YOU ARE THE REASON
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I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
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@wesleyhanson
@wesleyhanson: i still don't really get this. what if i want to talk about something that goes over the character limit? Then I have to split it into
@wesleyhanson: multiple tweets when i could just post a status on facebook or make a blog post how does this make my life any easier it doesn't
“I doubt you’re getting good pictures,” Luca countered, but his tone was still soft and already defeated. “I’m sure there’s much better people to shoot whether you chose me or not.”
“No, you look great see—” He’ll stop mid sentence and hop down from the tree so he can bring up the pictures from before. He clicks through letting him see a very tired Luca on the LCD screen. “You look fucking DEAD…it’s great.”
swag, swag on u
justin bieber
He doesn’t understand what feeling colors means. Grace knows that’s because he hasn’t experienced it, but also because of something else. He seems to not understand concepts that can’t physically be seen, which is a nice contrast to her inability to see what can be seen. He acts like it’s some kind of magic and she has to hold back a laugh at his childish excitement. It’s cute, really, how Wesley descends from the tree and holds out his hand for her. She takes it in hers and holds it in front of her face to no avail. She cannot see his actual hand. Instead she blinks a couple times. “I’m seeing…it’s a bright kind of color, kind of like when you look at the sun. If I face my eyes toward the sun, I can almost see it. It still shines through, even through my eyes that don’t work properly. That’s what your hand looks like to me, though I know that’s probably not what color it really is.”
She shrugs at his statement. It was a little bit of both sometimes. Annoying because she would like total darkness at times, but cool because sometimes she thought she preferred seeing the light to seeing nothing, ever. “No, you are definitely not me. But you are the most interesting person I’ve come across so far here at Westwood.”
He watches her with her with a smile, wishing he could feel colors. “That is so weird,” he’ll chuckle after she describes his hand as bright. “Kind of WRONG but it’s still great. It’s wrong because my palm isn’t as bright as the sun it’s more—...it’s more like your skin kind of...” He turns his hand over. “The OTHER side of my skin isn’t though because I’m black.” He pauses and shakes his head when he catches the error in his speaking. “Saying I’m black is misleading for you though because black is the darkness that YOU see and my skin’s not that dark. NO ONES skin is that dark. Brown... I’m a light brown.”
“Interesting?” he laughs like she just delivered the punchline of the century. “No, I’m not interesting. Not at all. I don’t talk about interesting things. I overheard this girl yesterday and she was talking about how she had a THREESOME on a YACHT in CROATIA. That’s interesting. I talk about nature and foreign languages and people don’t like that. That’s not interesting.”
“Excuse me?” She asked, putting one hand on her hip. Kate was used to a minor life of fame, with freshmen wanting to sit with her at lunch and local newspapers asking for interviews, but she had not experienced secret tree stalking. “What are you do- why are you taking pictures of me?”
“You’re excused?” Wait, she’s upset. That’s not the right response for this situation. FUCK. “Why are YOU so photogenic? You should be a model.”
Grace noticed that Wesley seemed really smart. She was impressed by it and couldn’t help but smile as he spoke. He was right, she didn’t know for certain what the colors looked like. But that didn’t mean she didn’t know how they felt. Brown, for instance, it has this enveloping presence. Brown, like chocolate, like coffee. Brown was sweet, soft. Not like the sour brightness of yellow. Her understanding of color came from the objects that were that color and of how others had described the particulars of that color to her. “I have some understanding of how colors are. I can…feel them, in a way.” It was a good question, not one many thought to ask. Grace smiled broadly. “I do see light. Sometimes I see light that isn’t there. When I was younger..I thought it meant my vision was coming back. But I guess a lot of blind people experience it. I’ve heard that sighted people have it happen too sometimes. The doctor told me, that if you guys close your eyes or rub on them, you’ll see the little colored orbs and things that I usually see. It’s rarely total darkness for me.”
“You can—” He rubs his thumb and forefinger together in slow small circles. He feels the slight ridges in his fingertips but senses absolutely NOTHING that could tell him about the color of his palm. He'll frown, shaking his head. “...you can feel colors? I-I can’t feel colors.” He looks down at the ground and wonders if she can feel how green the grass is. “Wait...” He’s clearly spent too much time up in the trees because it takes him less than five seconds to get down (and without a scratch on his camera too). A few seconds after that, he’s reaching out for her hand. “What color is my hand?” He’ll ask like he’s waiting for her to perform some kind of MAGIC TRICK.
