Born Different (18 page)

“I am sorry
Gabriel. I was never father or husband material. Never was, never
will be. I am too different. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Yes I
think I might understand. Is there anything I can get for you?” But
Gabe didn’t understand, not yet, because it was so obvious.

“No, I have
everything that I need.”

Gabe went to
leave and turned around one last time. He took a good look at his
father now pouring himself another drink. Gabe looked all around
the room at the chaos, the dirt, at all the paintings and drawings,
brilliant but damaged. And Gabe felt no love. He saw no colour.
There was no care. No one cared for this man and he cared for no
one. There were no photographs, no flowers, no mirrors, no air in
here. It was lifeless and Gabe realised with a gutting sadness,
that it was soulless. Just an old man living out his days in his
own sweat, piss, mess and misery. Gabe looked at his father again,
for what he thought would be the last ever time, and just as he was
about to pity him, Gabe saw himself.

Gabe saw with
absolute clarity that this was him. This was his future, this was
his fate. And this realisation, as painful and shocking and
debasing as it was, it was like a gift. If Gabe carried on the way
he was going, this here would be his prize. His life. Gabe was
staring at his destiny and he didn’t like what he saw one bit. In
fact, it repulsed him.

The man turned
aggressively toward Gabe in a manner that meant he should leave
sharpish but Gabe looked into his father’s eyes for a moment. He
saw that the light that should have been there was out. His
father’s eyes were dark. His spirit had died a long time ago.

*******

Gabe got to his
studio and he locked himself in. His head was swimming with so many
things he felt like he was drowning with it. He wanted to scream,
to cut himself, get out of his head, he really wanted to. But he
just dropped to him knees and prayed. He didn’t know what else to
do. He wanted to set fire to the studio, to take him mums car out
and go speeding. Gabe had the urge to do something really
destructive. So he prayed as it felt like the only thing left to
do.

Gabe felt there
was no one to talk to, not his friends or his mum and he didn’t
even want to think about Grace. How was she ever going to give him
the time of day when his own dad didn’t give a shit. Gabe felt
wretched. He stayed in his studio listening to music, meditating,
thinking and painting. He hid away with his wings out and let them
be free, even if he couldn’t be. Gabe exercised as much as he could
and he added to the sculpture, including the photo, the drawing and
the address. All that he had of his dad.

He immersed
himself into his solitude and wished that he could just stay here
forever and not ever have to deal with another person again. The
World and its people were just too fucked up.

Gabe had done
all of the finishing touches to the paintings for The Exhibition
and they adorned the walls of his studio in the order he had
decided to exhibit them. He viewed his work critically now and he
debated with himself whether it was better to paint from the heart
or really to give in and try and play by some rules with a chance
of some commercial success? Was it worth it? Being true and
spiritual. Was there actually any such thing as true or spiritual
anyway or was he just as brainwashed but in another direction? Was
he just fooling himself and making things hard for loads of
unnecessary reasons? Were they just reasons that were
self-destructing excuses, traps to lead him down dead end roads?
They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions, so was he
just skipping happily to hell? It certainly felt like he was. Was
he so ashamed of his wings that, deep down he didn’t really want
any success as that would bring unwanted attention? Or would the
revelation, that he wasn’t a failure, be too much to handle so he
subconsciously just set himself up to always fail? Perhaps he
should start 1) enquiring about wing removal and 2) paint for the
masses, for The Middles. But Gabe had no idea what the masses would
want anyway and it wasn’t as if he could really plan what he
painted. Gabe always started with an idea but the end product was
rarely how he imagined it.

I’ll show
them
, thought Gabe.
My dad will read about me one day and be
sorry that he didn’t care. I’ll make loads of money and they’ll all
come begging!

But Gabe had no
idea how you made money or ran businesses, Gabe was an artist and
the only way he could make money was if he won the lottery. No one
understood the art world anymore. It was a scene for billionaires
and celebrities that left everyone else totally confused. But if he
was not going to be an artist, what would he be? He couldn’t live
without it.

