Page 71 of Soul Mates: Hercules Valentine and I
I’ve been awake for a while, smiling at the ceiling. My alarm hasn’t blared yet. But last night, I got the best night of sleep ever. Maybe that has been my problem all my life—I’ve been “clogged up.”
After dinner, Lake and I went to her studio. First, we covered the floor with plastic. Next, we stretched a large sheet of canvas that ran length of the wall. Then I watched her carefully as she opened seven cans of paint, all different colors.
“Now, use your hands, your feet, your face, and even your breasts, buttocks, and vagina if you feel it. Whatever part of your body you choose, just let loose on the canvas. Let it go, Lark. Color it, splash it, rub it, bang it—do it all from your soul.”
At first, I scratched my head, wondering if she’d lost her mind. But Lake didn’t move a muscle. She stood still, eyes dancing, repeating, “Listen to your soul, and then do it. Not your head or heart but your soul.”
“Listen to my soul?” I whispered.
She took my dress by the hem and lifted it over my head. There I stood, naked. “This is who you were from day one. Before you were Lark Davenport. Before you were taught who to be. How to please. How to seek love and acceptance. You’re bare, Lark. You’re nameless. You’re just a female. And in your body is the breath of life.” She pointed at the paint. “Now… what would that life do with all of those colors?”
My frown deepened. “No paintbrushes?”
“If that’s what you want”—she pointed at a wooden shelf full of all sorts of art tools and supplies—“they’re over there.”
I reluctantly took a step toward the shelf but stopped. What Lake said repeated in my mind.I should use my hands, my feet, even my tits.A paintbrush, an obvious tool, felt like control. It felt like Max and my dad. Having red liquid all over my hands, though—that felt messy and naughty.
So I dunked my hand into red paint and then slapped my palms against the canvas, and that was the start to an amazing rest of our night. Lake took off of her dress and then turned on sultry French rap music before joining me. I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience as I slid my feet against the canvas, smearing it with green paint. The movement made my thighs ache, and the pain felt so freeing. It was made from the action I’d chosen to take, not from what Max or my father chose for me. Then I did the same with my back, my forehead, and even my knees. Lake and I danced together, sliding our naked bodies against the canvas as music that I couldn’t understand but only feel energized us.
It had to be two hours and maybe four or five glasses of wine later when I used Lake’s shower to wash up. She’d mixed a special shampoo designed to get paint out of hair. When I was done and ready to head home, I hugged her and thanked her.
“My pleasure, Lark.”
My lips parted.I’m Paisley Grovewas on the tip of my tongue. But I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t be honest.
Now, even though I slept like a baby, I’m wondering if the freedom I felt while painting is still with me. As I’m thinking this, my cellphone chimes. I sit up and listen to it ring three times before rushing to the credenza to answer it.
“Hello,” I say as if I don’t already know who’s on the other end.
“How close are you to finishing?” Max asks.
I close my eyes as his question socks me in my conscience.
“Paisley?”
“Max?” I say with I sigh.
“I can still count on you to get this done, can’t I?”
I twist my mouth thoughtfully. I pause a second too long. Max probably knows I have doubts.
“It’s not that easy,” I finally say.
He pauses. “Are you running into structural roadblocks?”
No.“Sort of.”
“What do you mean by ‘sort of’?”
“Sort of.”
“You’re being cagey, Pais. And that’s not a good sign.”
My alarm rings, and I run into my room to turn it off. “What do you want me to say?” I whine as I silence my other cellphone. “And did you know Hercules is not out of town? He’s here.”
“What?” he snaps.
“Yes,” I say, remaining calm.
