Isolde dropped her backpack by a tree and plopped down beside it. She unzipped the black backpack quickly, her fingers grazing over the blue, flowery designs that matched her eye color. She withdrew from the backpack a sandwich in plastic wrap, a bag of chips, and a water bottle. She proceeded to unwrap the sandwich and open the bottle of water. Then she began to eat her lunch.
The school's outdoor area was a perfect place to have lunch when it was warm out. The lush, green grass was soft, and the dirt was springy and almost never muddy. The landscaping was immaculate and the trees were gorgeous. The weeping willow tree under which Isolde sat was right beside a pretty pond, complete with koi fish and a little wooden bridge across it. Isolde glanced with a blank expression at a girl and boy who were crossing the aforesaid bridge, holding hands and speaking softly to each other.
The blue-eyed girl turned away hurriedly and took another bite of her sandwich. She glanced up at the willow's green dome, through the cracks of which the blue sky peeped merrily. A blue butterfly flitted to and fro beneath the shaded canopy of leaves. With the blink of a blue eye, everything was suddenly slowed down, as if in slow motion. At least, it was slow motion for Isolde. Her curious eyes gazed at the butterfly for a slow moment. Then the slowness went away as quickly as it had come. Isolde sighed and concentrated on her lunch again.
"Hey, Isolde!" a blonde girl with merry hazel eyes grinned as she swung under the willow, one hand grabbing one of the tree's thicker branches.
"Hi, Hazel," Isolde mumbled through her sandwich. She swallowed her food and repeated her greeting to make sure Hazel heard her correctly.
"What's up?" Hazel inquired, her lips pressed together in her usual questioning expression.
"Nothing interesting," Isolde replied, taking another bite of her sandwich. Hazel was about to say something when someone called her name. Hazel glanced through the leaves quickly.
"See you later," she smiled at Isolde and ran off. Isolde nodded, though Hazel had already left, and leaned back against the tree. She closed her eyes in thought. Hazel was, in a way, Isolde's friend. They didn't really hang out like friends did, nor were they always chatting and whatnot. They'd talk to each other about how things were going and things they had in common, but they were more like acquaintances than friends.
Isolde opened her eyes and took a sketchbook out of her backpack, along with a pencil and eraser. She glanced up at the willow's branches, then down at her paper, and began sketching, her eyes quickly moving up to the tree and back again from time to time. After a few minutes she glanced at her watch to check the time and then resumed drawing. Her pencil skipped and glided, dived and flicked, swooped and flew across the paper. Vague, unrecognizable shapes became clear, detailed leaves and branches as the young girl expertly revealed her artistic talents again.
"Hey, that's really good," a male voice commented coolly from behind her. Isolde whirled around, clutching her sketchbook against her chest as if it were some secret thing. Her eyes blazed with shock and a hint of worry as she took in the boy who had been watching her draw. As he took in the artist's expression, the boy held up his hands as if to ward off an attack.
"Sorry," he apologized in the same steady tone. "But it
is a great drawing." Isolde silently turned away a little, her book still held tightly against her, still watching him out of the corner of her eye.
"How long have you been watching me draw?" she finally asked.
"Just a few minutes," the boy answered easily. He ran his hand through his thick, dark hair and leaned against the tree.
"Why?" Isolde inquired. The boy was quiet for a moment, as if he wasn't sure what she meant.
"Oh, I just wanted to see what you were doing," he told her after a moment. "You looked really absorbed in your work." The two were silent. "Do you draw a lot?" the boy asked hesitantly after a minute or two of silence. Isolde nodded in reply.
"Why are you asking?" Isolde demanded calmly.
"Just curious," the boy explained, shrugging. "Oh, I'm Peter, by the way. Peter Noble." The bell rang and Isolde began putting her things back into her backpack. The boy stood up straight and stood there for a moment. "What's your name?" he asked quickly as Isolde began to walk away.
"Isolde Forest," she mumbled, quickly walking back towards the school. Peter grinned and walked away, his hands in his pockets.
(oh, by the way, this is two weeks later)'I can't. It's not that I won't or anything like that, I just can't. I've told said it again and again, reminding myself over and over, trying to keep myself from getting upset over it. But it just doesn't work. I know I'm not human, and that's the reason I can't, but I still wish I could... I just wish I could love.' The auburn-haired girl sighed and laid her pen down on her diary's open page. She shut it, locked it, and put it under her pillow. Then she flung herself back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling.
"Isolde!" a voice called from downstairs. "Come down! You'll be late for school!" Isolde groaned and got up, yawning. She grabbed her cell phone from her desk, put it in the pocket of her jeans and ran downstairs, swinging into the kitchen and sliding on the wood floor (thanks to her trusty, slippery socks) towards her chair, which she promptly sat down on. She picked up the glass of orange juice on the table and drank it quickly.