Sighted People. He smiles at the words and mouths them to himself. He had never thought of himself as an other in that way, as ‘sighted.’ This was a first. He nods when she mentions colored orbs. “I know what you mean. That must be cool...or annoying. It could be both. I’m not you so I don’t know.”
A distant sigh disrupted her from her reading. She looked around, but no one seemed to be responsible for the rather long sigh she heard. A lost strand of her hair was tucked back behind her ear before she went back to her reading. However, she was once again disrupted by a voice that seemed to be coming from above. She looked up and slightly laughed. “ For a moment there I thought god was talking to me.” She shielded her face from the sun with her hand. “ Not do what? And why the heck are you up there?”
“Nope. Not god. Just me. That—that’d be a weird thing for god to say though. I think he’d have more important things to say like ‘the meaning of life is [blank]’ or...or he’d explain why he thought mosquitoes were a good idea,” he’ll shrug from up in his tree before he speaks again. “——You’re moving and I’m trying to take pictures of you.”
“I’ve had a really bad day and pictures really aren’t my thing anyway,” Luca explained, trying to hide his face as much as possible. He was fatigued and antsy. Last night his father had returned home and not much sleeping was able to have been done. “Isn’t there anyone else you can shoot?”
“I...I could find someone else but I like your face and I chose you so...It’s kind of a compliment that I’m taking pictures of you. You’re welcome.” So sympathetic Wesley is. So considerate.
After class and right before practice, Belle went outside to practice her cheers on the green. She thought she was alone, but when she suddenly heard a strange and mysterious sigh and voice seemingly coming from nowhere, Belle stopped what she was doing and jumped backwards. “You’re what? ” she exclaimed in a small panic, looking all over the place for the mysterious voice. She most definitely wasn’t used to people taking pictures of her without her knowledge on top of them hiding out of sight from her to do so. When she finally realized it was coming from above her, she looked up into the tree and crossed her arms over her chest. “I… I have to practice. Why are you taking pictures of me anyways?” This was definitely weird she thought to herself.
Great. Now he has to repeat himself. “I said it is really hard for me to secretly photograph you when you keep moving around.” There’s a short nod after his words. “I take pictures of everyone. It’s my thing. It’s what I do. It’s like a job except I don’t get paid...and I actually enjoy it...and there are no annoying coworkers..it’s not like a job at ALL actually... ”
“Are you angry? That’s angry body language...or I’m pretty sure it is. It’s also offended I think. Whatever it is, it’s not good. People don’t cross their arms when they’re happy.”
“Really?” Grace had never known that most people didn’t have proportionate faces. She doesn’t know what most people’s faces look like. Just those of the people close to her, those who let her fingers peruse every inch of their visage. The earnestness of his speech makes her smile.
She understands what he means about lying. She has trouble doing it as well. Grace only ever lies to her parents sometimes, and she feels extremely guilty whenever she does. As Wesley tells her that she’s pretty, she ducks her head down, a small smile on her lips. He isn’t the first person to tell her that. Hanna is. But it’s nice to hear someone else thinks so, especially given that she doesn’t feel pretty. “And what color is your hair?” She asks him curiously.
“Really...at least not 100% proportionate.”
“Dark brown. A really dark brown.” He’ll laugh, almost to himself at all the sense he’s making right now. “But..but YOU don’t know what colors are and I keep talking about them. That doesn’t make any sense. Are you completely blind or can you see light? Some people who are legally blind can still see a little but if not, you’re...” He looks down at his hands taking a second to recall the term. “——NLP, no light perception.”
“Law’s got nothing to do with it, pal. If you’re up a tree sneaking creepy photos of people you should be ready for the repercussions. Suffer for your art and all that,” he said as he snapped a few more pictures and tried to find an angle that was unflattering. It turned out there fucking wasn’t, which Malcolm found profoundly unfair. “Especially because I would have made an amazing model if you would have just asked. Seriously, look at me, I’m beautiful.”
“I have. MULTIPLE times.” and you’re damn right there’s no unflattering angle for Wesley. He laughs when he calls him himself beautiful (but really could he even argue against it?) “Yeah your cheekbones are pretty intense...eyes too. Pretty much the whole face thing you’ve got going on. Striking features.” He’ll shrug after a pause. “People get all...WEIRD when they realize the camera is on them. Looks different and I don’t like it as much.”
