Page 113 of Beneath Your Beautiful
The lot adjacent to the burnt-out warehouse was fenced in with chain-link but luckily, nobody had bothered to fix the gap in the metal bars of the padlocked gate. I pushed the bucket of wheat paste through the gap, shoved Eden’s tote bag inside, and fed the rolled-up artwork covered in bubble wrap and brown paper through it.
“Ready?” I asked.
“Born ready.” She slid through the gap easily and once inside, tucked stray blonde locks into her black beanie and pulled up the hood of her black sweatshirt.
I sucked in my breath and squeezed through the tight space. Fuck. Discomfort, not pain, I told myself, leaning over to pick up the bucket. “I forgot about your ribs,” she whispered. “Are you okay?”
“It’s been a month. Good as new.”
“In your world, maybe,” she muttered.
I propped the artwork onto my shoulder and secured it with my arm. Glass crunched under our feet as we negotiated the scrap heap of twisted metal, cinderblocks, and broken window frames. I should have known Eden wouldn’t give up on her goal to paste artwork on this tower, but I was so damn proud of her.
When we reached the metal fire escape that led to a flat roof, giving us access to the tower, I tipped back my head and looked up at the eight-story building. Eden adjusted the straps of her tote bag on her shoulder and nodded, her chin set with determination, a look I knew all too well by now. “Let’s do this,” she said.
“Let me test it.” Ideally, I’d walk up all eight stories on my own to test it, but she was right behind me, and I knew nothing I could say would dissuade her from following me. The metal fire escape creaked under our weight, but it felt strong enough to hold us.
We climbed in the dark, slow but steady, our way lit by a big orange moon. I paused halfway up and looked at her over my shoulder. She was right behind me, her cheeks pink from exertion and the chill in the air. “You okay?”
“Yep.” She gave me a big smile to prove it and looked up at the tower. “Almost there. Keep your eye on the prize.”
I winked at her. “That’s what I’m doing.”
Her smile grew wider, and she let out a laugh. “You’ve been hanging out with Zeke too much.” She prodded my back to indicate we should keep going. “Picking up all his corny lines.”
I groaned as we continued our climb. “You think I’m corny now? I’ve reached an all-time low.”
“I think you’re sweet and gooey. Like marshmallow fluff.”
“I think you’re crazy. Like peanut butter.”
“How is peanut butter crazy?”
“It’s made of nuts.”
She burst out laughing. “You’re nuts.”
“About you,” I said, embracing these corny lines.
It was her turn to groan. “You need to stop now. You’ll lose your street cred.”
“I’m still a badass.”
“Yeah, you are,” she said, her tone more serious. Over the past two weeks, she’d binge-watched my fights on YouTube. According to Dr. Eden Madley, it was part of my therapy to watch them with her. I felt like I was watching someone else, someone I barely recognized, and I thought she felt the same way. Eden watched my final fight alone though, and I knew she watched some of Johnny’s fights too. But I couldn’t watch them either.
When we reached the top, I inhaled deep breaths of crisp fall air while she rooted around in her bag. Coming out with the flashlight she flicked it on and swept the light across the flat concrete roof that appeared to be intact. “Need help getting up?” I asked, referring to the three-foot wall in front of us.
She rolled her eyes at that suggestion, placed the palms of her hands on the wall and levered herself onto it. I handed her the art piece and joined her on the roof.
While I trained the flashlight on the wall, my appointed job, she removed the packaging from her art and unrolled the top part, leaving the rest rolled up. She pulled on a pair of latex gloves and applied the paste to the wall with a long-handled brush until the entire surface was covered.
“Babe, let me do that,” I said, when she tried to affix the top of the art piece by standing on tiptoes and extending her arms as high as they could reach. The struggle was real. I handed her the flashlight and affixed the top to the wall.
With the top part secured, we worked our way down and over the whole piece, smoothing out the bubbles. When it was firmly in place, I stepped back, and she applied a coat of paste over the top to seal it.
“We did it,” she said when she finished, her voice filled with awe and joy. “We actually did it.”
I wrapped my arms around her, and pulled her back against my chest, letting her have this moment. The art was amazing, and I didn’t tell her this, but I liked it better than the first one. This surfer girl didn’t look like she was about to get sledgehammered by the wave. She was riding the crest of the wave, and she appeared to be in total control. Although I knew that was never possible, that we couldn’t control every aspect of our lives, Eden’s new art piece gave me hope we could find our way through any situation life threw at us. Maybe, somehow, someday we’d find peace in the chaos.
