Alone (9 page)

“
Where do you stay at night? It's getting really cold out there.”

“
I have a few different places.”

“
But you won't tell me where?”

“
It doesn't matter. I promise you that when I go for good, I will let you know first.”

“
Are you planning to leave? I thought you just came back.”

“
There will be a time that my presence here is no longer needed, or wanted. You'll see.”

“
I hope you don't mean me personally, I don't ever want to let you go. I'm already getting attached.”

Sara laughed and said, “Me too. I'm getting too comfortable here.”

“
I know we just met yesterday, but I feel like I have known you forever. You know, I've never told anybody about the things I've told you about. You make me feel so comfortable, like I can tell you anything.”

“
You can trust your secrets with me,” she said.

“
You can trust me as well you know. You don't have to be so vague all the time.”

“
I know Willow. I'm sorry.”

“
Don't apologize. I'm just letting you know that your secrets are safe with me.”

It was so easy for me to open up to her. I wasn't sure if it was just because it was Sara or if it was because I've been searching so long for someone to talk to. It did bother me that she was so hesitant to share her life with me, I knew she would open up when she was ready. She seemed so content to just listen to my stories.

The outside perspective Sara had on me was interesting as well. She always seemed to challenge my thoughts. I had been so set in my ways for so long and I never thought anyone could make me second guess my strategies. Last night it was listening to music, today it was trying new forms of art. When she challenged me, it invoked a fire in my soul. Showed me a little piece of what I was missing, instead of making me feel like an outsider.

It was getting late and I excused myself so I could change out of my dress clothes and into my pajamas. I dressed as quickly as I could and grabbed an extra set of sweats for her to change into if she wanted to stay the night again. The thought of her being out in the frigid night worried me. Of course, when I got back out to the living room, she was gone. Disappeared into thin air, I didn't even hear the heavy door shut. I laughed and sat on the couch. Part of me was tempted to run out and find her. She couldn't have gotten too far, but I dismissed that idea. She promised to say goodbye when the time came.

CHAPTER 7: EXPLORATIONS

The art-supply store called Explorations was not very well lit. The paint that covered the walls was peeling and was covered with prints of famous paintings like Van Gogh's Starry Night. Not one original piece in the place. Going into Explorations, I never felt particularly artistic, but the store did carry anything you could possibly need to create art.

Crystal Waters owned the place. She was born in the sixties to her hippie parents and she had never grown out of the hippie era which was strange considering she was an infant and couldn’t
really
experience the time period. She dressed in tie-dyed t-shirts and ragged jeans and always had Grateful Dead playing. She was also very knowledgeable as she had a master's degree in Art History. If there was anything you needed, she could find it, explain the active ingredients and tell you how to use it. Crystal also paid very close attention to her customers. She knew everything they bought on a regular basis and could make suggestions for future purchases based on that information.

“
Good morning Willow!” Crystal called from behind the counter. “What color are you looking for today?”

I approached the counter a bit unsure of myself. “All of them actually. I want to try watercolor.”

“
Really? Why the sudden interest?” She asked coming out from behind the counter and heading to the watercolor section.

“
Just want to see if I can do it. I haven't used watercolors since I was in high school.”

“
Okay. Well, start with these,” she said handing me a box that contained 36 tubes of watercolor. “They're easiest to work with. You'll need brushes.” Crystal picked up 5 different brushes that had a much softer tip than what I work with for oil paints. “And here is some paper. 140 lb slightly textured, cold-pressed. Perfect for beginners.”

“
Thanks,” I said eying the materials in my arms.

“
Oh. Here is a great book describing what you've bought and how to use them. You'll develop your own style of course, but this will show you the basics.”

“
Alright,” I said heading for the counter to unburden my arms from the load. “What about a camera? A good beginner one.”

“
Wow, really looking to branch out today aren't you? Okay, over here.” I followed her to the selection of cameras on the back wall. “Are you thinking digital or 35mm?”

“
35mm,” I responded, proud I knew the difference.

“
Very traditional. This is my favorite. It's a Cannon Rebel. Takes beautiful photographs. Has all the basic settings, as well as a few advanced ones. And here is a lens with a bit more of a variety in zooms than the one the camera comes with. Optional of course.”

“
I'll take it.”

“
You'll need film as well.”

After I had spent a near fortune at Explorations, I wasn't very excited to try my new purchases out. It was all a bit overwhelming. However, if I was going to attempt new paths for the art show, I'd better start as soon as possible. I would try watercolor first. It seemed to be the most logical since I already knew how to paint. Photography was completely stepping outside the box for me. My pictures had always been overexposed disposable camera shots or blurry Polaroid’s.

I read the book on watercolor first, well some of it anyway, as I needed to know how each brush was used. I tried it out by painting a simple rose but it just didn't feel right. The brushes were too smooth and the colors were muted. I liked the crunch sound of the brush on the canvas when I painted with acrylics. Watercolor was too soft for me. I put the paints away and set the painting on my dining room table to dry.

I pulled out my camera and spent a long time reading the detailed manual. There was too much to understand so I focused on just a few different settings. I loaded the film and the batteries and turned the camera on. It sprung to life and I tried focusing on different items in my apartment at different zooms but didn't take a single picture. I thought about what I would want my first picture to be of, I felt like it should be meaningful in some way.

