Velatura Velatura

I quietly strode along the concrete path that made the outdoor serenity isolation seem as an act of pretense. Yet I loved its pretense. It was a replication of another world, a world at which one would know the difference yet play along with its pantomime. One could notice the birds that chirped, the squirrels that rustled along the grass and into the trees, and many people that either walked their dogs or jogged. Many were also engaged in picnics.

And there were those that sat quietly alone on the empty stone park benches.

I always walked here to escape the heavy burden of overwhelmingness. Most of my overwhelmingness resulted from school; specifically what happens in school. Recently, new teachers have been transferred to most of the classes. Most of them cannot teach and they all distribute more assignments than necessary. It is also the same in my art class. My art class was fun and enjoyable when I first joined but when a new teacher was transferred it has become intolerable. The day before, he distributed a thirteen page research paper assignment to the class that reflects the question 'can a car be art?' I have been tempted to withdraw from the class and join another. But art is what I love. Art is a part of me. The thought of signing up at a professional art class away from school have occurred to me but I was not sure if I should.

I pushed my complications away, opting to hum a tune as I walked on the concrete path, and enjoyed the sound of nature’s orchestra and the smell of nature’s perfume. It was refreshing to say the least. I then went to do the same thing I did after I completed my weekend walk in the park. Paint.

Strapped to my shoulder was a bagful of art supplies that included brushes, knives, a collapsible easel, canvas, a container of water, oil paints, and paints mixed with tiny grains of sand that helped me create specific types of textures on certain parts of my paintings. With my equipment with me, all that was left to do was to find an empty bench. Normally this was not a problem as there would be at least one or two empty benches but today every bench seemed to be occupied. Sometimes with what looked like a family having fun, a couple enjoying the day, or someone sitting alone. Naturally I would not want to disturb anyone but I could not sit on the floor.

Maybe a bench with one person sitting on it would be fine. It’s better than sitting on the wet grass.

The bench that I chose at random had a lone female occupant hunched forward. I could tell that it was a girl because although she wore a maroon hoodie over her head I was able to see part of her face. The face was definitely feminine and… strangely slightly familiar. She was staring towards the pebbles in the grass. But I took little notice of her as I slowly walked to her bench and sat down. Upon closer observation I was able to glimpse at a familiar cloth pattern she wore under her hoodie. It was noticeably a school uniform. And only one school uses the maroon color: Crystal Prep.

Crystal Prep is located on the eastern edge of the Crystal District in San Francisco. It is a towering high school that is adorned with the image of prestige, not only with it’s lofty education system, but the wealth of the students and staff. Every student that can drive owns either BMWs, Mercedes, Corvettes, or even Porches, while I have an out of place appearance when I park my Fiat 500 in the parking lot behind the auditorium. While the school may appear snobbish at first glance, their standard of education is above every school in the city with a graduation rate of ninety six percent. Ultimately, it had Finland’s view education and Monte Carlo’s view of self image.

I know over half the students at Crystal Prep and I could recognize a face almost instantly, but somehow I could not match an known identity on the girl. I know that I have seen her before, and her uniform only proved it. Who was she? And why was she here alone?

“Hiya,” I lightly waved at her with a wide smile. She did not reply or lift her head to look at me, she just stared at the floor in a daze. I shrugged my shoulders and emptied my bag of its contents and set them in their places while I contemplated on what to paint. But I could not help but steal glances at the girl. As I was seated I had a clearer view of her face. It held downcast eyes and a tiny frown. Why does she look so down? I slowly patted her shoulder lightly. “You okay?”

“What do you want?” The girl growled through her clenched teeth. I quickly retracted my hand. That voice. That voice sounds awfully familiar.

“I-I just wanted to see if you were okay. You looked sad. People shouldn’t be sad in parks. They should be happy and having fun outside. That’s what they’re for.”

“Why do you care?”

Why did I care? I thought to myself. I always had the uncontrollable habit of feeling awful when I see someone sad or lonely. Naturally I would try to make that person feel better by running up to and giving a tight hug or a candy. Sadly, most see me as straightforward, nosey, or insane but I cannot help it. I guess the job of making sad people happy is reserved for that girl… Pinkie Pie I believe her name was.

“I… just don’t like seeing people sad.”

“I don’t need your pity,” She scoffed. But I could have sworn that I heard a slight crack in her voice.

“At least tell me what’s wrong. It might make you feel better,” At this moment I had forgotten briefly about painting.

“That’s a funny one,” I raised an eyebrow. Her head still faced the ground but her eyes were now turned towards me with a piercing glare as she spoke. “I would tell my problems to a complete stranger. Do you take me for a fool?”

“N-no,” I waved my hands in front of me, “I just-"

“If you want to help can you do me a favor?” Finally. It looked like she began to open up to me.

“Sure. What would you like me to do?” I smiled as I waited for her response.

“I would like you to leave me alone,” The hooded girl rose from the park bench, straightened her clothes, and began to slowly walk away on the concrete path. My smile quickly faltered, then disappeared altogether.

“Wait!” She halted in her tracks. I heard a forced sigh from her. “At least let me introduce myself. I’m Velatura”

“That’s nice,” She sneered before walking away.

“Aren’t you gonna tell me your name?” I asked but she did not respond. Either she did not hear me or she ignored me completely. I was sure it was the latter. Either way, she was gone. But there was something about her, something I could not pinpoint about her. It kept haunting my brain. But she had given me an idea on what my painting should consist of. With my paintbrushes and oil paints ready I began the creation of my newest 20 X 30 composition.