Page 13 of Paint Me Love
I stare absentmindedly at the police officer talking to the two drivers, one of them pointing at the red car that has rammed into the blue one’s side. I think it was maybe half an hour after I’ve gotten home that dad called me from the hospital, crying as he tried to explain to me what was happening. All I’d gotten is that mom and Hannah had been in an accident and he was waiting to hear from the doctors. I don’t even know how I made it to the hospital, most of it is still a blur, but I clearly remember his face when I walked up to him once I’d finally arrived.
I shudder as I remember going up to the doctor to ask after my family because my dad couldn’t form a coherent word. He’d gotten worse after, losing his job and then custody of me because he couldn’t deal with his grief and take care of his own son. I’d skipped four months of school by the time Molly’s parents took me in, spending all my time shut in my room drawing mindlessly.
I force another deep breath and finally find my center, pushing off the tree. There are barely any onlookers left as I walk by the scene of the accident, the two drivers already signing the insurance agreement. The police officer has his hands on his hips as he oversees it, then hops into his vehicle parked to theside. All three of them drive off after that, each on their way to wherever they were going.
I don’t have a driver’s license. I don’t think I’ll ever get one. I also hate cameras. The flashes, the invasiveness and the people behind them asking me questions. It’s my personal hell, so I’m actually glad I had to work the day of the gallery’s opening because I don’t know how I’d have made it if I had to stay for longer.
There is still tension coursing through me when I reach my building. I’m on edge, expecting a TV crew to jump at me any moment to ask about my dad. The way the accident happened was brutal, a truck driver overtaking where he shouldn’t and then trying to run away from the scene. It was all over the news and it created interest towards me and dad that only made things worse. I sometimes think that maybe if it hadn’t, I’d still have my dad.
I ride the elevator to my floor, shaking off my gloomy thoughts. I finally feel like I’m not suffocating as I enter my apartment. The episode will pass, I know that, but I guess the fact that I haven’t had one in a while is making it linger around longer. Dropping my things on the old couch separating my lounge into two, I pad over to the kitchen and heat up leftover chili with some rice. I send Molly a mandatory chef’s kiss emoji to remind her how much I love her cooking and she tells me it’s my turn this weekend. I’m planning to make chicken stir-fry with a sesame oil-based sauce, the recipe bookmarked and ready to be tested.
Once I finish eating, I get straight to organizing my portfolio. I’m energized, and the food helped me calm down, so now my focus is solely on which paintings to choose. As per Cassandra’s request, I go for a variety of scenery, portraits and abstracts, deciding I’ll include the demon creature that Molly’s brother commissioned. The painting that I’m currently workingon is not ready yet, and even if it was, I wouldn’t include it anyway since one of the subjects is her boss.
I’ve narrowed down my choices to twenty pieces when it’s time to head to my second job at the shipping center. Since I have to run or I’ll be late, I’ll update my Mystery Guy later and send the portfolio to Cassandra in the morning with hopes that she will like it.
It’s a couple days later that I hear from the gallery manager, the call coming as I am sipping hot chocolate because I am on a break from painting an expensive-looking suit for two straight hours. The details are crazy. I was expecting maybe an email with Cassandra’s thoughts, not a call, so I’m a little nervous as I pick up.
“Hello,” I answer, my eyes still trained on the painting. I think I captured the vibe of both Adam and Derek well, the colors and the composition inspired by them even if the actual people depicted on my canvas are slightly different.
“Good morning, Daniel. How are you?” Cassandra chirps, her tone friendly.
It’s my day off from both jobs, so that’s already enough of a reason for a good mood. The fact that I’ve been painting since I woke up and it’s been going well makes it even better. “Good, thank you.” I tear my gaze away from the canvas and glance out the window at the sunny day. “How about you?”
“Busy, but in the best way.” I hear a door close and some of the background buzz disappears. “So, I had a look at the portfolio you sent me over and… I’m honestly even more impressed. I loved your take on ‘Ambition’ and I can see some parallels between it and some of your other works.”
“Oh…” I deflate, unsure about her criticism.
