Silversmith: Ep2

Instructions

A year and four months ago: I walk up to James, who smiles and says “Hello!” “Hi!” I gather my nerve and say “Doyouwanttocometomybirthdaypartytommarow?” “Yeah, I’d love to! What time?” “One pm” “Ok, I’ll be there!” “Great!” We walk to the market together, and he says goodbye, running off in search of tomatoes and plums. I stare wistfully, wishing our walks could last forever. A year, three months and twenty-nine days ago: I stand nervously in wait, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. Then I see James. My other friends no longer feel important. I walk over, say hi, and complement his light blue sweater. Because it looks really good, obviously. We talk, mostly James complaining about the expression on his silver bird’s face (it’s gone from looking psychotic to slightly deranged, which I guess is an improvement). His golden hair flutters in the wind as he smiles, then says “Uh, I think you should be up at the table.” I turn around and sure enough, Mother is impatiently gesturing to come. “Ok, thanks. See you in a bit?” “See you in a bit.” I walk up to the table as Mother guides everyone into singing the happy birthday song. “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…” I find myself staring at James, before realizing I look like a stalker and refocus my attention somewhere else. Then it hits me. I have a crush on James. I’ve always known I liked boys. This really showed when I was 9. I would sit confused, wondering why my classmates were crushing on girls. Then my crush (and best friend) at the time, Benjamin, confessed his crush to Amy, and just like that they were dating. I was devastated. That, my friends, was the first time that I was truly aware that I wasn't “normal”, whatever that means. I blow out the candles, slice the cake, and then rejoin James. To my great irritation, all of my friends rush over to wish me a happy birthday, like they didn't all sing the happy birthday song two seconds ago (I know, I’m acting like a spoiled brat, but I would rather hang out with James). The party slowly dissipates as my friends go home, but James is still staying. Father calles me inside to continue on my latest project, a table, as apparently my birthday is not an excuse to take a break (Stupid table. I dropped it on my foot at least twice). “Sorry, my table is calling. See you next Saturday?” “See you next Saturday.” James heads out, and I’m left with absolutely no motivation to do anything. Wonderful. I come inside, drop the table on my foot (again???), and let loose a stream of curse words under my breath. It’s lucky Father is preoccupied with his sawhorse and isn't paying attention, or otherwise I probably would have gotten a spanking. But when I got a simple measurement wrong, Father comes over and says “You got a girl on your mind?” If only he knew. “Uhh…” I say, because of course that's the most intelligent thing I can think of. “Mmm.” he walks away without another word. A year, 3 months, and 23 days ago: I see James, as usual, on the path to the market. He seems sad, like his dog (ironically named Madison) might have just died. “Hey” “Hi, are you ok?” He sighs, and runs his fingers through his hair. “No, not really” “What happened?” “My bird has gone from slightly angry back to mildly deranged, and my father noticed. He said he wants me to stop going to market and let our maid, Clairissa, do the shopping instead. He said, and I quote, ‘If you’re going to be a proper silversmith, you’ve got to stop frolicking around for half the day at the market and actually put some effort in’” He looks devastated. “Oh…” “Yeah…” “So… I guess this is the last day of us walking to the market together, huh?” “Yeah… sorry” “You have nothing to apologize for, this isn’t your fault.” “Still…” “Maybe we can hang out some other time?” “Possibly…” Our walk to the market is bittersweet, as this tradition is going to crash and burn faster than I can drop a table on my foot (my record is 3 seconds). A year and 2 months ago: James and I have completely stopped hanging out ever since his father demanded he work more on his birds. (honestly, I have exactly zero clue why a silversmith needs to perfect bird faces, the only thing silversmiths do is make silverware) Now I walk to the market alone.