Page 26 of Fruit
CHAPTER SIX
Sebastián and I traded numbers when I picked up Nina, and I call him up when I know he won’t be at work.
“Sebastián,” he says as a greeting. I roll my eyes.
“Iva,” I say, matching his tone. There’s a slight pause.
“You didn’t kill Nina already, did you?”
“Haha. You’re hilarious.”
“What’s up?”
“So, I start volunteering this week, right?”
“Yeah…?”
“I’ve got an idea. I’ve got a friend who has this massive canvas, and she agreed to donate it to the youth centre.”
“How massive?”
“Like, spanning a whole wall massive, but it’ll fit in the back lot.”
“Okay.”
“I thought we could put it there and let the kids at it. Each one who wants to paint can take a section and can draw what they want, or they can do a mural, or a collage. Whatever they want. I thought it’d be fun and, I don’t know. Cathartic. And we could put it somewhere when it’s done, if they wanted.”
There’s a beat of silence. “That sounds like something they’d enjoy. Especially Joshua.”
“Yeah, right?
“Yeah.”
“Will my good ideas ever cease?”
Sebastián snorts.
“I can get my hands on plenty of painting materials, too. Some spray paint as well, even.”
“Yeah? From where?”
“Well, a bit all over the place. When I was in college, I used to work at an art shop, but I also know quite a few people in the business, you know? They’re the kind of people who don’t, like,activelyhelp the community, but if confronted directly they’re more than happy to lend a hand.”
“I think most people are like that. It’s natural to focus on taking care of your own. It’s hard to reach out beyond that when so many people need help.”
“Yeah, fuck. Like, you watch the news and you’re like—yeah, nope, I’m going to bed. Like, it’stoo much. But you gotta start somewhere, I guess.”
“Yeah. Well, thanks. You could have just kept the materials for yourself,” he says, and I’m pretty sure there’s a teasing note in his voice.
“I think I would die if I had to fill that canvas. I haven’t been painting much lately, so…”
“How come?” he asks, and I wonder if he’s actually interested or just being polite.
“I dunno.” I shrug even though he can’t see me. “Just…it’s just not really happening. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“A lack of inspiration?”
“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know. Maybe inspirationisthe right word, but it doesn’t feel quite right to me. Like, feeling inspired sounds like the first step to me. Like, that first spark—I want to do this. But it only carries you so far, you know? You’ve got to…it’s like. When I draw, it’s like I plug myself into the world, kind of? Or, like, my head plugs into my body, more like. Like there’s a sense of connection and I can finally—like, okay, not being able to draw is like having aphasia. It’s not that you don’t have something to say. And it’s not that you’re notinspiredenough not to say it. It just literally feels like there’s a connection in your brain that stops you from verbalising it, from putting whatever you’re, like, thinking and feeling and whatever into a shape that’s actually comprehensible. I don’t know if that made sense.”
