Part 26.... finally

BANG!

The door slams behind me and I hear a startled scream from my left hand side. Peering over to the direction of the scream I spot Christine, her hair is flattened one side and there seem to be very dark rings under her eyes. The usual explosion of garish colour that comprises her fashion sense has been replace with monochrome couplings of greys and blacks.

"Are you O.K? Did something happen after I dropped you home last night? Please don't tell me you got food poisoning from the restaurant last night, 'cause I will so give them a scathing yelp review if you did."

Confusion wanders across her features until, languidly, recognition takes hold.

"Oh no, no, no, I'm fine, well... not fine, but, not ill... I mean to say healthy, well... I... I...Arrggghhhh!!!!! Stupid sleep deprived brain! Get it together!"

I watch her, concern and amusement warring in my mind, as she takes several large breaths and centres herself.

"I was a little overstimulated last night and did not get much sleep."

I can feel the flush of blood rushing to my face, suddenly unable to call forth a voice with which to reply. My grip tightens on the canvas I'm holding. Christine notices and starts to turn a lovely crimson shade herself, she clears her throat, "Ahem. Is that a new piece for the gallery?"

'Oh crap, the painting, what's she going to think now. It seemed so right when I left the house, now, oh dear... Crap, I'm standing here staring at my shoes. Answer her question you idiot!'

"Actually it's, ah, it's for you.... To, ah, say, you know, thanks. For last night. It was nice to be outside and, you know, interact with society. I hope, that's O.K.?"

I pass over the painting, and pray that she doesn't get the wrong idea.


************


'Overstimulated last night?? Really that is what you went with? Now he is giving me a painting? Oh man...'
I walk over to the counter and set the canvas down and start to pull back the drop sheet Stephen had draped over it to protect it. As the painting is revealed, I let go of the breath I had not known I was holding, and sigh with relief. It is his usual, odd, fantastical work; a female creature perched upon a dragon, all in bright colours. I feel a connection to the piece, a sense of familiarity that is unusually comforting.

I notice my vision start to blur, 'Dammit, crying, really. I mean, you have been given presents before. Yes, the painting is beautiful in its' own way, but, crying?
I back-hand the tears away and replace the drop sheet, then turn back to thank Stephen for the gift.

"It is amazing, thank you, unnecessary, but... thank you."

'Way to articulate Christine. Sigh.'

************


'I knew it was to much, stupid, normal people don't say thanks for dinner by handing them a painting. Maybe mother is right and there is something wrong with my head.'

"I'm sorry, is it a bit much, I'm not really sure how this is supposed to work. Haven't had much experience in these situations."

Noticing I'm wringing my hands I quickly shove them into my pockets.

"Well this isn't completely awkward at all." A tall, red-headed, man is leaning against the counter a half cocked grin affixed to his freckled face.

"Is this the friend that kept you out till late last night?" He uses his index and middle finger's on his left and right hands to hook air quotes around the word friend.

Part 25

To good to be true

 

The excitement of the previous evenings activity is still coursing through my veins, withholding sleep I so desperately need. I glance at the clock: 2:00 am. I'm going to be zombiefied at work today, best to make sure my morning espresso is a triple shot!

*

Circus clowns surround me whilst strains of Bach's 'Toccata and Fugue' emanate menacingly from an indeterminable location, a cloaked figure approaches and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck begin to stand on end. I'm suddenly blinded by a bright light, but, as my eyes adjust I can start to make out features on the cloaked man's face, he seems familiar somehow...

* 

BOOM! I feel my body fling itself bolt upright. Dazed, my brain not having caught onto the fact that it's awake yet, I let my eyes wander across to the window, just in time to see a streak of lightning light up the night sky like it was day time, 'When did I doze off?'. I look over at the clock: 4:00 am. 'Great! 2 hours till my alarm goes off, well, I guess there's no point going back to sleep now.'  I walk over to the window seat, plonk myself down and let out an exasperated sigh, then, I direct my gaze out towards the awe inspiring tempest.

************

A lot of people consider purple to be a solemn colour, probably, because they associate it with bruises and ominous skies, but, I always find myself using it to depict tranquillity and contentment, I've never really understood why. I stare across at my newly finished work: A female silhouette, dancing gaily through a crowded street, encompassed by city lights made hazy by rain. The canvas was a wash of blues, greys, golds, purples, reds and yellows. I prefer to use colour in a metaphoric sense, as a representation of moods rather than a statement of fact. For instance: The apple may be red, but, it is sitting all alone on the table and to me that makes the apple sad, so, I'll paint it gun metal grey. I tend to avoid fixed lines as well. To rigid. For me it is always about the texture and emotion, the rawness of a moment, the absolute truth, the unrefined beauty. The tools of my trade: A palate knife and oil paints.

