unfinished, untitled.

Henri gave the Romanian man what he hoped was a genuine and reassuring smile. He realized it was almost like a date and if he was honest with himself, he wouldn’t mind if this was a date. But he had a feeling Ilie would freak out if he said that it was. “Where am I coming from? Ilie, you are a fascinating man and I enjoy spending time with you and listening to what you have to say. When we went out for lunch before the school year was one of the most memorable moments I had since living here in Paris and I want to know you better.”

The Belgian nodded at the news about the calls and getting to bed reasonably early. “I promise we won’t be out too late. I need to get to bed at a somewhat reasonable time as well since we both teach in the morning. And if the calls you are expecting come in while we are out, I don’t care if you answer them or if you need to step away or something.” he rambled a bit before he realized that Ilie agreed. A bright smile crossed his face. “Excellent! Thank you for agreeing. But before our adventure can begin, I will help you with what needs to be done here unless you don’t want me to.”

Face feeling wickedly hot, Ilie busied himself with aggressively rinsing out more brushes. The openness that Henri displayed was extremely unfamiliar for the Romanian, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he needed to react. A lunch, being memorable? With him, the chattering mess? It was hard to believe, and Ilie’s subconscious still wanted to say that the Belgian only wanted something from him, but Henri just seemed so genuine.

“You’re really incredible, did you know that?” Shifting in his spot, Griffin made sure to catch Ilie’s eye. “Seriously. That fighting spirit is unique and impressive. Not many people can say they’ve gone through what you have been through and come out on the other side well. You should applaud yourself for that, honestly.” A frown formed across his face. “I don’t think you’re an idiot. Truthfully, you’re one of the smartest people I know here. But…I suppose, on a certain level…I can relate to the lack of self care thing.” Griffin paused to cough, gazing away from Ilie. He was felling as if he was starting to know the boy well, and really connect with him, but he did not even fathom having to confess how haunted his own lack of self care was in the past. “We all have our demons, even the best of us.”

“Oh no, you are not keeping me! I decided to drop by because I was curious how you were doing. I’m not really in any real rush to get home although if I am keeping you here and distracting you, you can just tell me.” Henri exclaimed as he watched as Ilie continue. In a way it was very similar to when he had to clean the used glassware and lab equipment that his chemistry class used on lab days.

At the suggestion for what he could do to help, he smiled and rolled up his sleeves to make sure that none of the paint would get onto his shirt. “Sure. I don’t mind doing that, Ilie.” he remarked before he began making his way through the art room and collecting the palettes as requested before setting them in the other sink so he could fill it with soapy water. “Oh! I was more curious about what you were up to and how your day has been going so far. It’s been a bit since we last had a chance to talk to one another.”

“Ah.” It made Ilie wonder why the other was so interested in hearing about something as mundane as how he’d been, why Henri was being so nice to him. “I’m fine,” he answered with a bit of a weak smile; really he hadn’t been any particular way besides existing in stasis. “Nothing interesting has happened, I am just living my life, and that’s really it. Teaching school and existing.” He shook the curl out of his face and rinsed a couple more brushes, though the hair fell right back into place. “Nothing to report, just normal days.”

Henri looked around the classroom curiously as he stepped further into the room. Mentally he wondered if the class had finished doing something hands on before his brain caught up to him and he realized that of course there would be art projects happening all the time in the art room. He spotted Ilie over by the sink rinsing out cups and brushes and made his way over.

As he got closer he noticed that the Romanian man looked very appealing in the way he was dressed with the hair and the rolled up sleeves on his button up. He shot the other man a smile and set his bag down. “Would you like a hand?” he asked as he looked at the art supplies waiting for their turn in the sink. “It would be no trouble…”

“Oh, you really don’t need to, I would hate to keep you from getting home.” The stress and tiredness was audible in his little breathy laugh as he ran his thumb over a brush under the stream of water. “I’m used to doing this by myself, so I’ve got it down to a science because I know how I like to do things.” He applied a bit of baby shampoo to the hairs he was cleaning, as it seemed the paint had been drying in them a little bit longer.

Classes had recently let out for the day and Henri was finished with the bit of grading that he had to do earlier than he expected therefore giving him the evening free. Curiously, he left his classroom after shuffling his things into his bag and headed over to the art rooms inside of the school to see if Ilie was still around that afternoon. He was thankful that they both didn’t have to sit through a rather dull staff meeting. He also just felt like doing something with his friend would be preferable to spending the evening alone.

