A Pot of Gold

“My girlfriend really, really likes me.” Staring out the window was a close friend of mine. He was one of the only two individuals which I knew off that provided interest and on certain occasions, even curiosity into the mundane topics which I speak off in what seemed to have always been completely wrong timings, as others would often remark.

He had been talking about Daphne Reyes nonstop. I had always been peculiar, but the fact that people like this actually existed made them much more eccentric from my point of view. I do understand the desire to share knowledge with a person which you find close to you. I feel this on a daily basis and yet this man would call me in the middle of the night in order to talk about how his partner likes to play with the ends of her hair whenever she’s about to say something affectionate.

Does that kind of behavior not remind you of a certain scientist with a dog? What was it again? Ah–

“Pavlovian conditioning also called classical conditioning, is a learning procedure for a living creature in which a certain object, action or stimulus causes a specific reaction from the creature, be it a dog or a human through enough training.” I blurted out with what I assumed to be a smile, although Lau spares no effort in reminding me that there was, in fact, no smile at all.

My thoughts would usually come running out of my mouth at the most inopportune moments, luckily it was my love-struck companion who heard it. These past few days, he had been too busy getting lost in his own thoughts that he would not have enough attention to entertain mine.

I started explaining Pavlovian conditioning, I might as well finish it.

“This was done by Russian scientist Ivan Pavlov who, through meticulous teaching, got his dogs to salivate at the ring of his bell.”

At the mentioning of a bell, I then remembered that the school bell rings whenever it was the end of morning classes which in turn reminded me to look at the clock. As I looked at our class’s on the wall, I then realized that I had once again been forced to promise that I would meet up with a certain demanding individual who also happens to be the other person who listens to my blabbering.

I patted Lau’s head, alerting him that I was off. He gave me a smile befitting that of an asylum patient. I awkwardly attempted to smiled back. He had told me that whenever I knew not how to respond and the other party was smiling, I should merely return the favor as best I could. I did not think I’d have to use his own advice on him.

Atop the rooftop were a few tables. It used to be a common spot for people to study in but due to a lack in cleaning personnel, the academy had to abandon it. It’s not prohibited to come up here but individuals who did were asked to clean up after themselves. The academy had facilities far more accommodating, so none bothered to do so. Additionally, the elevators did not reach up here so one would have to take a hike up the stairs.

She was sitting alone on a table with a yellow-colored parasol giving her shade from the raging temperature of the sun. She held her long caramel hair with her right hand in place of a hair tie as she wrote on a notebook with her left. The strong breeze blew past her causing her to squint her eyes, yet she continued her noting still, her gaze never slipping away from the letters which she intently jotted down from the textbook beside.

I did not understand why this girl preferred to use this place as our rendezvous. Besides this being the point of our first meeting, this barren venue offered no other events that could pique one’s interests. I approached her with little to no sounds being made by my footsteps as to note disturb her.

“What are you doing sneaking around?” Her stare remained on the notes in front of her, yet her voice had a higher tone than it usually did. It was as if she was excited, but she would never claim that. “Get over here, Stitchy.”

“Around 1380, in an epic written by English poet Geoffrey Chaucer–” As I spoke, she put down her pen and smiled as she listened. “–the metaphor we use today was first mentioned. Let sleeping dogs lie was originally written as ‘It is nought good a slepyng hound to wake’ referring to how man’s best friend is unpredictable and could therefore be dangerous should they be disturbed in their sleep.”

“Are you calling me a dog?”

“No. What gave you that idea?”

She scoffed as I looked at her confused. I took out my pen, paper, and calculator which I doubted I’d need for our meeting. Iris prefers to do things herself. As to why she’d call me–

“And, done!” She exclaimed as she stretched out her arms, relaxation resting on her face.

She packed her things as I did mine. It was expected but I had to take out my items at the unlikely scenario of them being needed. I rested my arms on the table as I leaned in.

