Alone (6 page)

“
I see. You were so focused in high school I thought for sure you'd get out of this town.”

“
Did I have any classes with you?”

She laughed, “A few.”

I struggled thinking of how I could miss her in the small student body at New Jollie High. I was focused on my art, but I wasn't blind. People change though, and it had been a few years. How strange it was that I didn't remember her at all.

“
I wish I could remember you. It's kind of frustrating.”

“
Don't worry about it. I was pretty quiet in school, and I left before graduation.”

“
Where did you go?”

“
I was sort of pushed away from here for a long time. I just recently returned.”

“
I see.”

“
Do you wish you had gone to college instead of staying here?” she asked.

“
I have never seen New Jollie as a bad place to live. It's small but that makes it so much more attractive to me I think. Kind of private in a way you know what I mean?”

“
Yeah. I guess so.”

“
Besides you can't think New Jollie is all that bad, you came back right?”

“
I just thought it was time.”

I wasn't sure what she really meant by that, but I didn't want to bombard her with prying questions. I didn't want to make her uncomfortable in any way. When we finished off our snack I took the tray and our mugs back to the kitchen. I got us some more coffee and she put the cream and sugar into her cup and stirred it slowly. I wasn't sure why she was so captivating to me. It was like her ordinary movements were something I had never witnessed before. She must have thought I was insane the way I was watching her.

We returned to the couch and she sat in her protective position as I thought of it. Her knees to her chest again, but a little more relaxed now as her back was leaning on the arm of the couch so she could face me while we talked. She shivered once and pulled the hood up over her head which cast a shadow on her face.

“
Can I paint you?” the question was out before I even knew I was going to ask it.

“
Really?”

“
Do you mind?” I asked more confidently now.

“
Sure you can,” she said enthusiastically. “How do you want me to pose?”

“
Just the way you are is fine. I'm sorry, I'm going to have to turn on the overhead lights after everything is set up.”

“
That's alright. How long will it take do you think?”

“
I'm not sure. An hour, maybe two. Is that okay or do you have to leave?”

“
No, I don't have any plans for tonight,” she said laughing a little.

I set up the easel and paint and thought about how I was going to put her beauty on the canvas. I turned on the overhead lights and went over and sat on the edge of the couch staring at her. I didn't feel awkward doing this, although maybe I should have. I had asked to paint her but instead I was just staring. I never had to think about my actions from someone else's point of view. If I kept acting like this, surely she would never come back.

“
I am trying to figure out what would be the best way to paint you,” I said trying to explain my peculiar stares.

“
I kind of figured. It's okay, I kind of like that you find me interesting enough to paint.”

“
You have no idea,” I said under my breath. She blushed again bringing the same innocence it had before. I got up and went to the canvas and decided I would try a black and white interpretation. It would gloss over the bruises and show the gentleness I was looking for.

“
Do you do anything other than paint?” she asked as I was making the first stroke. Her voice startled me. I was used to the room being dead silent when I worked, but of course now that I had a live subject I would be talking.

“
I draw and sculpt as well, but painting has always been my favorite form of expression.”

“
Do you take pictures of your work? For like a portfolio or something?”

“
Yes, I have pictures of everything I've done. It was a portfolio of sorts, but now it's more like a record. It allows me to easily keep track of what's still in storage, what's been sold and what's in the gallery.”

“
Why don't you have anything hung up here in your apartment?”

“
I think it would be a bit of a distraction for me. I like to work with blank walls around me and little noise so I can completely focus on what I'm working on.”

“
I'm sorry. Should I be quiet?”

“
Oh, no. That's okay. Actually, you are the first live subject I've worked with in a really long time. Talking while I work is actually less distracting than I thought it would be.”

“
You don't ever listen to music or something while you work? Light background noise or something?”

“
Uh...no,” I said hoping that she wouldn't ask for me to clarify.

“
When I was in school and had to do homework, I had to have something playing while I worked. Too much silence made me nervous.”

“
I was like that a long time ago. Before I started taking art seriously.”

The painting of Sara was coming along faster than I thought possible. I was working feverishly as we spoke, but the painting wasn't something I was overly proud of. It was decent in overall content, but something was missing. About halfway through, I decided that doing it black and white was a mistake. It covered the bruises, but at the same time, it lost something in her eyes.

“
What's wrong?” she asked as she saw the expression on my face as I examined my half finished painting.

“
I should have used color, that's all.”

“
Are you stopping?”

“
No. I can't stop midway. I finish everything I start. I'll probably end up putting this one in storage after I use it as a reference to make a color version.”

About forty five minutes after I had started, the painting was complete. It was a good representation of what she looked like but there was nothing about the painting that really stood out about it. I wondered if I should have spent more time on it, but I didn't think that was the problem at all.

“
All done?”

“
Yep, you're free to move now,” I said smiling.

“
Can I see?” Sara asked as she stretched in her spot on the couch.

“
Sure.”

When she got up to look at the painting, her hood fell back away from her head and the lighting in the room made her eyes stand out so much more. I tried memorizing the color for when I did the color version of my painting. Her eyes reminded me of the color of the ocean, a turquoise blue around the edges and darker in the middle. They seemed to be an impossible color for a human.

