The Boy In The Mustard Yellow T-shirt

               The scenery wound past my window quickly at first, then slowly as the traffic lights turned red. I always thought that if the world finally fell apart, people would still follow three simple colours religiously. It could even make for a good episode of love, death, and robots. Humanity was weird like that.

The chauffeur's fingers tapped noiselessly against the wheel, it was the only indication that he might be on edge. I knew because everyone was always on edge around my father.

               It didn't matter if he'd worked for my family for more than fifteen years, it didn't matter if anyone was as scary as a dragon, around my dad, they seemed to be more careful.

My father, on the other hand, didn't show the same side he did the others, to his family—although this chauffeur, in particular, was family. And it wasn't that he was shitty to everyone else, no, he was just really scary when provoked.

               Otherwise, he was always polite and straight to the point. To his actual family, he could be really sweet when he wanted to be. To my mom more than anyone else. It was evident in this little trip we were having.

The chauffeur, whose fingers still tapped noiselessly against the wheel, was Andre. The one I've come to accept is like a second father to me.

My real father was the great Mr. Hawthorne; a very wealthy man, with at least a few billion to his name. It was probably great, if the things the papers said were true, it should have been great.

But things like that came with their own consequences. My dad always made time for me whenever he could, but it was filled with wherever he was planning to expand, or meetings where he wanted to take me, so I could 'have a feel of what I would be inheriting in the future'.

To him, we were solidifying our connection, and maybe we were, but I just wanted him to smile more when he was with me. He seldom did. But with his associates and friends, he always did.

               It might have made me jealous, and I believe there was a time when I was, but the smile never reached his eyes, so it stopped bothering me.

There really wasn't much my dad could teach me out of the business world, and I learned to accept that. It was the hardest pill to swallow when I was younger, but eventually, I did. And that was where Andre came in.

From the time I could walk and remember, he has always been there. As the clumsy child I was, it had always been Andre picking me up a thousand times from the ground.

He nursed my leg when I fell off a bicycle for the first time as he was teaching me how to ride it. He wiped away my tears, saying I was a strong little man and strong little men didn't cry. I had puffed my chest at the praise as I bit my lower lip and looked up to prevent the tears from falling off my eyes. And then he'd gone ahead to pick me up and perch me on his shoulders, running around with me until the only tears that fell off my eyes were that of joy and laughter.

Andre got me an action figure I was crazy about having for my seventh birthday. I'd never told him I wanted it, but I constantly nagged my dad about it whenever we went out.

He seemed to always have something to do, so I understood that he was busy.

               There was always a meeting he had to be at, so it justified the theory that suggested he forgot. It was one among the several that I had made up over time as I grew up. I would not accept that he didn't care. He did, I knew it. He just had a lot riding on his shoulders.

After asking and nagging for about one million times, one father had listened, and it wasn't the one I was talking to.

Andre taught me to never back down in a fight, he was something of a fighter himself so he took it seriously. He taught me to treat people with respect no matter who they were, or where they came from. (Although he did also add that I shouldn't hesitate to punch an asshole if I felt the need to.)

Andre still ruffled my hair whenever my dad wasn't looking. I looked up to him, even now that I seemed to be getting taller than him.

When the light turned green again, we moved and I was jolted from my thoughts.

"Julian?" My dad asked with a little concern, looking back at me.

"Yes?" I answered. He didn't have to look so concerned, it wasn't like he didn't catch me zoning out more times than not.

"I was asking if you'd already picked out what to wear for the dinner today," he replied.

Ah yes, of course, how could I forget? My parents really did love their fancy dinners and small fancy events.

               My father would be with his associates, together with my mother and me. I didn't want to be there, I had absolutely nothing to say to old men and their old wives and their stuck-up, obnoxious children. It sickened me.

               I knew because I went the last time and a few other times before that. The only thing the kids my age had to talk about was how great and mighty their families were and what they owned and whatnot. It wasn't even impressive, to be honest.

                 Show me a warm family that genuinely loved each other unconditionally, now that would be impressive.

No one talked about normal things kids talked about in the movies. No one talked normally, they all sounded like robots programmed to mimic their parents. I felt a familiar anger rising and then going back down. No one even knew about Groot, and that alone, was absolutely offensive to me.

My parents always take me wherever they want to. We're bonding that way, so it's important. But I wasn't so ready to oblige this time, we could push the bonding to another time. "I'm not going," I told my dad.

