The Art of Getting By

The smell of the barbecue filled the air, making everyone’s stomach grumble in hunger. Not the children though, the children were distracting themselves with cookies and video games. They all sat in the living room as if there weren’t any adults around, they were all in their own little universe filled with laughter and fun.

Although it didn’t last long. the sun was shining bright, it peaked into the windows, greeting the children ‘Hello’, they went outside to greet the sun, and play games that weren’t gonna damage their eyesight. Everyone was playing catch, but not Hazel and Harry. They sat in front of the porch, sharing a tub of vanilla ice-cream, their favorite. They sat there, selfishly devouring and enjoying every lick and scoop as their friends play catch.

“Knock knock,” Harry says, turning to Hazel

“Who’s there?”

“A cow goes..”

“A cow goes who?”

“No, Haze. A cow goes moo.” To Harry’s surprise, she laughed. She actually laughed. Someone actually laughed at his joke. He didn’t know wether to feel proud or fooled because nobody ever laughs at his jokes. She laughed, not because it was funny but at how confident Harry was with his lame jokes. As Hazel laughed, the sun was still shining as bright as her eyes that Harry had now just noticed how the sun complimented her eyes so well. Her eyes reminded him of the warmth that his blanket provides him at night, It reminded him of hot chocolate in the cold winter, It’s the warmth that makes you feel at home. As if the cold never existed. That’s what Harry felt. Home. She was still laughing, her eyes were squinting, the sound of her laugh was music to his ears. The sun was shining, their Ice-cream was melting but, he didn’t care because she was still smiling, recovering from her laughing-fit, and that’s when he knew.

Since that day, Hazel and Harry were each other’s comfort through tragedies and triumph. There was something about Hazel that Harry adored so deeply. Maybe it was the way she laughed, or smiled. Maybe it was the way her eyes shined bright like the sun, even without any source of light. Her eyes still lit up. Maybe it was the way she gets lost in her canvas and paint brush. The way her face lights up when she talks about her passion for Monet and Art.

All Harry knew was that she planted the flowers in his mind.

Hazel on the other hand, is terrified. In general. Of love, mostly. And her father’s false portrayal of it towards her mother. Hazel was terrified she’d end up like her father. “I wont be like you,” She says, staring at their family picture. Hazel adored Harry. He was her only source of happiness, for she did not find it anywhere else. Even within herself. The sound of her parents arguing over the lack of money, and the sound of glass shattering on the floor was the sound she was most familiar with.

Three years ago, it was a relief for Hazel when the mailman finally came, after waiting for weeks. She rushed outside to the mailbox and eagerly opened and read it, her eyes widened and her mouth was in a shape of an ‘o’, “I got in,” Hazel whispers to herself. There were a few tears, but it was bliss. On that day, Harry had also received the same mail, and it was also bliss.

Harry and Hazel were both artists, and admirers of art in all of its strangest forms. They were both fortunate to have each other, they were both each other’s home, for they found happiness and comfort even without a bed to sleep on. They both saved up for a small apartment that is ten minutes away from their Uni.

Hazel works at a café and Harry works at a sandwich shop, which is convenient for both of them, they get free food whenever they please. Hazel did not mind when a blonde girl approached Harry, and touched his arm as she laughed obnoxiously, she rushed to their little spot under the tree of the campus with two hot mint teas in her hand, that she had brought from the café. As Harry and Little Miss Blondie shared their giggles and notes, Hazel realized that she did mind. “Fucking hell,” she muttered under her breath and sipped her mint tea.

She got out her sketchbook and continued the doodle that she started while on a lunch break at work. It was a man with a third eye, and with different types of flowers growing out of his brain, ears, and eyes. Hazel smiled at the thought of her father. She knew he would like this one. Her father had always appreciated her work, despite of being an alcoholic — Hazel knew he’s doing the best he can as a father to his child. They get to see each other twice a month, he left when she was 15. She remembered the chaos, and how much tears she drowned herself in. She remembered calling Harry, and him getting on his bike, despite of the rain, within 5 minutes, Harry was there to hold her as she cried. She remembered Harry singing The Smith’s ‘Asleep’ and how beautiful his voice sounded.

They never left the room that night, he just held her and sang to her until she fell asleep. She remembered Harry apologizing because he couldn’t do anything but give her comfort and love that she deserves. She smiled in response.

“You have me though, we have each other. We’ll manage.”
Harry smiled, held her even tighter and closer. And so did she.

"Hello, my little Hazelnut.” Harry says with a smile on his face, and a phone number written at the back of his hand that was holding a water bottle. “New pal?” Hazel says, not sounding too pleased about it. “She’s alright,” Hazel handed him his now warm mint tea, he thanked her and took a sip.

“How was your day?” He asks the girl who was focused a little too much on her doodle, but you could see the radiation of passion in her pencil strokes. Harry stared at her for a while, admiring his view. She soon realized that he had said something, she raised her eyebrows when she looked up, and her eyes glowed with passion that never seemed to escape. Harry stared for a moment, and quietly thinking: Your eyes should replace the sun. “I asked how your day was.” He chuckled, his dimples appeared as he did so. “It was okay. The cute film student was there. Zayn? Yeah, he really likes cheesecakes.” Harry scoffed. He wasn’t fond of Zayn, he knew he was bad news from the moment he saw him. He also knew Hazel was fond of him the moment she took her order which was always the same: cheesecake and coffee.

She really wasn’t though. She just wanted to see how Harry would react.

He thought: Haze, you’re too good for him. He just thought of it though. He never voiced out that thought because the smile on Hazel’s face was too precious for Harry to ruin. “Do you like him?” Harry asked, genuinely this time. He lied down on the grass with his elbows supporting his body. He turned to her, looking into her eyes that glowed, and she, looking into his that reminded her of a forest after rain. “I don’t know him well enough to. Seeing his face inspires me though,” She says, with a smirk on her face. Which was true. “And you? Are you ever gonna call Little Miss Blondie earlier?” Hazel asks, looking down at her sketchbook, avoiding eye contact. “Maybe. She’s cute, don’t you think?” he shrugged. Was she though? Was she even nice? Harry thought to himself.

“Well, I didn’t really see her face.” She claims, still looking down at her sketchbook, going over and over the lines, pretending to look busy. “Maybe I will call her.”

He didn’t want to though. Hazel gave him two thumbs up for support, she remained going over and over the lines of the finished artwork, all she can really thought of was maybe she was fond of Zayn after all. While Harry thought maybe what he's about to do was a foolish move.

Notes

First chapter was originally longer, but it was too long and I did not feel like boring you! But hello! I hope you somewhat enjoyed this bit, please do let me know if all is well.

Thank you for reading!