"Don't eat
that fast," her mother scolded her as she brought Isolde's toast to the table and set it down in front of her. Isolde muttered a thank you and drizzled some honey over her buttered toast. She devoured the toast in a very short time, grabbed her backpack, said goodbye, and ran out the front door just in time to catch the bus.
At lunch, Isolde went outside, even though it was rather chilly, and sat under the weeping willow again. She got her lunch out of her bag, along with a folded, slightly wrinkled, small piece of paper. She began munching on her food as soon as she had laid out a picnic blanket (the grass was damp) and arranged everything. She unfolded the piece of paper, which she had found under her pillow many years ago. This was how she had found that she wasn't human.
On the paper, in bold, black, slanted letters, read the words, '
Isolde Muriel Forest... You are not of the beings that you live with. You are not a human. Your powers come from your true kind. And you cannot love. You cannot feel love, hate, regret, or anger. This, too, comes from your true kind. You have developed the ability to feel sad from your time with humans, but you can never love. This is a gift and not a curse, for you may go through your long life without the pain and torment they call love. We, your true kind, live in another world, and unfortunately we know not how you got to the world of humans or how to bring you back to your home.'
Isolde started blankly at the paper, chewing her sandwich as she did so. There was something
wrong with this note. Something about it didn't click. But Isolde couldn't figure it out. She puzzled over the matter for a while, pondering and wondering. Then she put the note away and lay on her back on the blanket, her arms folded behind her head. She looked up and saw that the sun had come out and it was getting a little warmer, but not too much warmer. She closed her eyes, smiling.
"Why hello there!" a cheerful voice suddenly rang in her ear. Yelping in surprise, Isolde jumped up. She sat back down suddenly smiling.
"You ridiculous little -" she broke off, not being able to find the right word, and started laughing.
"I couldn't help it!" Peter grinned. Isolde slapped his shoulder playfully, shaking her head and chuckling. She and Peter had become good friends since their first meeting. They didn't share many classes, but they'd bump into one another quite a bit when not in class. They sat there quietly for a moment, smiling and staring at the ground, the tree, or some such thing.
"Hey, um..." Peter began quietly.
"What?" Isolde asked, cocking her head to the side and looking up at him as she always did when she was curious. Peter rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
"Uh, do you, would you, um..." he faltered. Then he suddenly blurted it out. "Would you like to go out for lunch or dinner on Saturday?" Isolde was silent. She stared, expressionless, at Peter's face, thinking deeply. She knew she couldn't love - it was part of who,
what, she was. She liked Peter, but she knew she could never love him. Not because she didn't like him, of course, but because she
couldn't. But for some odd reason, nothing she could do could have stopped her from suddenly saying, "That would be wonderful!" Peter's face lit up.
"Really?" he asked excitedly. "For a moment that, I thought you were going to say no."
"So did I," Isolde admitted. Peter looked confused, but shook it off.
"Lunch or dinner, and what time?" he asked.
"Dinner, 6:00 PM," Isolde replied almost mechanically. But Peter didn't notice, nor would he have cared.
"Great!" he smiled. "I'll pick you up around 5:45." Isolde nodded and glanced at her watch.
"I'd better get headed back in for class," she smiled, packing her stuff into her backpack and walking back to the building.
When Isolde got home, she went upstairs to her room and flung herself on the bed after closing the door somewhat hurriedly. Her face was buried in her soft, plush pillow and she was thinking. A lot. She got out her diary and started writing.
'Today at school, Peter asked me if I could go out with him for dinner on Saturday. I don't know why but I - I said yes. I don't regret my decision - I can't, remember? - but I don't exactly feel satisfied with it, either. I don't know how I feel about it. I wanted to say no because I knew I could never love him, but at the same time for some unknown reason I wanted to say yes. And that unknown reason obviously smothered logic and made me say yes. But I can't go tell him I've changed my mind. I just keep remembering how his face lit up when I said yes, like a little kid on Christmas morning who sees presents piled like mountains. So I'll just have to go through with it. There's no other option, really. Who knows, maybe I'll enjoy it. But O! how I wish I could love!'
Isolde dropped her pen hopelessly on to her journal and let her head fall onto the ink-covered pages. She sat there for a moment, silent and still. Then, with a groan, she got up and rifled through her closet to find something nice to wear. She slipped on a light blue shirt, black pants, and a cream-colored sweater. She closed her journal and put it under her pillow. She quickly got her socks and shoes on and put on a little lip gloss.