“I’m so proud of Daphne!” Her voice was higher than before as she wore a broad smile, holding back how giddy she felt. “I definitely set them up! I’m so happy I set them up! Have you seen how Laurel looked? How Daphne looked? They’re so in love! Oh, I can’t believe they’re so in love! Isn’t love beautiful, Ritchie?”

I was her partner for gossiping, apparently. Her disgust with being forced to have a partner in such a basic subject immediately disappeared upon coming across the fact that I was a friend of Laurel.

“The only love I know is a mixture of hormones produced by the endocrine system that are signaled by the nervous system in response to reproduction. I don’t see much beauty in the desire to procreate––”

“Oh, I knew you’d say that.” Her eyes suddenly widened; a bad feeling crossed me. “Today, I’ll teach you all about love!”

“I don’t think I’m really lacking in that department––”

“Oh, don’t be so shy, Peachy! Your elder Iris here will tell you all about it!” She was glowing, it was impossible for me to formulate a plan in order to stop her from proceeding. “First off, what would you call beautiful?”

I attempted to escape but her tight grip on my wrist made it impossible. I should just go along with her in order to hasten this ordeal.

“Elaborate.”

“Let’s see, beauty is a subjective term. So, it’s up to you!” Her words were accompanied by exaggerated body movements. “Well, for reference, look at this parasol over here, it has all the characteristics I find great compared to other parasols so it’s definitely beautiful for me! Like this pen, and this bag, and this notebook, and this rooftop! So, how about you?”

In other words, due to the features it has, it becomes aesthetically pleasing to the eyes or mind. One, when compared to others of its kind would stand out due to these outward characteristics. It needs not to be objective for it depends on the individual’s standards. So that’s where the phrase, ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’ comes in. I had inadvertently learned something new.

It was a first for me to come across knowledge without searching for it, and the cause of that was the individual in front of me. It is therefore a characteristic that stands out.

“I would call you beautiful, Iris.” My expression was straight as always.

Her cheeks started to redden as she made an unfamiliar expression. It must be because of the heat, or perhaps she may be having a fever, both of which are bad. I reached my hand out to touch her forehead. Her temperature seemed fine, what could have been the matter?

I soon apologized upon remembering Lau’s words about my invading of people’s personal space. She was quick to say that it was fine.

“Are you okay?” Worriedly, I then asked.

“Yeah–yeah, I’m okay,” she reluctantly replied. She acted weird for a second but with a deep breath, her behavior returned to normal.

“I didn’t know you were such a flatterer, Greg.”

That one did not even rhyme at all with Arche.

“Flattery means to compliment in hopes of furthering one’s own interest, I’ve nothing to gain by praising you, Iris. You asked a question as to what I found to be beautiful, and I answered truthfully.”

“Surely, you jest!” She must still be shaken up by something as she copied my style of speech.

“You’ve told me that beauty is subjective, but for some odd reason I feel compelled to have you agree with me. Upon further contemplation, I believe you’d still be called conventionally beautiful. Your hair shines, your skin appears smooth, and your figure is balanced. What makes you believe otherwise?”

There was an evident pause as Iris looked away, hiding her face with her petite hands.

“I’m small,” she whispered as she moved her arms across her chest, “In height and in certain places.”

“The vastness of your brain acutely compensates with your being small in stature.”

“That doesn’t make me beautiful.” She rolled her eyes.

“You would say that treasure is beautiful, right?”

“Of course.”

I stood out of the parasol.

“And gold is considered treasure?”

“In most cases, yes.”

“Iris, what lies at the end of rainbow?”

“A rainbow is just an optical phenomenon. It’s such a spectrum of light appearing in the sky which has no end––”

I had not noticed that I was smiling as I pointed at the yellow parasol.

“A pot of gold.”

She laughed; her expression being relieved of tension.

“I do not lie, Iris. Like the eyes which you have, reflecting the splendor of your name, you are certainly beautiful.”