“
Weird,” she said.

“
What do you mean?” I asked nervously.

“
It's really good. It's just very strange seeing my eyes staring back at me.”

“
Isn't it just like looking at a picture that was taken though?” That's how I always imagined it would seem.

“
Not really. It's kind of like seeing me through your eyes, like this is your perspective of me.”

“
This is definitely not my perception of you Sara. Like I said, I should have used color.” It was strange, but I felt as though I could bare my soul to Sara. The fact that we had just met was irrelevant, I wasn't cautious around her at all.

“
Why? I mean you can't really even notice the bruises in this painting. Color would only bring them out.”

“
Maybe...but it would also show your eyes and the silkiness of your hair. This painting just looks like it's of a random person you would walk past in the streets and not think about ever again. You are so much more than that.”

Sara smiled, thinking about what I had just said, I assumed. It was obvious that the black and white painting we were analyzing together was exactly the way she looked at herself. Just another face in the crowd to be overlooked, nothing overly special, and definitely not beautiful.

“
When will you do it in color?” she asked.

“
I'm not really sure. I don't really want to do it now. I'm afraid the disappointment I feel with this painting would show up if I were to do the color right now.”

“
Is art really that sensitive?”

“
I think so. I mean I know for me it is. My emotions are what drive me to create in the first place. I don't know if it shows up in whatever it is I'm creating, but I don't want to take the chances if what I'm feeling isn't what I want to portray.”

“
You know, I bet music would help.”

“
What do you mean?”

“
Well, I know that when I was sad, I would listen to happy music to bring me out of my stupor. Or if I wanted to dwell in my misery I would listen to something depressing. Music is pretty influential,” she explained.

That was a concept I hadn't thought of before, although it seemed quite obvious. I was always afraid music would influence my work in a way I didn't want it to. I never thought of using music to force me to feel an emotion I
wanted
to feel. Still, I felt it was too risky to actually try. I didn't really want to experiment on the technique I had used for so long and was working for me.

“
I should probably go,” Sara said suddenly.

“
Why? You can stay here. Where will you go?”

“
I have places.”

“
I really wish you would stay. I like talking to you. It's been a long time since I've really talked to someone my age. You can crash on the couch or something.”

“
Are you sure?”

“
Of course I am. Unless you want to go.”

“
No. I like talking to you.”

“
Can I ask you something personal?” I asked hesitantly. She nodded and waited until I formed the question in my mind. No matter how I asked it, there was no way I could make it sound as gentle as I wanted, so I finally just asked, “How did you get hurt?”

“
Oh. Um. Well, for much of my existence I have been pushed away and beaten down. I've been in hiding I guess you could say. I used to look much worse than this.”

“
Really?” I didn't even want to think about that. She looked bad enough as it was, I could only imagine what worse really meant.

“
Yeah. There was a period of time where I kind of disappeared all together. You know, not showing myself at all. It was too difficult to know that I would just be beaten down again.”

“
I'm sorry,” I said softly.

“
I think I'm getting better though. I'm at least well enough to be here with you,” she pointed out with a smile.

“
I'm very thankful for that.”

“
Do you mind if I ask you something personal?” she asked.

“
I suppose it's only fair.”

“
While you were painting, you pushed up your sleeves on your shirt. How long have you been cutting for?”

Sara was too observant for her own good. Why did she ask the one thing I didn't want to answer? Why was I so careless to show those cuts to begin with? “Since I was fourteen,” I said indifferently.

“
What makes you do it?”

“
I'm not really sure to be honest. I used to make all kinds of excuses to justify it. It was easier to blame my mom or bullies at school rather than take responsibility for my own actions. The truth is, I guess sometimes when I get too angry, or too sad, or even too happy I always feel numb at the same time. When I cut, it helps make me feel the complete opposite of the emotion I was feeling right before.”

“
I don't understand.”

I thought for a moment for an analogy I could use to better explain myself but decided that an actual example would be better. I decided to tell her about a time I cut while I was happy instead of showing her the darker side of my insanity. “okay, well, I'll give you an example. When I showed Miss Morgan my portfolio, she was crazy about my work. She was giving me all kinds of compliments that I didn't know how to handle. She immediately told me that I could have a spot in her gallery which sent me into a state of utter bliss. I didn't know how to handle the emotions really because they were quite foreign to me. I went home, still on an absolute high from my meeting and I had to bring myself back to reality. So I cut, which immediately brought me back down to earth. I guess it made me feel the way I should be feeling instead of keeping me in the extreme of happiness.”

Sara thought about that for a moment and I could see she was choosing her comment carefully. “From the way you just explained it, it seems like you have a specific range of emotions you feel comfortable in and if something happens to make you go outside that range, cutting puts you back in your place?”

“
That's exactly right,” I said surprised at how correct her statement was. I never thought anyone would understand that fully, unless they had been a cutter themselves.

“
What are you afraid would happen if you just let yourself feel the extreme instead of pushing it away?”

“
Honestly, I have no idea. I've been doing this for so long that I can't even remember what it was like to just ride my feelings out. In some strange way, it keeps me in check.”