The weather turned cold that night. It stayed cold for the rest of the week. The winds picked up, forcing me to stuff my hair into a hat everyday. My hair, flighty and ragged as ever, is a terror to contain. The frustration of having to control my red locks was enough to put me in a bad mood every morning. By lunchtime, I would come home and nap. Kyle and I saw each other everyday, but I haven't let him sleep over. I think he understands. I need some time to myself.
Since painting the potato, Jake has asked me how my project is whenever he sees me in the studio. Today is no different. My canvas is blank again, my hands unsteady and wavering.
"What are we painting today?" Jake says, as he shuffles over to see my work. He sees my blank canvas and nods his head. "Yes, I see." He smiles at me, blinking.
"Have you finished yours yet?"
"Oh no," he says. "God, no. But I am better off than you. At least I have it started."
"Can I see it?" I get up from my stool and follow him to his station. He grabs a large canvas from against the wall. It's half blank, but the top is blue. Mostly. There are what looks like fingernail marks, trailing along the top half. The raised paint is trimmed in red, the painting bleeding. On the far right hand side of the top is a flower.
"How did you do that?" I point to the flower.
"Oh that... yeah. It looks real, but it's not. I wanted to have a real one. But, I made it." I walk closer to the flower, touching it gingerly with my fingertips. It's rock hard, probably plaster. But from far away it looks life-like. I smile at him, amazed.
"It's beautiful. What will the rest of it be?" Now I'm so curious. He's made me interested with the flower alone.
"I'm not sure. I have a few ideas. I can't decide yet." He crosses his arms and we both stare at the canvas. An image starts to paint itself on Jake's canvas. Below the flower, tears. Droplets of tears, with deformed faces screaming inside the tears. Sunlight yellow streams from behind the tears, blending with more blue and red. The bottom tear is splattered on the floor. On the left side, more dark blue.
Jake is looking at me now. I stop staring at his canvas and close my jaw, embarrassed that it had been open all this time. I smile at him and run back to my canvas. He doesn't follow me, putting his own canvas away and picking up his things.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he calls from the doorway. I wave at him without looking, my mind inspired with ideas. Colors upon colors invade my thoughts, splattering paint across my skin. I stand at my station, the blank canvas nearly cowering in my presence. My brush is a weapon. My eyes follow my hands as they travel the length of the canvas, eating away at the white surface. A conquering army pushing its enemy towards the edge of the world. I smile amidst the destruction. Even on the way back up to my room, my lips grin tightly. I feel like I could explode, so I pick up the phone.
"Hello?"
"Hi! Sorry, I just had to call you."
"What's going on?" Cassie's voice sounds worried.
"It was incredible, Cassie! I just kept painting. On and on.... It felt so great. Different. But good, so good." I lie on my bed and stare up at the ceiling, my head filled with my own painted images.
"You sound different today. Like you've been sleeping for a long time, but you're awake now."
"I feel different. I can't stop smiling." A knock on the door. "Cassie, hold on a second." I sit up. "Who is it?" I say loudly.
"Kyle." His voice muffled from being behind the door. My smile widens.
"Cas, I gotta go. Uh, can I call you later today?"
"Yeah, that's fine. Who's there?" She teases me in a singsong voice.
"Well, I'd been meaning to tell you. His name is Kyle."
"Ok, til next time." I hang up the phone and open the door, revealing a hesitant Kyle. He grins, not knowing whether to invite himself in or not. His hands are shoved in his pockets, nervous.
"Hi," I say. My smile is big. He smiles back and the air between us eases. I grab his elbow and pull him into the room. Closing the door, he speaks.
"Uh, I wasn't sure if I could drop by. I wanted to see you." He looks at me again, really looking deep into my eyes. My smile continues to be big and I can't help but giggle. I can't even remember why I was so upset the last time I was around him. It all seems so long ago. But in trying to forget, I remember everything. My smile lessens a bit, but Kyle beams back at me. "You look great." His cheeks blush slightly. He's so adorable and he took a risk in coming to see me. I move in closer to him and rest my head against his chest, my hands warming themselves against his stomach. He wraps his arms around me.
We remain like that for a long time, with Kyle pressing small kisses into my wild hair. I want to stay like that forever, safe and warm. I lift my head up and look into his face, full of spark. I'm glad he doesn't try to kiss me. It wouldn't be right.
"Wanna start over?" he asks, as if reading my mind. I hug him closer.
"I'd like that," I whisper, letting his arms encompass me.
"Were you on the phone with someone?" Our voices are husky whispers, as if we're afraid of drowning out the loveliness of the moment with speech.
"Cassie. My best friend from high school."
"Does she go here too?"
"Oh no, she's way out in Seattle. On a full scholarship." Our embrace weakens so that we can talk to each other, face to face.
"But you're not from here either..." He bites his lower lip.
"How did you know that? Do I look like I'm from somewhere else?" My eyes are big with curiosity.
"No, I sneaked a peek at your license." He smiles, mischief glowing in his eyes. I giggle.
"We're both from Maine. We both wanted to go to school somewhere else, to get away from the dullness of our tiny town. She got accepted first..." My sentence is cut off by the phone ringing. I glance down at the ID, unknown. When I don't pick it up, Kyle looks at me. He quickly reaches over, my reaction too slow to catch him before he picks it up.
"Hello?" Kyle's grin disappears as the voice on the other end speaks. He hands it to me. For a moment, I don't want to take it. Kyle extends his arm further, the receiver touching my shoulder. I finally place it against my ear, anticipation coursing through me.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Angela." My body stiffens. Trawlen. His voice is like metal in my teeth, grinding away at me. I sit down on my bed, my back to Kyle.
"Hi."
"Your grades are suffering, Angela. I think you should stop by either today or tomorrow. We should discuss some type of extra credit." His voice actually takes on the tone of concerned professor. "I can think of a few ways to rectify the situation, but I'm sure you can come up with something better."
"I'm not sure I can stop by, Professor Trawlen." My voice is wavering and I feel Kyle sit behind me on the bed.
"Are you sure, Angela? Your grade may suffer." I close my eyes and Kyle scoots in closer to me. His hands rest against my back and he rubs along my spine gently. I breathe in deeply and sigh out, opening my eyes.
"Yes, I'm sure." I can barely feel myself breathe.
"Alright..." Trawlen's voice conveying a sense of loss and acceptance at the same time. An audial throwing up of the hands. I wait for the dial tone before hanging up the phone. I sit there, my hand still on the receiver, Kyle running his fingers up and down my back. I close my eyes again, leaning against Kyle for support. My face is obvious.
"You ok?" His lips soft as he plays a few kisses on the back of my neck.
"Not really." For now, that's all I can say and Kyle lets it be. We've learned our lesson. I can't tell him everything, but I can be honest about that. No tears come this time either. All the tension from the phone call is gone and my head is clear of any doubts or questions. Thoughts flow out of me like a dam breaking loose. Everything from today, including my inspired painting session, drains from my mind. My day, full of ups and downs, is boiled down to a single feeling: calm. I can feel my energy waning, its force bleeding from my fingers and toes. Somewhere between the flood of thoughts and my sense of calm, my head hits the pillow. I feel warmth surround me. Solid warmth from a person. Kyle. I fall asleep with an image of myself: a bundled body nestled in an egg, cuddled up to the feathery heat of the mother's breast.