I went to my bedroom and took out my box. I removed the knife and set it aside. That wasn't something I wanted in the picture. That was a little too personal. I arranged the different things inside. The calligraphy pen on top and a small piece of parchment with some random sayings on it. I had my blue ribbon from my tenth grade art show. Some red paint and a paintbrush showing themselves just a little bit. I stood above it and focused my camera on the shot inside the box. I had no idea if the lighting was right or not. The light was behind me, which I read was right, but that was the only thing I knew I had right. I took two shots and put the knife back in the box.

“
Nice camera.”

I jumped in my seat and turned to see Sara standing in my room. How did she seem to always come out of no where? I knew the door was unlocked this time but I didn't hear the door close or her footsteps as she walked through my apartment to my room.

“
I knocked but you didn't answer,” she said as I tried to calm myself.

“
You scared the hell out of me Sara. Can't you make some noise or something when you're around?”

“
Sorry. I'll remember that next time. I see you took my advice and got a camera and some watercolors.”

“
Yeah. I don't think I like the watercolor. Just not my style.”

“
The rose is beautiful though. I love it. It's so simple and delicate. You can't actually think it would look better in acrylic. Roses are supposed to look delicate.”

I laughed, of course she was right, but that didn't make me like the process any better. “I do like the camera. Since you talked me into buying it, doesn't that kind of obligate you to be one of my subjects?” I asked.

“
No!” Sara shouted. “I'm sorry. I just don't think it's a good idea. I've never liked getting my picture taken. Please don't.”

“
Alright, can I just ask why? I mean you let me paint you.”

“
That's different. Just please, no pictures okay?”

“
No pictures, I promise,” I said unable to hide the disappointment.

“
What's in the box?” she asked obviously trying to change the subject.

“
Have a seat and I will show you.” Sara sat on the bed with the box between us.

I showed her a photo of the first painting I had ever done, called Mystery Section. Just a simple acrylic of a few books that stood out in the Mystery Section of my high school library. I showed her the first paintbrush I had ever bought, now completely ruined from too much use. The calligraphy pen that was used only a few times, it wasn't something I was able to master. A small reminder of one of my many failures. There was also a Polaroid of my mother looking frustrated on the couch that I had taken when I was thirteen. It was the only photo I had kept of her, and I wasn't entirely sure why.

Sara just sat there listening most of the time. Only asking questions that would make me reveal something a little more personal about myself. Too personal sometimes, but I still answered.

“
And this is the knife you use?” Sara asked matter of fact as she picked it up. I nodded. “Why don't you just get rid of it? It might suppress the temptation you know.”

“
It's not that easy. If it were, I would've gotten rid of it a long time ago,” I said taking the knife and putting it back in the box and put the cover back on. Once the box was away in the closet, we decided to continue the conversation in the living room.

“
You know Willow, tomorrow is Open Mic,” she said taking her spot on the sofa.

“
Oh yeah?” I asked disinterested.

“
Yes, and I think you should go.”

“
I can't.”

“
Why not?”

I sighed, “I already explained the issue I have with music.” This was not a conversation I wanted to be having. “I don't allow myself to be influenced by other people's art. I wouldn't feel like it's mine.”

She contemplated that for a moment and said, “That's not entirely true.”

“
Uh, yes it is. I haven't seen a TV show or listened to music in almost ten years.”

She pointed at the painting of the organ and said, “What inspired this?”

“
Mrs. Schneider, she plays the organ at...” Sara raised her eyebrows at me. “That's different,” I defended. “I can't fully avoid music. When she plays, everyone in New Jollie hears it.”

“
How does it make you feel when she plays?”

“
Peaceful,” I admitted.

“
What do you think people feel when they look at your art?”

“
I have no idea.”

“
People feel emotions when they look at what you've created. Who knows if it's the same emotion you felt when you painted the picture? The fact is, you draw out people's emotions with what you do. That's why your work sells so quickly.”

“
I thought we were talking about Open Mic,” I said trying to put an end to the topic.

“
We are. Don't you see? Just because you might be inspired by a song doesn't mean that whatever you create because of that inspiration isn't yours. Because really, isn't it the emotion you feel and not specifically Mrs. Schneider's playing that inspires you?”

I had to internalize that for a minute before I could respond. “It is the emotion, but I wouldn't feel that emotion if she wasn't playing.”

“
okay. So, if you felt so strongly about not letting other people's art influence you, why did you paint the organ?”

She had me there. There was no way I could argue that point. “It just feels wrong somehow. I guess I can't explain it,” was my feeble defense.

“
I'm not telling you to go out and buy a stereo and a collection of CD’s. Just don't close yourself off to new experiences because you're afraid it will affect your art. If it affects your work in some way, embrace it and run with it. Don't be disappointed in yourself because of it. You let other things affect your work, so what's the difference if it's a song or someone's words? It might actually be a good thing, or do you regret purchasing that camera? You know you wouldn't have gone and tried photography if I hadn't planted the idea in your head, so I influenced your art,” she smiled proudly knowing she had won the debate.

I smiled back, she definitely knew how to plead her case. “I do like the camera, although I don't have any idea how any of the pictures will come out.”

“
Tomorrow is Open Mic, you've got a new camera, go try it out. There's so much there to take pictures of. So many lights and instruments and people. I really think you should go.”

“
Will you be there?” That would no doubt be a deciding factor on going.

Sara shrugged and looked away. I took that as a no. “I'd rather see it through your eyes. Take the pictures and tell me the story.” We both let the subject go. The last thing I wanted was for her to disappear on me again.