He chuckled. "Nonsense," he replied. "Of course, you're coming."

I noticed Andre's hands tighten on the wheel after hearing my father's response. I knew that if my dad kept on insisting, he was going to interfere and they'd possibly end up having a fight over me.

"I already spoke with mom about it," I said quickly before Andre could add anything. It took a lot for me to oppose anything my parents said or suggested, but I was dead-set on sitting this one out, so they'd probably drag me there if they wanted it that badly.

"We will continue this later, we're here," my dad said to me. He meant we'd continue the argument with my mom present... by all means then.

Andre brought the car to a stop at The Grand Hall, the museum we'd arrived at—really plain name if you asked me.

               It seemed to be somewhat prestigious, I wouldn't know because I'd never been here before. I've never been to a lot of places here where I lived. I'd probably get lost if I wandered around for too long.

It's not that I couldn't be bothered to learn my surroundings, I had some idea of the places my dad went to and a few my mom went to, plus a few Andre snuck me out to.

               I didn't know much because I wasn't allowed to move around that easily. The first condition was that I had to have bodyguards with me, and that easily turned claustrophobic if you were in public. I would rather not.

This was just one out of very few rare times that my dad actually accepted to leave the house without a bodyguard.

Aside from that was that I studied in a privately owned boarding school all the way in Switzerland. And that meant I had no friends here either because they either lived there or in other places around the world. It was no good.

Many times, I dreaded the holidays and yearned for school to begin, because spending time with my friends was so much better than tailing my parents around all the time, in unfamiliar places.

I didn't plan to go with my father to do whatever business he had to do, and he didn't pressure me about it either because he'd much prefer I stayed inside the car and away from the public eye anyway.

The purpose of this excursion was to get for my mother some sort of art piece she 'needed in her house', as I'd understood it.

In my own unimportant opinion, the things anyone needed included air, food, and anything along that line, but my mother always forewent all reason. Everything was about reputation to her.

After she got this piece, I knew there would be a party thrown for whatever reason she thought of. Then she would rub it in my aunts' faces by asking them where best to place the expensive piece of art.

I still had to figure out where to escape to when that day came about, I'd much rather be anywhere else, to be honest.

I watched my dad walk out and into the museum, sometimes he looked like such a simple man. But when he fixed his attention on you, then all the simplicity left him, and you were left stranded with a lion ready to devour you in one fell swoop at any wrong move. I loved that lion, but God he was so infuriating.

"It's going to rain," I told Andre.

"You don't know that," he replied immediately. He was wrong of course, I always knew when it was going to rain.

"I'll bet you ten bucks," I replied. And so went our ageless game.

Whenever one of us wanted to prove a point without arguing, we bet money and the victor took it home. It solved a lot of pointless arguments.

"Thanks for the free money," he said confidently.

I didn't argue any further with him on that matter. He began to hum happily. Funny how the atmosphere always changed depending on the presence of my parents.

"I'm bored, so I'm going to check this place out," I said while unlocking the door.

"I'll let your father know," he replied. "Try not to cry without me, more specifically, don't piss on yourself, I won't come to get you.

I hated to admit it but when I was four, I cried, pissed my shorts, and wailed for almost a full thirty minutes just because I had seen an artificial skeleton of a T-Rex. In my defense, it was really scary as it towered above me while it tried to eat me up.

I even went ahead to fight everyone off me until Andre came to save the day. I readily jumped into his arms the moment I saw him approach me.

He won't let me forget it, so I flipped him off and walked away, hearing his laughter follow me outside the car.

The room was humongous, as any museum should be, and I didn't even know where to start. I never should have done this to myself.

I wasn't the biggest fan of art galleries, museums, or even any places where auctions were held. I had nothing against the art or the history—those were great. I just couldn't really focus, to a point where it got annoying. Museums were the worst because they are the biggest.

I moved around a little bit and perused through a few art pieces and relics until I came to stop in front of the biggest painting I had seen so far. I had to stretch my neck and look up at it because it was that tall. I could probably lie down and my length would still not have been its width.

I was still trying to figure out how anyone could paint something so big or how long it took them, or just to what lengths did their willpower go when I noticed that someone was standing right next to me.

It's the sneakers I noticed first—I had the exact same pair at home... somewhere I didn't really remember.

