It’s never gonna happen, you think with a scowl. What are your chances of you finding something as real as what was in front of you? Everything that mattered was gone.

You arrive at the park and make your way through the entrance, across the frosted grass to a place where a small group of people are gathered. A faint high pitch sound fills the air before it swoops through different notes like a rollercoaster. The sound makes you breathe for the first time since the road crossing. You find a bench close to the sound and pull out a cigarette. With it lit between your fingers you watch the small crowd part and a slim figure comes into view. She’s no older than you, you know that from watching her this long; a thick tan coat wrapped gracefully around her. She’s sitting on a small stool in the middle of the walkway, her pale face concentrated as her fingers work gracefully against the strings of a small harp. In front of her is a small red cap filled with coins and a few dollar bills. You remember placing a bill in there once, and her eyes scanned you quickly before looking away. You bring the bud up to your lips and pull on it longingly. Her eyes were the deepest shade of green you’d ever seen, and her lips were the softest looking things your fingers ever wanted to touch. You allow your thoughts to wander as the cold licks against your skin, and the sound of the harp seeps slowly into your body like its looking for your soul.

As the song comes to an end you hear the applause from the small crowd and the sound of change hitting the inside of the red hat. Then a few people saunter away, and curious onlookers take their place as she starts up another song. Although her face is now hidden you can imagine the expression on it. It’s always calm and serene like there is nothing more peaceful in the world than to sit in a park and be the entertainment for complete strangers.

You envy that about her.

Slowly, you take one last drag of your cigarette then flick it with your finger and watch it sail to the frozen grass on the side of you. You lift yourself from the bench and, with your hands shoved back in your pockets, you wander toward the small cluster where the soft music grows louder against your ears. It’s cold enough to freeze hell over, you think with a scowl, but you focus your attention on the small figure hidden behind the flock of onlookers, with her head cocked to the side and her blonde hair pouring across her shoulder. As you arrive, a man in a green coat throws a bill in the hat and walks off, leaving you in clear view for her. Not that she would want to see you. You fight the urge to stare at her and instead focus on a clump of dirt on your boot. The melody is slow and somber, but the people seem to enjoy it. An old woman throws a ten in the hat then stares lovingly at the girl. That woman comes almost as much as you do. As this song comes to an end the crowd starts to clap, and you slowly follow, your eyes focusing on her for the first time. She stares up from the harp and nods her head in a bow, a weak smile on her face. Her eyes are the color of emeralds against her pale face, and her small nose is as red as the hat full of money. The crowd takes turns throwing change into the cap before they walk away. After a while it dawns on you that you’re the only one left standing there as she begins to pack up. She senses you still there and her eyes meet yours. You feel your heart pumping in your chest like it’s about to explode.

“You’re supposed to drop something in the hat,” she says knowingly, placing the harp inside of an equally small case. You shrug.

“What if I don’t have anything?” A smile spreads across her face and you feel your insides burning. God, she’s beautiful, you think without meaning to. She sweeps her head to the side like she’s in deep thought.

“Then I have no business with you.” Gently, she packs her harp neatly into the case and, with a soft click, she stands and heads off toward a large crowd, not even looking back at you as she goes. You feel your heart sinking slowly into your stomach as you watch her go without attempting to stop her. Why fucking bother? She’s not gonna want something like you. You light another cigarette, then drag your feet along the pathway, seeing everything and nothing at all. The path is full of old people with canes, business men in ties and briefcases, a few children who seemed to be skipping school. But your eyes never fall on any of them for too long, nor do their eyes ever fall on you. Some times you feel like your just apart of the scenery; another dead tree against a lifeless sky.

Up ahead of you is a grand old marble fountain half filled with icy water, and two kids, both in their early teens, lazily throwing stones into it. On an empty bench a homeless man is curled against the wood for warmth. You approach the fountain and stare down into the water until you see a tall pale figure staring back up at you. God you hate that guy staring back up at you. That weak and miserable mother fucker who can’t even chase after the girl of his dreams. It had taken you months to find the courage to approach her. That had been your dream for the last few months. You had got up the courage to get close enough to her ever since the day you first saw her; the night you were lying on a lonely park bench and heard the sound of an angel before seeing her beautiful face stick out from the darkness. Since then you’d been here everyday watching her from the same bench thinking of what you’d say to her if you had the chance, wondering what it would be like to have her in your pathetic life. You sigh and exhale a huge puff of smoke then flick the bud into the fountain.