The Belgian man peeked in the classroom through the doorway and knocked on the frame when he spotted the other man inside. “Hey there, Ilie. Is this a bad time? I just felt like saying hello and seeing how you were doing…”

@iliefolie

Notifications had been causing Ilie’s phone to buzz on and off all day with text messages and Facebook posts reminding him that it was his birthday, an event he hadn’t felt particularly excited about for most of his life; nevertheless, he still planned on politely thanking everyone who wished him a happy twenty-seventh and then spending a quiet evening alone, talking to his family members on Skype and over the phone. In France, school days ended much later than in America, where he had student taught and substituted, so he had much less of the evening left to spend like so until his usual evening medication dosage put him out for the night.

His upper level students were experimenting with gouache that day during class, and with classes all over for the day he was now cleaning up the supplies--storing the paints in the supply closet, and washing the brushes and water cups in one of the sinks in the room, whilst trying his best not to get any paint on his shirt or vest. A loose curl hung in his face as he rinsed out a cup, his back to the door, and he noticed only belatedly that he had a visitor.

Looking at Ilie’s hand, Griffin was astonished to hear he even tried to draw with it again. He had broken his collarbones before, and those breaks alone made him nearly want to never hold a camera up again in fear they would break once more and cause him pain. To hear Ilie not only went right to using it again but also learned to use his other hand in the process while his collarbone also was broken was incredible. He could hardly believe his ears. “You were truly dedicated to your craft, then. I commend you on that, really. I was a wimp with my breaks. I swear my photography was shit for the first few weeks after I regained use of either arm because I was too scared to try to use them when they broke.” Sipping from his drink, Griffin chuckled to himself. “I’m reckless and don’t always take care of myself, but when something is broken, I draw the line.”

“Thank you,” Griffin told Ilie, because who else had really been so kind as to gradually teach him and show him kindness besides Alissa? Ilie really cared to show him compassion. It touched Griffin. It touched him almost as much as Ilie’s saddened words and beautiful sketch of him did. It broke his heart and mended it all at once. “If…if you ever need someone to turn to when you’re not exactly…okay, I’m here for you. In other news, that drawing is incredible, Ilie. Really.” Scooting his chair to the side, he tried to get a better look at it. “I’m truly impressed.”

Griffin was impressed by Ilie’s carrying skills, though he had more intense thoughts on the brain. He probably would have made a comment about it had Ilie not placed the most gorgeous of pastries before him. That, and gone into drawing on napkins. Griffin was impressed. “I’m around Louvre. As for France in general, a few months. I’m sadly not that quick of a learner when it comes to anything not art or photography, so that is why my French doesn’t reflect it.” Griffin chuckled to himself, breaking off a bit of his crêpe. “I don’t have your number, I would love to share my equally-art-filled Instagram with you, and I’ve never been too big on Twitter. Though, I am on it to stalk celebrities. Silly habit, I guess,” he trailed off. Gnawing at his lip, Griffin looked up to Ilie and caught his eye. “You mentioned your time as a waiter. Not to erm…pry or anything, but it sounded pretty rough? Is all well now?”

Henri nodded with a slight frown at the other’s comments about musicians getting a pass and the unfair reputation that artists tended to get. “It really isn’t right how that is the stereotype that tends to plague artists, and I do honestly believe that it certainly keeps some kids from going into those fields. The world has become so technology driven that I feel that there is so much pressure to go into something in the sciences and it is adding unneeded pressure on the kids. I don’t play music but what you said about musicians also feeling the pressure makes sense as well.”

He gave the Romanian a smile as a lull formed in the conversation and both of their teas arrived. Once their server left he picked up his cup and took a sip with a relaxed sigh. “There is something to be said about having a nice cup of tea with good company to enjoy it with.”

Henri watched his companion idly as he looked over the menu before he turned his attention to his own and decided that he would be having some tea as well along with a sandwich for himself. A server came by to take their order while Ilie was obviously trying to gather his thoughts about something. He decided to wait and not disrupt whatever the other man was trying to say.

