After church, Phil stands quickly and takes my elbow roughly. It is raining out again and all the boarding school residents are mourning, like their grandmas had all just died at once. Phil takes me past the front doors and to an old classroom that use to be used for Sunday school when they still cared about the younger kids getting religious education. He shuts the door behind us and looks at me. I can almost hear the sea waves crashing in his eyes.
"What are you doing?" He asks.
"What do you mean?" Phil is confusing. Has he always been this confusing? Have I just not noticed before?
"Are you afraid of the dark?" He asks again.
"No. I'm not afraid of anything." I huff.
Phil laughs right out loud. "Liar. Everyone is afraid of something. Darkness is your fear. You're lying."
"Am not!"
"Are too. You have secrets, too. What are your secrets, Danny?"
"Do not call me Danny-"
"C'mon, I won't poke fun-"
I slap Phil across the face. Hard. He looks so stunned. He was definitely not expecting it. There's a red mark beginning to appear on his pale skin. I burst into tears and put my hands over my head to defend myself, like back home.
"I'm so sorry. Please don't hurt me. I'm so sorry." I sob into my sweater, feeling sick to my stomach. I'm waiting for the belt. The kicks. The fists. They don't come.
"I'm not going to hit you, Dan. I deserved that slap. I was being inconsiderate and rude and I was prying. I'm sorry."
I'm still on the ground. He's lying. He's going to call me worthless names. He's going to punish me. I'm so ashamed.
Instead, I feel warm hands grab me under my armpits and rise me to my feet. My eyes are still closed. I'm afraid to open them.
"Open your eyes, Dan. I want to see them."
"No."
"They're so pretty. I want to see your pretty eyes."
"They're ugly muddy brown. Common brown. Everyone has brown eyes."
"I don't."
That's true. I blink my eyes open to see Phil Lester's eyes boarding into my own. His are so interesting. You could write poems about his eyes. You could write narratives about his eyes. You could write sonnets about them, songs, plays, novels, musicals. They're like seas bursting wildly on rocky shores and calm beaches where dogs lap happily and children run gleefully around in. They're like the summer skies when there are puffy white clouds above float happily and the winter skies when the air is so chrisp and you can hardly breathe. It's like every shade of blue pushed into his eyes so I can look at them and fall in love with them.
"Your eyes are breathtaking. They're like melted chocolate, warm, soft, inviting. They're like coffee with a tad bit of milk, just the way I like it. They're like towering cliffs that are jagged and dangerous. They're like sweet brown dogs that lay on your feet and lick away your tears when you're sad. They're like leather, soft and comfortable, something you can fall right into and stay forever. They're like the ground when rain falls, the ground that children stomp about and play in. They're beautiful."
I'm afraid I'll cry again and Phil hugs me. If he's the sea, loud and aggressive and blue, then I am the rocky shores and cliffs that his waves crash against.