The kids get bored throwing stones into the water and walk off towards the homeless guy. You watch as the two of them start chucking pebbles at him.

“Fucking kids,” you groan your brows low over your eyes. You pick up a frosted pebble from the pavement and chuck it at the tallest boy. The stone connects with his navy cap and, with a loud thump it bounces off and lands on the pavement.

“Ouch!” cries the boy as he brings his hand to his head. The boy next to him starts laughing until another rock soars and knocks him on his forehead. The two boys stare around searching for the source, and you stand there waiting for them to see you, hoping those little fuckers will test you so you can knock their little brains out. When their eyes fall on you they snicker because you’re alone, because it seems like you’re outnumbered.

“Hey what’s your problem?” yells the tall one who’s still at least a foot shorter than you. You don’t respond, and the boy shoves his friend, snickering widely. “This guy must be so stupid he can’t understand English. Hey fucker, what’s your deal? You wanna start somethin’?” I’ll bash your fucking brains out, you wanna say, but you fight the urge and instead command, “Leave that guy alone.” The two boys break out into ugly fits of laughter; one is short and round and looks like a pig with a flat face. The other looks like a raccoon. They turn away from the homeless guy and approach you in a way that would be menacing if you were afraid. But a person with nothing to loose has nothing to fear. Sometimes you hope you’d find someone with the balls to finish off what God started a long time ago. But it won’t be these two kids, you think defeated.

“You must want to end up on this pavement, throwin’ stones like that.” The tall boy is now only inches away from you. If you swing right now you’d probably break his jaw. But you don’t. Instead you allow him to get in your face, the fat one behind him, as he tries to scare you into running with your tail between your legs. The tall boy reaches out his arms and shoves them into your chest. You take a few steps back for dramatic affect. A few people around stop and stare at the confrontation between the three of you, not that it’s much of a confrontation. The boy pushes you again, a nasty sneer across his face. Behind you the fat round boy shoves you forward towards the tall raccoon.

“Do somethin' fucker,” says the raccoon pushing you again. Then, before you can say a thing, he swings and connects his fist against your jaw. Your face barely moves as you charge forward, your knuckles rattling bone. Then you swoop around and throw your fist at the fat one’s face. Both kids crash against the arctic pavement at the same time, their faces dazed. This amuses you for a moment before you realize there are people staring at you. Oh, fuck, now you look like the bad guy. Fuck. You place your fist into your pockets and turn to leave but your feet are stuck in place because in front of you, standing with her case over her shoulder is the girl with the harp.

Oh shit.

She’s staring at you, expressionless, her eyes taking in all of you, including the spot on your jaw which starts stinging after a few moments. On the ground the two boys are rubbing their cheeks and mumbling curses at you. She takes them in too, putting the scene back together into her mind. Before she can see you as the bad guy you storm off the opposite way, plowing through a group of onlookers who stare dagger at you like you’re a monster. Fuck all of them. Maybe you are one. But you don’t care. You ignore the cold breeze beating against your skin as you reach the entrance to the park and walk off down the street. At the crossing the guard is leaning against a fence and doesn’t bother to stop the on coming traffic for you. Not that you care. Right now you wish a car would come and hit you. You don’t plan on going back to the park tomorrow as you enter your room and shut the door behind you.

You don’t plan on ever going back to the park again. As you lie in bed with a cigarette lit in your hand you see her face streaming across your mind and feel an ache deep inside of your chest. How could she ever want anything to do with you now? Now that she thinks you’re a fucking child basher. You sigh and roll over onto your side. She didn’t want you anyway. She walked away from you because you didn’t have any money to give her. God I’m fucking pathetic. You puff on the bud once more then put out the flame on the jacket right over the heart. Maybe you’d go there one more time. Just once more. But you have nothing to give her. You sit up and stare around your room, your eyes falling from the endless papers scattered on the floor to the heaps of clothes tossed in the corner. After a few minutes you sigh and lean against the wall. What the fuck can you offer her when you have nothing left? All you have are words, the words in your head, the words that live on the tip of your tongue but never come out because you never speak. Slowly, you lift your head and reach into the drawer for a pen and a piece of paper.