As he listened to the Romanian speak, he nodded along to show that he understood what he was trying to say. There was a hidden depth to Ilie, one that he knew about but it was still so fascinating to actually be on the other side and experience it for himself. He really wanted to get to know the other man better. He felt like he was learning so much.

“The people who thought you were stupid just because you enjoy art and literature instead of the sciences severely underestimated you and I am glad that you made a real statement by acing that test even though you admitted that you are not the best with exams. I don’t enjoy those stereotypes that you can only really like one set of things and what you enjoy determines your personality and intelligence somehow. It just does not make sense to me. The comment about musicians also enjoying science and math is not a surprising one to me at all. There is a lot of math in music after all. And it isn’t right how much more difficult it is to find and maintain a livable career in the arts versus in the sciences.”

He chuckled a bit at the spectrum analogy and nodded once more. “I do see what you mean though with art and science being more of a spectrum and they feed off of one another.”

“I think you could even argue that, with all of the studies showing that practicing an instrument helps students become better in other areas, musicians are still getting a free pass. And I say this as someone who does play music. The musicians are still seen as more intelligent, while the artists are lazy drug addicts with no real motivations or aspirations.” Ilie stared out the window once again, his hand on the table finding a fork and idly twisting it between his fingers. “My whole life, I’ve known the musicians to be known as the smart kids. That does create another fallacy for kids who begin learning music, for them to be pressured into trying to be seen as more traditionally intelligent; but that’s a topic for another time, for someone with more firsthand experience being known as a ‘musician’ as their ‘thing.’”

He sighed as Ilie correctly pointed out how common it was that art and science were so divided in the modern day and nodded. “I really hate that things are so divided like that. It’s difficult for some of my students to grasp some concepts because they like to claim they can’t really do any science at all when I know they can if they look at the problem a different way. I try to do what I can to show that science and the arts are not as separate as people usually believe. I hope you don’t mind if I borrow some of those examples though or come to you for more ideas about this and getting my students to see it. I feel that when people claim science is “more important,”” here he did finger quotes, “it really hurts the arts. Especially art programs in schools.

He smiled and led them up over to a table so they could sit and look over the menu. “Feel free to order whatever drink you like as well as something to eat if you want. It is my treat today since I asked and I have really enjoyed our conversation so far.”

It wasn’t Ilie’s first visit to this particular café; but this time, when accompanying a cute coworker, he felt more compelled to seem ‘normal’ and decided it would be best to eat at least something. He scoured the menu almost desperately, looking for something that wouldn’t weigh him down too much. Meals in Romania were often rather large, even eating in a restaurant; and budget restaurant dining in America had rather large portions, but living in France didn’t have this problem (even if it meant he was paying more for less food). A spinach quiche sounded fine and wouldn’t clash too much with his green tea with honey. He set down his menu and stared out the window for a few moments, ruminating.

“I was always labeled as an artistic child,” Ilie finally spoke after milling over his words. “My whole life, that’s who I was, so I was expected to not excel in other areas because apparently art automatically makes one stupid. I think the term in English would be pigeonhole? I was forced under that stereotype. And not to say I am any type of genius in any area. But I don’t think I was ever stupid just because I preferred art and occasional literature. The fact that I was bad at tests never helped my case. In Romania, for high school, you have to take a test to determine what type of high school you’ll attend. Standard high school, technical or economic school, trade school, military college, or national college, which was the best. You could list the ones you wanted to go to; and the higher your score on the test was, the more likely you’d go to the one you wanted. My father taught at a national college, arguably the best in the country, and as I mentioned before, his subject was physics, and he’s never had the greatest understanding of art. But I wanted so badly to make him proud that I blew the test out of the water, as they say, which...I think surprised many people when I wasn’t stupid from just drawing all day in my notebooks. And, unlike in France, the type of high school you went to in Romania didn’t limit your choices in higher education; you could choose any type of university or anything you desired. I could have gone to the National University, but went for the art school instead.”

Even though Griffin had said he would pay, he found himself unable to do anything but accept Ilie’s kind words to take care of the tab. He could not think straight enough to do anything other than seek out the nearest empty table and go for it. All he could think about was his past, the way Alissa looked at him in horror when he was high on coke, and the terrible, gruesome dreams he had during withdrawals. It was nearly enough to cost him his appetite. That changed of course when Ilie arrived with the orders. His hungry stomach won over his mind in this instance. “Smells good.”