I looked up slowly from the shoes and noticed he was wearing jeans and a mustard yellow T-shirt. His skin was a rich brown complexion and his hair was curly at the top and buzzed out at the edges. My best guess was that he was African-American. He was probably around my age too, even if he was so tall.

Not that I was short, I was actually taller than the average male height, he just happened to be further up that scale. He looked more like someone who played a sport for a national team, not someone you'd find taking their time to stare at art.

The boy didn't look back at me, thankfully, because I couldn't stop myself from studying his profile for some reason. Goodness, what a jaw! I thought my palms at that point were just the least bit clammy, although I decided not to believe it.

"Hi," I finally said.

He didn't answer me. There wasn't even any indication to tell whether he heard me or not, he didn't even look at me. The boy just walked away to stare at another painting.

I wanted to walk away too and go back to the car, but I didn't appreciate people not answering when I talked to them. If my parents' fussiness at manners was good for anything, then I knew that it was rude. So I followed him.

"Isn't that Artemis?" I asked while coming to a stop next to him, referring to the next painting he was looking at. I knew fully well that the painting was 'The birth of Venus' by the Italian artist Sandro Botticelli—although this one was a replica of the original piece somewhere in Italy. Just like I thought, it seemed to irritate him. "She's Apollo's aunt, isn't she? And this painting shows her birth."

The boy finally turned to me, and I finally saw his face. His eyes were like a deep golden—if that sort of thing even existed. His furrowed eyebrows weren't bushy but they weren't thin either. I'd say they were perfect. My heart embarrassingly, sort of skipped a beat.

"What do you want?" He asked me.

Great, his voice was deep too. He sounded a little wary and irked that I, in particular, was talking to him. I'd never seen him in my life, so I had no idea what I'd done.

"I'm just looking at Artemis here," I motioned to the painting with my hand.

He was definitely irritated. "It's Aphrodite, or in this context, Venus. But have at it," he said and made to walk away again.

"Wait," I said before he could go. My heart was beating crazily. It's not something that has happened to me before, certainly not for a reason I couldn't understand. It felt like if anyone was close enough, they could hear it drumming in my chest.

He stopped and looked at me a little impatiently. I didn't know what to say. My tongue felt stuck.

"What?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Julian, please talk, I'm begging you, my inner voice pleaded with me. "I uh... It's rude to ignore someone who's talking to you."

That actually seemed to amuse him. "Is it?" He asked and took a step towards me, I had no idea what for.

I didn't want him to get closer, I honestly felt like my nerves would force me to run away if he did.

"Julian," I heard my father's voice, distracting me and causing me to take my eyes off the boy. "There you are, let's get going."

I heard that familiar edge to his voice. Was he seriously angered that I stepped out of the car without him or Andre? The man really needed to relax.

Nevertheless, it felt like I had been saved. And yet at the same time, it felt like a rug was pulled away from under me.

I was just from telling the boy I met that it was rude to ignore someone, so I shouldn't leave without saying anything to him, I told myself.

               I turned back in his direction, but he'd already moved on to stare at a mini sculpture of some sort like I wasn't talking to him just a few moments ago.

I looked at him for a moment, studying him study something else, then I turned back and followed my dad to the car.

The temptation to look back was the greatest I'd ever faced. Mostly because it felt like he was staring at me as I walked out until I was out of the building.

Andre held the door open for me, standing stoic like a soldier at attention. I hated that. "I can get my own door, Andre," I said with a frown.

"Yes, yes," he answered and smiled. "In you go, my lord."

I'd get him for that one. He knew I hated it when he called me that, but he always seemed to have fun with it.

"What time does this place close?" I asked my dad after he got into the car.

"Around midnight, if I'm not mistaken," he replied. "I take it you didn't make friends with that boy, or something so absurd," my dad said, or asked, I wasn't sure.

"Why not?" I asked. I could feel my anger bubbling again, but that was just it.

That was the thing about my anger, it was always just there. It never surfaced or went out of control, even at times when I could really use it. It always contained itself and told me to keep it safe inside. Maybe that way it wouldn't die, and maybe that was why I listened to it. I always kept it inside, safe from harm.

"Poor people," my dad answered. "Our worlds just don't mix."

It wasn't what Andre taught me, but I kept my mouth shut. I had so many questions, but I silenced every single one as I watched the rain droplets start to beat steadily against the car window.

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So there's our first chapter! What do you think?

Thank you for reading, have a beautiful time!
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