************

My temples feel like someone is chiseling out the 'Statue of David' from my brain and the espresso is doing nothing to lighten my lead weight eyelids.

"Wow! What bridge did you crawl out from under?"

I turned around and was greeted by 6 feet 5 inches of Ginger hair, freckles and limbs. Crows feet and creases around his lips, at the ripe old age of 29, were a testament to the permanent grin that affixed Cornelius Hornby's face.

"No bridge, just a late dinner with a friend and a storm fit to wake the dead."

Shock nearly stripped the smile from his face.

"Yes, contrary to popular belief, I do have friends." Well... one friend, and a roommate.

"Ha! You almost had me there."

"Get to work Hornby, you've got inventory to do." I let my tiredness feed my scowl as I watched him turn and walk away whistling tunelessly.

*

I don't know when, or why, I started observing the spider scuttling across the ceiling, but, I was consumed by study of his, or her, tiny existence.

************

Part 24

Wow, talk about a mood shift. It's as if entering my vehicle was some sort of dimensional portal to Awkward Town.
"Hey Christine?"

"Yeah?"

"We're both messed up."

"What..."

"...I barely ever leave the house except to get art supplies. I forget to eat some days."

"I don't und...

"...What I'm trying to say is that I know I've seen you at your worst and that I understand that that must make you feel very vulnerable, but, I would never..."

"...Stephen stop. I trust you. I just ate to much at dinner and am now sleepy is all. O.K."

I catch a wisp of a smile edging around Christine's lips before she turns back to gazing out the passenger window, felling the tense atmosphere from earlier dissolve into comfortable silence.

*

Can a persons back be described as hopeful, because that's the only way I could express the feeling I got looking at Christine walking up to her door.

"Hey Stephen, thanks so much for tonight. It felt good to laugh for a change."

If I hug her will she freak out? Oh well, guess we'll see. "You are most welcome. Apparently I do enjoy the company of other human beings, which will please my mother no end."

************

Stephen's long, lean, arms enveloping me was an odd, yet not unpleasant, feeling.

"No screams of horror, nor kicks to the groin. May I take that as consent after the fact?"

I suppress a giggle and push away from him.  "You may this once, however, try it again and I'll end you."

"Duly noted. Well, it's late and you have work tomorrow. Let me know how you get on with your car. Night."

"Night."

I watch him shuffle back into his car and drive off, lingering in the warmth of a newly formed friendship.

*

"So how did the date go?!"

"For the last time Shelly, it wasn't a date, we're just friends."

Shelly treats me to a world class eye roll then heads back into her room. I flick off my heels and rub my aching feet. "Thanks for the loan by the way."

"Any time honey."

************

I rush in the door and start digging around my studio for a spare canvas and the right paints. I have to capture how I feel at this moment or it might disappear and I'll never be able to know it again.

Part 23

*

"♪Could have danced all night
Could have danced all night
And still have begged for more

I could have spread my wings
And done a thousand things
I've never done before♪"

Warm laughter tickles my ears as Stephen twists and turns me along the crowded street.

"Such a wonderful singing voice and such light feet and yet you choose to cloister yourself away with only canvas for company?"

In answer to my jest Stephen sweeps me around a mildly perturbed Indian man and into a dip, shrugging his shoulders, as if to say "Why not?"

*

"I'm so sorry about this Stephen." Why am I such an idiot?

"Don't worry about it. It's on my way home anyway." He probably thinks I planned this.

"Still, at my age you'd think I would remember to turn off all lights before exiting the vehicle." Note to self: Running late plus last minute make-up in the review mirror equals flat battery. "I do have full road side assist, I don't mind waiting."

"And leave you here, alone, at this time of night? What kind of knight in shining armour do you take me for?"

"Lead me to your noble stead Sir Lancelot."

************

Part 22

************

I wonder if the prawn I'm about to eat would have struggled so hard to live if it had known it would wind up deep fried and swimming in soy sauce?

"Do you not like sea food? Sorry, I should have ordered something else."

Christine's voice breaks into my thoughts and it occurs to me that I have not spoken since the food arrived.

"Ah, no, I quite like seafood, I was just wondering if I was a prawn...?"

 "What?"

