A beam of bright light shines through the sunroom of Tristan Corloni's house. I edge my foot into the light, thirsting for warmth in the middle of this dry, cold winter. Tristan is bent over a table, working on a sketch. I've been watching him. Often, he'll look up and say that we can do something else if it bothers me to have to wait. He knows I can't draw, but I know it's his life. Besides, I love watching him work...he's so focused and intent...watching him makes me feel almost connected, I guess. To...something higher. I don't mean God, exactly. Just...something more than humanity.
I also just like watching Tristan in general. At first, I was hesitant to admit this to myself, but lately, I've realized it's true. A few weeks ago, we went to our junior prom together. Just as friends, of course - because that's what we're supposed to be. Friends. I danced with him a lot that night. It was when I was dancing with him that I realized I might have feelings for him. Usually him and I goofed off together at dances - sang really off-key to all the crappy slow songs and made total idiots of ourselves during all the crappy fast songs. Because we're friends. But that night, he pulled me onto the dance floor during one of the most sappy romantic songs that they'd played all night. When I'd asked him what he was doing, he said "Fiona, it's your junior prom. You should have one serious dance that you can tell your grandkids about." So that's what it was...a serious dance. With his fingers laced together at the small of my back, and my hands dangling gently over his shoulders, we danced. I looked up into his eyes, and...something happened. I'm not sure quite what, and you'll hate me for being so cliche when I describe it, but...it was a spark. A spark that made me realize that there was more to Tristan than just a guy friend who punches my shoulder and burps in public. So much more. At that moment, I got the sudden urge to kiss him right there on the dance floor. However, I didn't, because the song had ended and Tristan's hands slowly slid off of me and into his own pockets. I had blushed, thanked him for the dance, and returned with him to our other friends, trying hard to forget the spark.
Now, as I sit watching him, so intensely focused on his two-dimensional creation, I feel the spark again. I want so badly to push away the hair that flops so carelessly into his eyes. I want to tangle my hand into his, to meet his gaze and never have to look away. There are many things that I wish I could do. However, I just continue to sit quietly, watching him work.
I notice, once again, how attractive he's become. His loose brown curls, seeming not to care where they settle on his head. His dark brown eyes that glow amber when they hit the light. His hands are strong from drawing and painting for hours on end. His arms are equally toned, though I have no idea what from. He doesn't work out (though he will tell me quite often that he does), but he has the build of an olympic swimmer. I remember when I had first met him that he wasn't much of a looker, but now, he seems like he could be a movie star, or something insane like that. I wonder what's changed...it hasn't been that long since we first met...three years, maybe? What I wonder about even more, is if anything has really changed at all. If he really has become an Orlando Bloom look-alike, or if it's just me, suddenly so attracted to him that my mind is making him appear to be more appealing. I wish I could consult another girl about this, but the issue with that, is that I would feel gross if I ever said something as horribly girlish as "is it just me, or has Tristan really become a total babe?" I would die as soon as the words leave my mouth.
He suddenly looks up at me and grins.
"You finished?" I ask, glad to be rescued from my confusing thoughts.
"Yeah," he says, in a deep husky voice. I suppose that's another thing that's making me fall for him, though right now I'm trying not to think about it.
He pushes the paper in front of me. His artwork always leaves me breathless. He does the most phenomenal pieces. This one is of his canary, Toto. The lines and the detail are so perfect, so exactly ruffled in the right places, and so straight and precise in others...it looks as if the bird could leap off the page.
"It's amazing," I say truthfully. "I think Toto would be flattered if he saw."
Tristan laughs. "Thanks, Fi."
It's hard to forget something that never leaves. That spark, it's still there. Right now, as Tristan and I are just talking casually about nothing. The spark is still there later that night as I walk home from his house, hoping my father didn't put mushrooms on the pizza we're having for dinner. The spark doesn't leave. It will always be here, reminding me that I have fallen for my best friend. Reminding me of my confusion, of my fears, and of course, of Tristan. The spark is always here. And it scares me more than anything.