Page 19 of Dare to Fall

“I don’t know, Lucas.” My eyes darted across the loft at the array of canvases for the exhibit. A few of them still lacked their finishing touches. “I still have a lot of work to do.”

Lucas sighed, his voice dropping. “Listen, man, I just had this really tough case, and I need to blow off some steam. Come on. We don’t have to stay out late. Just a few bourbons.”

I really didn’t feel like being in a bar setting, especially at a new opening where I would be pushed and shoved around all night. But I could hear it in his voice, the urgency to get his mind off whatever child was likely dying of cancer and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Okay. But just a few drinks. I set tomorrow and Saturday aside to wrap up these final pieces.”

“Ah yeah! The bar is called Bloom 31. Want to meet there at 11:00?” he asked.

“Jesus. What kind of bar is this, Lucas?”

“Don’t be so fucking judgmental,” he laughed. “I thought artists were supposed to like boujee establishments.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the only artist you’ve ever hung out with, and I can assure you, most of us aren’t that pretentious.”

“Well, it’ll be good either way. It’s supposed to have some of the best bourbon selections downtown, so that’s all that really matters, right?”

“We do love our bourbon.” I smiled to myself.

“That we do,” he said. “Hold on a second.”

I heard a woman’s voice, muffled in the background, spewing some medical terminology that was lost on me.

“Garth? I gotta go, man. A patient page just came through. See you tonight?”

“See you at 11:00. I’ll be the one drinking the bourbon.”

His laugh sounded through the phone before it clicked off. I tossed my cell onto the counter and took a long sip of the almost too-hot coffee. Closing my eyes, I relished in the warmth as it slid down my throat and into my chest.

My phone pinged, and my eyes darted to the bright screen. It was a text from Samson Nickolson, one of my old classmates from Parsons. We had spent countless nights in the student lounge, drinking coffee, pouring ourselves over our art for the first year. Most of our fundamental courses were the same, but we went separate ways after he decided to major in photography, and I chose mixed mediums. It had been a while since we last talked. He took a year-long sabbatical to travel all over Europe last year with his new wife.

I swiped at the screen to open his message.

Samson:Garth! How are you, my friend? It’s been a long time since we’ve caught up.

Me:I’m doing well, Sam. Getting ready for the exhibit at the university. Glad to see you made it back to the States okay. I hope the time off was everything you wanted it to be.

Samson:It was fantastic. Whitney was really sad to come back. She fell head over heels for Paris. But we’re getting settled into the new house nicely. I saw the email that you are the visiting artist for our exhibit. It’s an honor to have you!

Me:Thanks, man. I really appreciate that. I’m wrapping up the pieces as we speak.

Samson:Well, I hope it’s not too much of a bother, but I was hoping to ask you a favor.

Me:Sure. Whatever you need.

Samson:Well, I guess now’s as good a time as any. Whitney is pregnant! We found out just before our trip home, and today is her first doctor’s appointment. She’s nervous as hell and wants me to go with her, but it’s during my class time. Do you have any interest in covering my photography class? It’s just an introductory session.

I glanced back to the canvases that waited for me to finish them. But something pulled at me to do this for Samson. His news of him and his wife being pregnant hit me in a way I hadn’t expected. It wasn’t quite jealousy. Maybe envy was the better word for what strained in my chest. Before his sabbatical, Samson and Whitney hosted monthly dinner parties at their home for some of our local artist friends. I had always admired their relationship. They were like magnets. The love and chemistry between them was obvious to anyone who saw them in the same room together. When she moved, he moved. Deep down, I always wanted a relationship like that. A partner in life who could understand everything I didn’t have the words to say.

I stared blankly at the screen, waiting for the wave of emotion to wash over me and fade away. As every day passed and another woman walked out my door, I felt myself growing more and more hopeless that I would find my person.

But this wasn’t about me. My friend needed some help, and I could do this for him.

Me:Wow, Samson! I am so happy to hear such great news. I know you and Whitney will make the best parents. I can cover your class. Enjoy this milestone with your wife. Just send me over the details and syllabus when you can.

Samson:Thank you so much, Garth. We really appreciate it. I owe you one.

I gave him my email address, and he forwarded the course syllabus over. I had two hours before the class started, so I grabbed my coffee mug and got back to work on my installments. The strokes of the paintbrush felt effortless as my mind wandered again toher.

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