So Gabriel’s doing what a normal person usually does once school is over, and that’s LEAVING the place. In their arms they’re holding what seems to be their only school supply — a multi-subject notebook filled with drawings and doodles rather than actual work — and when they hear that familiar voice, it falls to the ground. But before reaching to pick it up, Gabriel turns to search for where the voice is coming from, shielding their eyes from the sun. Spotted. “Shit. Can’t you and Sam just, I dunno, let me live? This is getting BORDERLINE STALKERISH. ”
He frowns as his brain chooses to bypass their plea and instead get straight to what he’s now very curious about. “You...you dropped your NOTEBOOK. Why do you only have that? That’s the only thing you have.” He back tracks to what they said before and shakes his head, fiddling with the zoom on his camera. “Not a stalker. I’m a photographer.”
“Sure I do. My face isn’t proportionate. Just because I can’t see it doesn’t mean I can’t feel it.” Grace argues, crossing her arms in a defensive pose but really she’s just teasing. “Are my eyes really that huge? That’s sort of weird, don’t you think? Having such big eyes and not being able to see out of them?” She lets out a laugh, not caring how weird she sounds. “Tell me, what do you see when you look at me? Be honest.”
“Faces that are proportionate are supposed to be more attractive but most peoples aren’t.” He nods at her question, twirling a leaf in between his fingers. “Yeah, they take up a lot of your face. It’s not scary huge but they’re big. Especially since the rest of your features are small.” He chuckles at the irony of her words and the fact that she said them aloud.
“I’m always honest. I don’t lie. I try sometimes but I’m not that good at it so I just...don’t do it.” He’ll take a few seconds to stop and think as he studies her face. “I see a girl that’s pretty. Not supermodel type of pretty because they look confused all the time but a normal pretty um...” Eyebrows furrow. He shakes his head. “I can’t even TELL what color you hair is. It looks orangey-brown. I think...I’m not sure...could be sun.”
Malcolm blinked at the boy in the tree as all the pieces of what was happening to him right now fit into place.Was this guy for real? He looked around to see if he could find a group of sociology students studying his reactions. There were none. “You know,” he said slowly, getting up and walking over to the tree from the bench he’d been on, slipping his phone from his pocket and opening the camera app. “Any sentence that has, ‘secretly photograph you,’ in it is probably a sign that you should reevaluate your life choices.” He aimed his phone up and started snapping pictures of the boy.
“This is public property. I know my rights,” he’s uttered those words so often that they’re automatic at this point. Meaningless. People threatening to sue you gets B O R I N G after the fifth time. He just hopes this isn’t the part where he gets PUNCHED. He notices the camera but is unphased and continues to take pictures “I am an artist. This is my aε$theti¢. What’s your excuse?”
h e a d c a n o n #1 echo·la·lia (n.) the often pathological repetition of what is said by other people as if echoing them.
There’s a good chance that at some point in a conversation with Wesley, something you say will be repeated back to you. A word, a phrase, a joke, whatever. Sometimes its a situation where he’s aware of the repetition (like if he’s trying to commit something to memory) but more often than not, it’s automatic and uncontrollable
h e a d c a n o n #2 stim·ming (v.) also known as self-stimulatory behavior. the repetition of physical movements, sounds, or repetitive movement of objects common in individuals with developmental disabilities, but most prevalent in people with autism spectrum disorders.
Wesley carries various tactile objects with him at all times to fidget with in times of distress or overstimulation. They’re usually small trinkets that he makes or handpicks himself for that specific purpose. He stores them in a bag but when he’s in class, he’ll keep one or two in his pocket. In addition to using objects, he’ll also tap his fingers or hum to himself.
Sure, it’s a little out of the ordinary. But Grace doesn’t really mind. She smiles and laughs, leaning against the tree casually. “Take all the pictures you want, I don’t care. But I don’t know why you’d want to photograph me. There’s plenty of other girls at this school. Ones that are actually pretty. At least that’s what I hear.”
“Actually pretty. You don’t know what your face looks like—you don’t know that for SURE.” He’ll shake his head and turn to her. “I like capturing everything. I’m not picky...plus you’re an interesting subject. You’re tiny but your eyes are HUGE and it shows up well on camera.”
You hear a s i g h in the distance before the voice that seems to be coming from...the sky? “Y’know, it is really hard for me to secretly photograph you when you keep MOVING AROUND. ” Not much of a secret anymore but yes, that is Wesley hiding in the tree above you. He still hasn’t made eye contact. His camera’s trained on you but his own gaze is somewhere else entirely now. “ Can you maybe not do that? ”
