Masterpiece

Masterpiece
By Rikka K

I'm up in my room doing a drawing, watching my cat Nicky, who is sleeping by his water bowl, but I can't help but peek out the window every five minutes. I draw whenever I'm tensed, or when I'm thinking. Today, I'm thinking. Meghan is coming today.

Mom told me. I was in bed this morning when Mom barged in and announced, “Wake up! Meghan’s coming today!”

Meghan Rollins used to be sort of my friend, until she moved away when we were 12. I keep wondering about her. I mean, I wonder what she’s like now?

Before, she was like a cat that had been freed from her cage. She prowled along the street, seeking out whoever she felt like pestering on that day. Unfortunately, I happened to be an easy target. She’d come almost every single day just to throw pebbles at my bedroom window.

I was a frustrated artist at the time, a preteen boy, wanting my work to be displayed at the school's art exhibit. She was probably thinking, "Perfect! Just the right amount of concentration for me to ruin." I don't know. I'm not Meghan. I don't think anyone can possibly be Meghan, or even vaguely like her.

One day, she knocked at our door. At my exasperation, I grabbed it open and there she was, the eager face looking at my frowning one.

"Bug off, Meghan!" I said.

She looked at me like I was some sort of exotic insect, "What's wrong with you?"
"I'm working, Meghan. Can't you just leave me alone?"

"Come on! Let's take a walk!" And just like that, she pulled me from my house and took me to the park. I was too shocked to say a word, but I tried to pull back. What was this girl doing?

Once we got there, she pushed me. She took me to the park, then pushed me down on the grass. "Look!"

I looked, "Why?" I looked up at the sky. I saw a cloud that resembled our cat Nicky.

"Like what you see? You work too much. You need to rest."

I shrugged, not replying.

"I come here a lot. I come whenever I feel lonely."

I turned to her, "You feel lonely? You?"

"Yeah. Nobody ever talks to me at school. I like you. You say 'Hi'."

"Oh." I was quiet. I never knew that.

We went home together in silence. It was a great feeling, when you know that someone likes you, even if that someone bugs you nonstop. It was even greater when you know that that someone feels lonely, but enjoys your companionship.

That night, I drew a picture of Meghan. In my drawing, she was looking at the sky, lying on the grass, alone, tears streaming down her eyes. It wasn’t anything special, and it wasn’t the best drawing I’ve made. I decided to send it to the school for the exhibit.

The next day, I was planning to submit my drawing to the office secretly, but the guys took it and passed it around, until Meghan saw it. She knew what it was. She pulled me to a corner, “You can’t send that in!”

“Why not?” I asked. It wasn’t that bad, was it?

“It’s me!”

“Well, so?”

“You can’t send in a picture of me! That’s … that’s plagiarism!”

“No, it’s not. It’s you! Where’s it written that I can’t draw you?”

“Please!” she was begging.

“No.”

She looked at me like I did the worse thing in the entire world, “Fine! If you want it that way, fine!” she stalked away, leaving me confused.

I sent it in anyway, and I was ecstatic when I saw it in the exhibit the next day. I looked all over the school for Meghan, to tell her, but she wasn’t there.

“Where’s Meghan?” I asked the guys. Nobody knew. I went to her house after school.

Her mother opened the door, “Well, hello.”

“Hi, I’m looking for Meghan.”

“I’m sorry, dear. She’s taking a nap. I’ll ask her to call you later, okay?”

But Meghan never called. Two days later, she went to New York to live with her uncle, leaving her parents behind in the house across the street from ours. I never saw her again.

The day after she left, I asked the school for permission to take down my drawing. They wondered why I would want to do that. It was a wonderful drawing, they said. They wanted to send it to Washington for an art contest. But I was stubborn. I took it anyway. I drew another picture for them, but they said it wasn’t as good as the one with Meghan in it.

I’m gonna see her today, I guess. It’s been two years. That’s why I’m drawing again, trying to remember what Meghan looked like. The drawing of her I did before was in my closet, taped on the door. I saw it every morning when I got ready to go to school, and every night before I went to bed; yet, I could never remember what Meghan really looked like. I guess it was partly because she always looked different every time you see her. I mean, one time she’d be all happy and smiling, and the next, she’d have the saddest look in her eyes.

I hear a rumble from outside. It’s a truck—a moving truck. I leave my drawing on the desk, and rush downstairs, kicking our cat Nicky accidentally, resulting in a nasty meow that means he’ll be ignoring me for the next few days. I open the door and walk across the street to Meghan’s house. Before I can knock, the door opens, and I see Meghan’s smiling face. She’s wearing a baseball cap over her head and grinning at me.

“Hey! How’ve you been?” she says.

I shrug, “Fine. Been here and there. Where’ve you been?”

“New York! It was absolutely great! Here, check this out!” She takes off her cap, and I gasp. Underneath the cap is a shiny head, not a single strand of hair.

“You—your hair…”

“Yeah, sucks, doesn’t it? It’s chemotherapy.”

“What happened?”

“I had cancer. But it’s all gone now.”

“Hold on,” I say, “I’ve got something to show you.”

I run up to my room and take the picture taped on the closet door. I take it back to Meghan.

“Oh, hey! Thanks! This is great! Thank you.” She smiles at me, the most genuine, sincerest smile in the world, “Come on in then, I’ll show you my pictures.”

Meghan takes my hand and leads me inside, and this time, I don’t pull back.