Gabe wondered
if this was a sign of madness, that he lived and thought this way
and didn’t just go and get a wage and have a structured life. Was
he just massively deluded in most aspects of his life, like he
thought everyone else was? What were the chances of him being right
and everyone else being wrong? But then again the masses had always
been the last to catch on. They believed the world was flat. They
still believed in all sorts of crazy things. They all wore bloody
anoraks for Christ’s sake!

Gabe was
feeling hungry, angry, lonely and tired. His phone might as well be
broken. He had not even got a text message off of any of his
friends that he could ignore, and Grace hadn’t returned his message
either. It had been so liberating having the bandages off all
afternoon, being able to move his wings as he liked in accordance
to his body, as he painted and as he exercised. Even the fresh air
and sunlight touching his usually hidden skin had improved the
texture and eased some of the sores a bit already. Gabe swore that
he would get himself stronger and fitter, that he wouldn’t neglect
himself, although the temptation to was great.

Maybe I’ll
live my life out in this studio,
Gabe thought. It was
preferable to being in the outside world. It had been such a warm
day but, as usual, the evening, monsoon-like, big black cloud was
looming and it looked like it was going to chuck it down soon
enough like a tropical storm. Gabe turned off the lap top and went
around blowing out all the candles and making sure all the incense
was extinguished
. Just my luck to burn the whole place down with
all the paintings done,
he thought
, with the sculpture
starting to take shape.

In the darkness
with only the moon-light shining in to illuminate, Gabe stood in
the middle of his studio, and he looked around at his paintings and
he thought that they were good. Good enough. The sculpture was big
now, even bigger than the paintings and he liked it. It had slowly
grown on him and now it was like it was a part of him. He hadn’t
finished it yet but he recognised it. It was like it had always
been there in his head just waiting to be made real.

A black cloud
passed over, plunging the studio into complete darkness and Gabe
felt like someone was staring at him from behind. He remembered
that he hadn’t remembered to buy a new padlock and he instinctively
turned to look out of the window to put his mind at rest. And
there, stood out in the dark under the orange glow of the back door
light was Grace.

Or was he just
imagining it? Wishful thinking! Was it just a reflection of one of
his painting in the glass of the window? Was it just a figment of
his imagination? Was he getting a bit psychotic living in here and
in his head? Gabe blinked and looked again. She was looking
straight back at him.
Could she see him?
Gabe panicked.
Maybe she had been there a while, seen him and his wings?

Even though he
knew that he could see out and that no one could see in, Gabe felt
the blood drain from his face and he felt faint. He just carried on
looking back at her without moving. Time passed, it started to rain
a bit and she didn’t move. Then it began to pour down in thick
sheets and still she didn’t move. Gabe had to take a deep breath.
He thought that maybe he hadn’t been breathing while he’d been
staring at her as he had got tunnel vision, with Grace standing at
the end. Always Grace, the light at the end of his tunnel.

Gabe threw on
his jacket and ran down the garden path bare foot and he was
immediately soaked through. “What are you doing?” Gabe had to shout
through the crashing rain.

Grace didn’t
say anything but the way she looked at him, sad, wanting and
fragile, made him instinctively put his arm around her and he
guided her out of the wet and cold and into the warmth of the
house.

Gina was in the
kitchen reading. The house was cosy and calm and something
delicious smelling was cooking in the oven. Gina smiled as if it
was the most natural thing in the world for Gabe to be walking a
wet woman through the kitchen of an evening and she asked them if
they wanted a nice cup of tea and dinner perhaps. She didn’t wait
for an answer and just let the couple walk right through into the
lounge.

Grace sat
shivering and soaking wet on the sofa.

“I can’t go
back Gabe!”

“Go back
where?”

“Home!”

“What are you
talking about?” Gabe looked at her and realised that her face was
bruised. Her eye was swollen and blue around the eyebrow and her
usual alabaster cheek was red and her wrists and forearms were
scratched. She had blood dripping from her nose and a fresh cut on
her bottom lip.

