Reassurance
Reassurance “I just want to help people, you know”. Jeni told me when we were sitting on the lawn in front of our dorm. The rain that plagued the spring semester had finally let up, leaving behind a clean smell of grass. The sun peaked out from the light grey clouds, bathing us in the toasty warmth of its light. Jeni and I were curled up near each other under the big tree, our backs on the rough trunk. Beneath us, the ground was firm, a light, almost greyish brown – walked on too much to grow any grass. I had propped my sketchpad on my knees, trying to capture the shadows of the leaves on Jeni’s brown skin. She tilted her head up and closed her eyes, eyebrows pinched in thoughts. “I just want my friends to be happy”, she sighed, slumping into herself. I shaded the drops of sunlight on Jeni’s lashes, the shadows of which long and slender on her cheekbones. Broad strokes for her jawline. I hummed to let her know that I was listening, pencil moving onto her neck. D