My name is Julian. I am a person who never seemed real until I lay on a park bench one sad night and heard the sound of heaven opening its gates for me to peer inside. When I looked up I realized an angel was playing the harp and realized it was you. The girl with the green eyes that go on for miles and the blonde hair like sheets of gold, and the face of a goddess. I have nothing to give you that seem meaningful, because at the end of the day money is spent, and gifts get old or break. If I could, I’d give you the world on a platter. But all I really have are these words on this paper; these words that hold my soul within the lines. I am but a person who can’t seem to get things right. I am the guy that defends an innocent man and gets blamed for being a child basher. I am the little boy who lost everything he had as a child. And all I have left is the few hours I spend on that park bench listening to your spirit flowing through your fingers and into me. If I could, I’d listen to you play for hours, with my head swaying against the melody, my minding swimming with more words that I can give you. If I could I’d standing there in the crowd and watch you play, waiting for the moment your eyes would fall on me, hoping to see your lips part into a smile. I’d wait for that tilt of the head you do when you’re thinking, the way your eyes glow when you’re happy. I’d wait in eternity for that. I’d wait an eternity for you.



You head down the same road staring up for the first time in a while. There are other things more important than avoiding people’s gaze. You come to the mother holding her child tightly to her chest and the young couple huddling against each other and plow past them. They don’t matter to you anymore, nothing about them was ever apart of you. As you enter the park and start down the familiar walkway, you hear the soft melody of the harp and follow the sound. There is a small crowd around her, as usual, but that doesn’t stop you. You’ve came this far, and can’t turn around now. You sit on the usual bench and go through two cigarettes trying to ease your nerves but they’re pulsing though you like cocaine. You feel sweat against the nape of your neck and take a deep breath. Ok, you can do this. You flick the cigarette bud then slowly walk toward the pack, your hands shoved into your pockets, your fist around the words for her.

You manage to squeeze into the crowd to a place where she can’t see you but you can see her. She looks the same as always, her face serene as her fingers go across the strings of the harp. The familiar old woman sticks five dollars into the big red hat, and the man in front of you also places a bill inside. Then he shifts, and suddenly you’re in full view of her. You feel your heart racing in your chest as she looks up and her eyes scan your face. For a moment you don’t see any emotion, like she’s expecting something; like she’s waiting. Slowly, you remove the folded paper from your pocket and gently place it inside of the red cap. Then you turn and trail away toward the fountain without looking back. The music doesn’t stop, and you’re glad for it. You couldn’t bear to have her read it in front of you. The fountain area is fairly packed like the day before, but you don’t see the boys from yesterday. The bastards must have learned a lesson. The old homeless man is still on the same bench, and when you pass him he nods a greeting at you. The bench next to his is empty and you light another cancer stick to fill your lungs with. Then you wait.

A few people walk by from the direction you came but you don’t see the girl. Your insides feel like their on fire. Your heart feels like it’s on acid. Apart of you hope she rips the letter in two because you can’t take the idea of her looking at the words and laughing. But you had to know what she thought. You had spent these last few months of your life watching her, wanting her more than anything; more than just physically, more than mentally. You flick the cigarette and light another. The sun is dull against the sky as you sit and wait. An old couple strolls by and stands before the fountain, arm in arm. You watch as they toss a penny into the icy water then slowly walk away. You watch them, not in envy but in admiration. Perhaps one day . . . If only.

“Julian?” You jump at the sound of your name then turn and stare in surprise as you see the harp girl standing before you. Her head is tilted in that beautiful way she does it, the paper clutched in her right hand. Your eyes meet for a few moments before she reaches out her hand with the paper in it. You feel your heart plummeting into your stomach as she offers back your words to you. You stare at her hand, before saying softly, “I wrote those words for you.”

“Take it, please,” she says, her face tranquil as it had been while playing the harp. Here green eyes held gleams from the dull sun. You take the paper from her and hold it in your hand but can’t find the nerve to even glance at them.

“Look at it,” she says, a weak smile appearing on her face. You stare up at her with your brows raised, then slowly you straighten the paper and read the few words written in a handwriting that clearly isn’t your own. You feel your heart twisting in your chest, and a smile lacing through your face as your eyes scan the words on the paper again to make sure they’re there. You look up and realize she’s offering her hand out to you. You take it, and shove the letter into your pocket with the last words reading:



You’ll never have to wait an eternity for me.