Page 14 of Back to Me

“Brown University? That’s impressive. They’re one of the top art colleges in the country.”

Spinning around in his chair, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his desk.

“Where did you earn your art degree?”

Swallowing again, my throat swells with fear. I hope my answer won’t completely ruin my chance to do this exhibit. I could lie, but I don’t want to screw this up. I need this. I clear my throat.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Price. I never went to college.” I ball my hands into fists, attempting to shake off the nervousness, quickly correcting myself before giving him a chance to respond. “I- I meant to say I never graduated. I only went for a semester.”

The corners of his mouth turn down in thought as he studies me. Considering me for a few agonizing moments of silence, he lifts his hand, waving me off.

“That doesn’t matter to me, Graham. I’ve seen your artwork.” He leans back once again in his large leather chair, weaving his fingers together in front of him. “You’re very talented.”

“Thank you, sir.” My shoulders fall as I let out a sigh of relief.

“So, Graham.” He taps the tip of his pen against his desk as he continues to study me. “Before we get to the details, tell me a bit about yourself.”

Taking a deep breath, I sit up in my seat. I was prepared for this and memorized how I would tell my life story in just a few minutes, cutting out all the gory details.

“I was born in California but didn’t live there very long after my sister was born. I’ve moved around most of life, but despite my father being in the Army, he wasn’t necessarily the reason why. My parents divorced when I was young, so my mom moved my younger sister and me to North Carolina. My mom passed away when I was thirteen, so that’s how I ended up in Texas. I moved to Dallas six years ago with my roommate.” I pause long enough to gauge his reaction. His face remains blank and void of any emotion, so I continue.

“I’ve loved art my entire life. I remember being three years old and watching this show in England where this guy would teach you how to draw and paint. I was fascinated with him, and it didn’t take me long before I had taught myself to copy exactly what he was doing. As I grew older, I would find myself sketching in the corners of my homework assignments, mostly with a pen. It wouldn’t be anything in particular, just whatever my mind would conjure up.”

His green eyes light up as a grin spreads across his clean-shaven jaw. “Ah, your passion runs deep. I like that.”

Hesitating, I nod and lean down to pick up my portfolio. “Would you like to take a look at some of my most recent work?”

“Of course.”

Picking up the thin case, I pull the zipper across the three edges, revealing the contents inside. Most are thin sheets of paper, all drawn with black ink. Some are pictures of canvases and paintings I’ve done within the past few years.

Gently reaching out, Mr. Price picks up each piece, studying them for a few minutes before moving on to the next one. I hold my breath, nervous what he truly thinks about my art. Other than Sara, no one has ever seen these pieces. Just because Mr. Price had liked what I painted at the graffiti park, doesn’t mean he would be interested in my other pieces. This could be the make it or break it point in the interview. I loosen my tie a bit around my neck.

Picking up a picture of a piece Sara and I had done together, he leans back in his chair again. “This is exceptional work, Graham. What mediums did you use for this one?”

I rest my elbows on the arms of my chair. “That one is a mixture of watercolor and charcoal. My roommate was the one who did all the charcoal outline and shading.”

Thinking of Sara, I remember the day we had made this piece. I had asked her if she could draw a woman’s face using her charcoal set. She had agreed, oblivious of my intention of painting the woman’s skin and hair. Honestly, it’s by far my favorite piece I’ve ever done.

Mr. Price raises his eyebrows. “Your roommate appears to be very talented as well.”

“She is,” I grin, feeling the muscles of my cheeks grow sore.

Lowering the picture into his lap, his eyebrows furrow with curiosity. “She?”

“Y-Yes, sir,” I mutter, wondering why he finds it so odd. “She’s the one who moved down here with me.”

“Hmm.” He continues to stare at the painting in thought. He finally asks, “Is this just a hobby for your roommate or is this her passion as it is yours?”

“It’s definitely not a hobby to her. She’s earned a bachelor’s degree in Fine Arts and is the assistant for Allison Newbury Galleries.”

Surprised, he grins. “Allison Newbury is a very successful artist here in Dallas. She designs great work. Expensive, but beautiful, nonetheless.”

“I agree,” I laugh, remembering I had thought the same about her art.

Standing up, Mr. Price paces the room, the picture still pinched between his fingers. He walks with a confidence that could either come across as respectful and humble or cocky and arrogant—I’m having trouble deciphering which one.

With his other hand, he scratches his chin. “I have an idea.” Stopping, he focuses his eyes on me still patiently sitting in the chair. “I think we still do the exhibit, you as the featured artist, but have you and your roommate collaborate on a few pieces, just like this one.” Turning the picture, he holds it between us, showing me.

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