Thursday, 10 December 2009
12:08:01 PM (GMT)
"Miso Keeps is short, strange, unpopular, and not very pretty," I said to myself,
looking in the mirror. My friends, the twins Mirco and Tom both mde a hmmmm
sound, as close to being one person as can get, and not very reassuring. They were
spiraled out across my bed--Mirco with one of my books that are piled in stacks to
the cieling by my bed, and Tom with one of my canvases, idling darking a picture he
would want me to paint later. Any other boys, that might mean something, but I knew.
Mirco liked to loot my books, and Tom and I were an artistic team--he draws, I paint.
It's been that way since 6th grade when I met the twins upon moving. Leaving my home
in Brusly instead for the lively town of Lafayette, Louisiana. In the same state,
sure, but far enough away to leave all my friends behind. As a shy, brooding girl,
not that pretty, and not that popular, obviously, I had spent most of my time crying
behind the gym as I tried to paint, struggling with the drawing part.
Until Tom came around behind me, startling me. "Here, let me." And he snatched
the pencil out of my hand and drew the prettiest dandelion I ever saw. "I can't
paint, though. It ends up the color of crap." He grinned at me, and I blinked,
thinking I was in love with this blonde hero, until suddenly there were two of them.
"Tom, what are you-?" the second one stopped. "Hey," he said, spying me. "Uh,
I'm Mirco. I'm Tom's twin brother. And you are...?" I could tell even then he was
confused. The twins--they never hung out with anyone at all. Tom and Mirco were an
exclusive team. So I imagined that, just then, stumbling onto his brother out behind
a gym with a girl for the first time ever, even if we were doing something as
innocent as being artistic, was a shock that could have only one reaction to Mirco.
"Miso, Miso Keeps," I snuffed, trying to dry my eyes. How embarrassing, being
caught all red-eyed behind the gym, looking like a total nerd and loser. But this
loser, as far as Mirco was concerned, had his twin's attention, which of course meant
I was to have his as well.
"Hey, what is that?" Mirco said, leaping towars my black pull-string bag. He
immediantly began to empty it of it's contents into his hands. "Jane Austen, Seven
Novels, L.J. Smith, The Vampire Diaries The Return: Nightfall, William
Shakespear, Much Ado About Nothing, Meredith Ann Pierce, The
Darkangel--God, you think you have enough books? And these genres, their pretty
much everywhere." I was blushing, about to take up for myself, when he added, "You
have some really good taste."
"Thanks," I said, blushing still. "I-I really like to read. I have stacks in my
room of nothing but books." Great, now I really am a complete nerd. "There are some
CD's in there, too."
"I can see that."
By now Tom thought Mirco was interested in me. (I found this out later when we
were talking in a pizza parlor.) He cut in dramatically, "So hey, are you going to
paint that picture?" Insert intense look of intensity here. I swear I shivered so
hard on the inside my lungs got to know my liver. I gulped out loud though.
"Yeah, yeah, of course," I said, picking up the canvas. "Uh, Mirco can raid my
book bag while you help me drawn, 'kay?" I had no idea they would go along with it.
Or that it would turn out that they loved it, in fact. Or that this would be the set
up for our friendship--endless days of sitting in my bedroom, fighting over the
remote to the TV-radio station, eating Dorritoes, Tom drawning a picture, Mirco with
my books, and me, myself, covered in paint. Literally.
"Don't be so hard on yourself," Tom said now, taking a chip and popping it into
his mouth. I still hadn't gotten a look at his latest masterpiece. All I knew was
that it was on a canvas the size of Kentucky, and that he'd been working on it for
roughly a week without letting me see. He was really focused on it. "Don't forget, we
almost fought over you because we mistakenly thought the other one liked you. Sure,
we were never actually attracted to you, but hey, we thought you were pretty enough
for someone to be."
Mirco grunted his assent, then looked up at me. "Don't you have any books that
aren't all about girls? Maybe, you know, one book with a hero instead of a
heroine?" I rolled my eyes at him, then went to the stacks, minutely searching until
I found what I was looking for. I braced the others and pulled it out. He took it and
grinned. "Beowolf. Nice."
Last edited: 15 December 2009