“The good news is these downs remind you that you’re living. If life doesn’t offer both good and bad, we’ve lost our reason for existence.” His words replay in my head as he makes his way down the cement steps, his smile widening as I take a couple of steps up his narrow driveway.
His comment makes me think of the conversation King and I shared weeks ago now, and I attempt to smile though the thought makes me want to cry. “That attempt at a smile is a little pitiful. What’s bothering you?”
“It’s complicated,” I say with a sigh.
He shrugs noncommittally, and I’m suddenly curious about how often he and King speak and how detailed their discussions are. “Likely, you’re making it confusing.” He scratches his cheek that still looks too young to be capable of holding the title of grandpa to a ten-year-old. “You didn’t get accepted to Italy?”
I raise my eyebrows and stretch my hands out, feeling the tightness in my muscles and tendons stretch with a painful reluctance. “No, that’s the problem. I was.”
His eyebrows go up, clearly caught off guard. “You’re afraid to leave.”
“I finally feel like I’m in a really good place. I care about them. I can’t ask King to give up on his dreams and come with me.”
“No,” Robert says, slowly shaking his head. “You can’t. Just like he can’t ask you to stay. If either of you did, that wouldn’t be love.”
I press my lips together, feeling the burning threat of tears.
“My dad used to say that people generally start something out of love, but then it becomes a rat race. We lose our focus, our passion, our drive to complete our initial mission because we get so caught up in the competition, the bright lights, the distractions. You need to think about what your mission is and focus on it. You’re young, Lo. Don’t throw away your dreams because you’re afraid you’ll lose someone. All that will do is lead to later resenting him, and that won’t be good for either of you.”
“You guys need to talk about bikes, or … whatever it is you guys used to talk about before I stopped to ask for directions.”
His eyes reveal more humor than his faint smile. “He cares very deeply for you. Don’t doubt that.”
My lips roll against my teeth as I nod. “I know.”
“Do you? Because you look like you’re trying to convince yourself.”
I blink several times, unsure of how to respond. Instead, I numbly nod in response and fish out my phone to see what time it is as a casual way of finding an excuse to leave. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you.”
“When you’re sad, everything seems worse. Stop looking at things through jaded glasses and look for some rose ones.”
I lift my chin once in acknowledgement and then turn, taking two steps before he clears his throat. “The world needs smiles like yours, Lo. Don’t deprive people.”
Sometimes like now, I’m fairly certain he’s crazy. I’ve always lacked the enthusiasm that perpetually optimistic people seem to maintain regardless of what the world delivers. I much prefer to sit back and watch everyone, memorizing eyes and how they often reveal answers that lips rarely do, arms and how they can be so defensive and possessive with simple and slight differences, postures and how when you’re too far to see someone’s face clearly, you can generally read the excitement in someone’s bounce, or sadness with the roll of their shoulders.
I stop at the bus stop and search the cloudy skies that are a dark enough shade that I’m amazed it’s still dry.
I change buses and head south, getting off at Sonar, the restaurant that has been a constant during my time here in Portland. The air is warm and spicy with the hint of freshly baked tortillas that makes my stomach rumble.
Without taking the time to greet the others, I set up my supplies and fill the container I’ve designated for water in the restroom so as to get straight to work. There’s white noise behind me, but I easily block it out without even an ounce of thought being applied to it. I’m lost in a haze of familiarity with colors, textures, lines, and shading that blocks even the thought or concern of time.
I make a final sweep with my brush, smoothing a line, and take a step back.
It’s done.
I’ve been working on this for months, and now it’s complete. The swell of emotions that has my eyes blurring and my lips breaking into a wide smile surprise me as much as they overwhelm me.
Several moments later, I step closer to the painting, selecting a fine brush that I use to make minor corrections that most would likely never notice. This deserves to be as perfect as I can make it. I want Estella to feel as warm and loving toward it as I do about her.
Sighing, I drop my brush on the tray I converted into a painting tray and step back to look over it again.
“You were made for this.” King’s soft words don’t surprise me. Not in the least. I think I subconsciously felt him here the last few hours.
“I can’t believe it’s done.”
“It’s amazing, babe.”
“King.”
His eyes sweep over me, hearing the emotion in my voice. They’re focused and tender, yet determined.
“Let’s go back to your house.”
“Is it hard to leave it?” he asks, running a hand over my shoulders.
I nod. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to fully explain how I’m feeling. I imagine it’s much like a mother sending a child off to college. This is my first and largest wall mural, and while I completed Kash’s first, there is something so significant about this painting. I’ve spent hours upon hours creating this wall that is now covered with a large group of people dancing to a song I could physically feel and hear as I painted. There is a beach in the distance, an expanse of sand that’s been stamped with people coming and going. Love and happiness are carefully etched across each of the people in the picture, reflective in every last detail. The emotion I feel about leaving it scares me about the prospect of how many works I’ll be leaving an ocean away next fall.
Time freezes, but my heart accelerates. Have I already decided I’m going?
“Let’s go,” I say, plunging my brush into the water and quickly swirling it clean before grabbing my other brushes and dropping them in their case.
“Estella’s still here. I think she’s waiting for you.”
“Art is meant to be looked at alone. No expectations.”
“You don’t want to see her excitement?”
“Not this time.” I don’t. I can’t. Another emotion isn’t able to fit in my head right now.
King wraps an arm around my shoulder again, his warmth causing my head to naturally recline back.
We step out into the cool spring air, and King digs in his pocket. I watch him flip two pennies on the sidewalk before we reach his truck.
“Are you excited for your event Saturday?” I ask, reaching forward to turn down his music that is always loud from when he rides alone.
King looks over to me, his lips drawing up into that perfectly imperfect smile I love. “It’s insane. I can’t wrap my head around it all.”
“You’re going to be great. I need Summer to take a ton of pictures. I’m going to make your logo so sick, you will freak out.”
King’s eyebrows draw up faintly, his lips still raised. “You’re going to design my logo?”
I feel slightly embarrassed, uncomfortable by my presumptions.
“Swear. Swear to me you’ll do it,” he says, grabbing my hand.
My eyes are on his, which are wide with an intensity that makes me wish he had bench seats. I want to be as close to him as I can.
“I swear.”
“I didn’t want to ask you because I knew you’d feel obligated, but seriously…”
“No, I’d really like to do yours.”
“I’m going to give you the orgasm of your life tonight.”
“You already did that on Saturday, remember?”
“You’re going to see stars tonight for sure,” he says with a grin, making me regret telling him what Charleigh used to call him.