Scared of the Artist

Different. She was different. Not that he hadn't met any other 18-year olds in his life, Michael thought, shaking his head imperceptibly. But there was something here.

She was young, to be sure, very young. Her life stretched out before her, like an endless ribbon waiting to be pulled and twisted, and tried in every way possible.
But she knew something.

He studied her, and felt himself be studied as well. She laughed like a young child, he noted, smiling, and at the same time, she beheld a seriousness beyond her years.  Her family was prestigious, and in their entourage, she had benefitted from an extensive and wondrously boundless education. Intelligence seemed to wrap around her like an aura, and he admired it, as he giggled with her at a joke.

Insight. Or a very highly strung imagination.

It was quiet. Someone laughed in the rooms nearby.

They were alone. He leaned back on the table's edge, his black fedora hat slightly askew, his smile still present in the sparkling aftermath of a childish shout of laughter. She sat, still, a smile on the corner of her lips. It was so comfortable, like nothing would be better than to just be quiet and smile at each other across a room for no reason.

"You know, I've always wondered, Michael..."

He looked up, gave her all his attention. Her voice seemed to catch all the walls of the room, all the corners, and then gather itself around him.

"What?
- Do you have any conception of what you look like?"
He giggled uncertainly. Huh?
"Why? What do you mean?  What I look like? I... yeah, of course. I mean, there are mirrors..."

She laughed at his awkwardness, and made to get up from her seat. It was so strange that a 45-year old man could be so shy, so reserved. Such a simple question embarrassed him. Granted, it was a bizarre question, she admitted to herself, and rescued him from his own awkward tongue.

"Relax, I'm not being freaky, I just....like to draw people. You're an interesting subject."

If that was actually him blushing, she just felt herself curl up at his unbelievable cuteness, and she walked slowly towards him. He straightened up immediately, self-consciously pulled down the sides of his black jacket, and lifted his hand to his hat. She smiled and stopped his fingers before they reached the rim.

"May I?
-I....of course, sure...yeah.."

The air backed up in his lungs, his words tripped over themselves and he felt himself blush again. She was way too close, what was she doing? Her face was right near his, her eyes full of curiosity. He stood impossibly still, his shoulders stiff and slightly raised, feeling incredibly gauche. His expression was one of absolute terror.

She burst out laughing.

Her hands landed firmly on his shoulders, and he suddenly felt himself loosen up and relax. The stiffness in his body subsided. He looked her in the eyes, shyly at first, and then held her friendly gaze. He blew out air, looking relieved and then shrugged, laughing apologetically.

They stood a few good inches apart. She raised a hand to his face, and a fingertip stopped on the lowest part of his chin. He just looked at her, not sure what was being done, here, not wanting to disturb any artistic current that was undoubtedly making its way into her. Then, very still, he could do nothing but watch her as she watched him.