"It just popped into my head that this little guy..." I gesture at Christine with the limp prawn. "...probably lived a pretty hard life out in the ocean, every day a struggle to exist, and I thought, 'Am I like this prawn? Do I rail against the extremes of existence only to discover my efforts are ultimately futile and now I'm an appetiser for some uppity schmuck in a moderately fancy restaurant?'" I quickly pop my bite sized metaphor into my mouth and go for seconds. "Tasty little guys aren't they?"

"Did anyone ever tell you you're a little odd?"

"My mother. Every day for as long as I can remember."

As I go in for my fifth helping, I hear Christine chuckle and see the tension dissipate from her shoulders and face. Not her eye's though, it's as if they've seen to much to ever let go fully.

************

Am I a prawn? Some days it certainly feels like it, awash in the human ocean, at the mercy of the tides of life... not tonight though, tonight is gloriously calm. I'm laughing!? Haven't done that in a while.

************

"...and then I threw paint all over my mother's new mink coat. Suffice to say, I couldn't sit down for a while after that." Tears of laughter stream down Christine's face as my, stealthy, bespectacled friend appears from who-knows-where and starts clearing the table. "That's when I knew I was going to be a painter for the rest of my life. How about you? When did you know you where destined for a life in the arts?"

************

"I would have been six years old and Mum had been hired to perform by some pretty wealthy folk for a fundraiser they were having, I think it was animal related, anyway, we'd gone and bought some really nice clothes for the occasion, mine was pink and red with little gold stars embroidered on the torso, Mum was all black and silver elegance. Low cut, but, classy. The hosts house was enormous, every room was the size of your average town house, the most opulent being the lounge room, and in the center of the lounge room was a full sized Grand-Piano. In amongst all this richness Mum seated herself and as she played the first few notes of Mendelssohn's Fantasy in F#, all eye's turned to her and you could have stolen everything in the place and no one would have known, or cared, so transfixed were they by the power of my Mum's performance." I can feel my hands shaking so I slip them under the table. "After that I ate, breathed and slept piano."

Part 21

After a week of seeing her walk around in a formless hospital gown, I didn't realise the Audrey Hepburn look-alike in the figure hugging scarlet number walking towards my table was Christine. Thankfully, as she was being seated, I had time to gather my composure.

"I see the wait was worth it."

Christine shoots me a puzzled look, so I grab my phone and pull up the message she sent me. "Oh." is all she says before her face nearly turns the same colour as her dress.

"Thank you. You look handsome yourself."

An awkward silence settles as my mind suddenly blanks on something to say. Small talk is not my forte.

"How come I've never seen you in a suit before?"

Christine to the rescue. I look down at the tailored grey straight jacket I'm wearing.

"I hate them, but mum keeps buying them every time she sets me up on my next 'date'. I have a whole cupboard full of suits, in every shade of grey imaginable, because mum insists that grey makes my eyes pop."

************

"She's right." I think to myself as Stephen distractedly fusses with his hated suit.

"Pardon?"

Crap! I said that out loud?

"If you hate wearing them so much, why'd you wear one tonight?"

"Because I wanted to dress up for you and all my other clothes are covered in paint." He grins sheepishly and I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks again.

"This isn't a date!" blurts out before I can stop it, but, Stephen just smiles and seems to relax.

"Good. Now that's settled, shall we order dinner? I'm starving."

Part 20

I can't remember the last time I really saw my body in the mirror. I haven't had a reason to care what it looks like. I follow my smooth, white, legs up to broad, womanly hips, spotting a few stretch marks winding their way around my thighs that I don't recall being there before. My belly is still tight and flat, with the exception of the puckered scars that pepper it now. I cringe as I run my fingers over them. Shaking off the unsettling memories, I let my eyes wander up past my small, firm, breasts to settle on the part of myself I hate the most, the one part I can't ignore: The black circles underneath my watery blue eyes; the hard, chiseled, jawline that's more handsome than beautiful; the frizzy tangle of mousy brown hair; the thin lips that, if not for make-up, would seem non-existent; and a nose kinked to the left by two breaks that never set properly. I've considered plastic surgery a number of times over the years, but, never thought it was worth the cost.

*KNOCK* *KNOCK*

"Hey Chrissi, you O.K. in there? If you don't hurry your arse up you're going to be late."

I look at the clock.

 '5:30 pm'

Crap! "Yeah, I'm O.K. thanks Shelly" I scramble around in my bag, find my phone and fire of a quick apology to Stephen:

                          'Soz, running l8. Looking this good takes time u know. ;)'

Argh! I'm so lame.

**************