03-Undeserved Apathy

Adie chatted with the other socialites after she had bought her food. Life seemed so simple for her. Meanwhile I sat down on one of the many benches lining the field. Absently, I looked over to the front gate, but the person had not reappeared. I scanned the scores of talking people on the grass, hoping he would stick out amongst them. Then I looked back at my feet. Why was I even searching for him? It was a complete coincidence that he was a look-a-like for the character I had imagined. I shouldn't be concerned about what he was doing. He had his own life.
Yet, on the other hand, it had been so uncanny seeing him. Just after I had handed in my piece too.
I pulled my bag closer across the seat and rifled through it for my drawing book. I flipped over it's hard cover and passed through some of my old pictures; some places and animals, but mostly people. I turned to the next free page and began to sketch the outlines of a face, spending most of my time trying to make the eyes look deeper. The graphite didn't do their blue justice.

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He preyed on my mind through the rest of the day, keeping me occupied in my classes, trying to draw eyes in my margins. Adie must have noticed, but said nothing. I walked home in silence, thinking of other worlds and more possible ideas, but always straying back to him. Finally, I stopped on the door step of my house, standing straighter.
-Right. That's it. This is ridiculous. How can I be so obsessed with someone I thought looks a bit like someone I imagined. I didn't even see him up close.-
I made the decision to not let him bother me again until I had a sound reason to. I turned my key in the door and trudged inside.
"Dad? You here?" I called as I closed the door behind me.
When there was no reply I dumped my bag on the couch in the front room. On the kitchen bench was a piece of note paper, scribbled on in red pen and cello-taped down. The hand writing was large and slightly sloppy. He had obviously been in a hurry.

Make the food Leave mine in fridge Got called into work Catch you later.

I ripped the paper off, scrunching it up with one hand while opening the fridge with the other. My Dad was always at work. He was a Surveyor, so he went out of town to work on the roads most days. He never told me, but I suspected that he went to the Pub sometimes, pretending to work. I always knew when he came home smelling like Alcohol.
Searching through the cupboards, I grabbed a few cans of Spaghetti, then some Sausages from the freezer. I brushed some of my escaping hair back off my face, collecting the necessary pots. After setting it all on the bench, I turned on the stove and began pouring the Spaghetti into the deeper of the two pots. While cooking, I tried to think of my speech finals the next week, or the upcoming school formal, anything to keep me from brooding over the mysterious circumstance of that day. Never the less, while eating alone in the dark kitchen, he returned to my mind.
It had been rather uncanny seeing him, tall, blonde and calm just as I had created. If only I knew his name, then I could convince myself that he wasn't a product of my imagination. But on the other hand, if I got close enough to learn his name, I might learn of more similarities and accidentally become more ensnared in the puzzle. I washed up and placed my father's meal in the fridge as he had asked.
I traipsed upstairs, bag in hand, feet scuffing over the faded blue carpet. My room was the only one upstairs, a small space filled by only a bed and a desk. While the furnishings were scarce, the room didn't lack character. I opened the door, the movement rustling the papers stuck to the walls. There wasn't a surface clear of them, apart from the floor. I leaned my bag up against the chair and moved towards the large window, stretching the length of one wall. I was drawn to the view, looking down the street.
I held my breath.
Silhouetted under a lamp was a figure, surrounded by an eerie green light. They glanced up, catching me watching them. The light vanished. I narrowed my eyes trying to see the identity of the person. As they turned around to walk away, I detected the presence of a frustrated expression.
And a flash of blonde hair.