“I meant this in a good way.” Fabric shuffles as if she’s taking a coat off or settling into a chair. “It’s your style, yourcharacter coming through. That’s not a bad thing, and it can really set you apart. Now, for the fun part—can you come down to the gallery for a chat, say, on Tuesday at three-thirty in the afternoon?”
Oh my god, is she going to give me feedback in person? Maybe show me a thing or two, pinpoint where I messed up? I consult my schedule in my head. I finish my shift at the supermarket at three and don’t start until five at the shipping center, so I should be able to make it. “Sure, that works for me.”
“Great. I’ll email you my general impressions. We can discuss further when you stop by.”
We bid goodbye after that, but my heart doesn’t calm down. Cassandra Diaz wants to talk to me about my paintings. I didn’t know much about her until I started on the mural, but she’s a well-known figure in the art world, a former expert-critic. She’s done some judging around the world and worked with many famous artists, so it’s really mind-blowing that she likes my works. Even if I’m shit at making it happen, I’ve always wanted people to care about my paintings, so having her acknowledgment is a massive self-confidence boost that has me texting Molly while I wait for Cassandra’s email.
Molly: Oh-Em-Gee! I told you!!! Keep me posted! And if she offers you some kind of a deal, you fucking take it!
The message from Cassandra arrives shortly after I send a salute emoji to Molly. Nerves swamp my stomach as I open it, but then I’m smiling at her comments about color choices and emotional impact. She seems especially fond of the demon creature and the ruined mansion works, though there isn’t only praise in her email as some comments are suggestions on how I can improve my composition a bit.
Once I’ve read through her notes three times and responded with a thank you email, I resume painting. I moveon from the suit for now and instead focus on the man’s cream shirt, unable to help my mind as it wanders back to that day when I bumped into Derek Salinger. I think he works out, probably, or he wouldn’t have felt like a wall of muscle. He also has a really nice smile, the kind that I’d love to draw at some point, though not as part of my current painting. It wouldn’t fit. This one is a him-lookalike in his work mode, the way I imagine he is in the middle of making a five-billion-dollar deal. The other man, who’s based on Adam, is next to him, his arm hooked around Derek’s in a show of support. They look amazing together in my painting, even if a crazy part of my brain wonders if painting myself next to Derek might’ve looked even better.
But that’s a stupid thought. I have no place next to somebody like that.
I manage to distract myself from thinking about Derek Salinger by contemplating the reason why I draw and paint the way I do. I pull a lot of inspiration from memories, and most of them are not good ones. They are dark and sad and so a lot of my subject matter is as well, though just like how I am here today enjoying a simple life of juggling work and art, I always try to include a hopeful message, a splash of vibrant color to contrast the muted, dull tones of grays and browns that always wiggle their way into my pieces.
But I think that’s fine. Cassandra said it was, that you can see my character through my works, which makes them stand out. So I won’t worry about it.
It takes me until it’s dark outside to finish the shirt I was painting. My playlist has done two full shuffles, and while I could still go on, I have work in the morning, so I should probably eat, wind down and go to bed. An omelet and green salad is my choice for tonight’s dinner and as I flop onto my couch with my plate in one hand, I pull out my phone and text Mystery Guy.
Me: Hi, I know you’re still super busy, but you won’t believe this! I’m going to the gallery to meet with Cassandra because she wants to mentor me! It’s official.
A reply doesn’t come immediately. Or after five minutes. I frown, but try not to let it get to me. Mystery Guy did tell me he’d be busier, and it has shown in the infrequency of our chats. It could be that he has also decided to move on, I suppose, so there’s little I can do.
Feeling my mood tank, I refocus my thoughts on more productive things. If Cassandra can really help me get my name out there, maybe I could even quit one of my jobs. Less time working means more time doing art. I hate social media, but I am willing to learn if someone can take the time to show me the ropes. I’ve tried on my own, so has Molly, but we are both very bad at it.
It’s not that I mind my current arrangement because I don’t have to deal with much people at work, but it’s not exactly well-paid. It also doesn’t help me grow my art career. But then again, if I did art as a job, would I even enjoy it?
Ugh. I hate this. I hope Cassandra will have some advice for me. Her feedback was very uplifting while also pointing out things I could improve on, so I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if I asked her a few questions. I mean, she is the one that invited me for a chat, so.