“What’s going
on Grace?” Grace began to cry and Gabe moved in closer to comfort
her but not so close that they actually touched bodies.

“Have you got
anything to drink Gabe? I need a bloody drink!” Grace was sobbing
now and shaking. She put her hands up to her face and began to rock
her upper body. Gabe worried that she was having some kind of
breakdown.

He didn’t know
what to do to. Should he give her a drink or not? What was the
right thing to do? She looked so tired and ill and weary. In shock
even. Gabe got up and poured them both a large glass of vodka.

“Do you want to
tell me what’s going on Grace?”

“No, not really
Gabe. Can we just leave it for now? Can we just drink? Please, it
is too much tonight. I can’t bear it. Can’t we just talk about
something else? Anything else. Can’t you just take my mind away
from where it is? Please just get drunk with me.”

Gina came in
with a tray holding a pot of tea and three cups and a warm fluffy
towel from the airing cupboard was slung over her arm. She got
Grace to take her jumper off and she wrapped the towel around her
to try and soak up some of the water in an attempt to warm her up a
bit. Gina cleaned some of the blood off Grace with some cotton wool
and they all drank some tea and Gina lit a fire in the grate,
brought out trays of food for them all and then joined them on the
sofa so that they all had to huddle up some more.

They ate some
dinner, a roast of chicken and vegetables, roast potatoes and gravy
and Grace kept drinking but was very thankful for everything and
grateful for the meal which she kept saying was the most delicious
thing she had ever eaten, which Gabe thought was a bit of a lie. It
wasn’t that mum’s cooking was bad, it just wasn’t
that
good.

It got later
and it was arranged that Grace stay the night, on the sofa. Gina
gave her some night clothes and another towel and a glass of water.
By now, Grace was fit to pass out; exhausted, drunk, emotional,
drained. Gina tucked her up on the sofa and turned the lights out
and ushered Gabe up the stairs.

Gabe was
starting to get all angsty and upset now that Grace couldn’t see
him. He was half drunk but too angry to go to sleep. He thought he
should be pleased that Grace, bloody Grace, the love, the out of
reach girl, was asleep in his house but Gabe was confused, hurt,
and a little bit more confused. Who the fuck would hurt Grace? And
whoever it was, Gabe wanted to hurt them back.

“Leave it for
tonight. She might tell us in the morning darling. You can’t force
these things. She will tell us when she wants to and if she wants
to. She is in a safe place now. Does she have a boyfriend?”

Gabe hadn’t
even thought of that yet. Grace knew a lot of boys and all the boys
knew Grace. She probably did have a boyfriend, of course she must
have had a few boyfriends but Gabe didn’t really know who in that
gang of hers she was seeing or whatever. Maybe she had a serious
boyfriend? More than likely. God how depressing. But she’d have to
dump him now, after what he’d done to her tonight.

Gabe could feel
that the vodka had gone to his head. He felt as if his body was
separate to him and his wings felt numb. Life had got a little
surreal. Who would have thought that the beautiful Grace would be
in his house, in his lounge, staying the night, after spending the
evening with him and his mum, eating dinner off trays on their
knees on their little sofa?

He thought of
something that he had heard once. If you want to see everything,
you can either travel the world or stay in one place and watch.
Gabe felt that he hadn’t done anything but stay in the same place,
this was his home but things were getting interesting. He had
always dreamt of running away but for the first time he saw a crack
in this theory that seemed to be revealing the possibility of
having what you wanted where you were now. Right here, right now.
But at the same time Grace was in a bad way so that sort of
cancelled out everything else.

Gabe assumed
that Grace would be gone in the morning, sobered up, humiliated and
off. Closing the door softly behind her like she would too of the
memory of that evening together.

But he was
wrong. By the time he came downstairs, at the time when Grace
would, in the past, have usually been walking past his house to
school, Grace was with Gina. In his kitchen, smiling over a cup of
coffee. They both looked so soft and happy thought Gabe. He felt a
little awkward, well more awkward than the normal awkwardness he
felt.