When I was nineteen…
It finally happened. My diary sat exposed to an entire room of snarky critics. My eyes moved from one image to the next, seeing my gray drawings on the wall of the gallery. They all served as a reminder that my soul was charcoal, which came in the form of a pencil I used to sketch the details.
Looking across the room, I stopped on the smile of my blue-eyed boy. Tonight was essentially Jess's grand idea; one that caused a deep inner struggle. I had five drawings in Gallery 51’s spring exhibition because he insisted that I enter the competition. I was the only freshman who made the cut.
Over the last year, I lived the typical college life, at least the one of an honor student. I juggled classes, attended the occasional party, and crammed for tests over boxes of late night pizza. Sadie joined the campus debate team and convinced me to dabble in an assortment of other groups. With the help of my new roommate, my life morphed into a new one outside of Arlis, with one exception.
My friendship with Jess intrigued Sadie. She didn’t believe in the concept of having a male best friend. Every time she brought it up, I swore Jess and I had known each other for so long, our relationship was far past anything romantic. I never convinced those hazel eyes it was true. Despite her persistent questions, she liked Jess and found him quite charming.
On most days, I actually enjoyed having Sadie as a roommate. She added a motivational drive to the atmosphere in the room. Her presence alone, pushed me in directions I didn’t think possible. I shared Sadie’s outlook of hard work and determination, and easily adapted to her purpose driven goals for the future.
In the light of my new life, I never told Sadie the details about my past in Arlis. I enjoyed being free of the baggage. Sadie was too intelligent to believe I presented the full picture. She probed with questions, but at this point in the friendship, she never tried to dig deep into an unwanted pit. Regardless, I knew how she operated. Sadie was buying her time, waiting for the kill.
Jess got deeply involved with his fraternity. Even with our new lives and different schedules, we squeezed in an occasional dinner and random cups of coffee every few days.
On a cold afternoon in January, Jess brought an artsy flyer to wave in my face. Gallery 51 was reviewing pieces for the spring artist exhibition. The show was geared toward the indie college crowd, but it was still an actual competition at the upscale bar turned retro art house. He had pestered and harassed until I submitted my entries. I had expected to be declined by the snooty judges. To my surprise, I made the cut for the spring show. Ten artists had received the green light; each submitting five separate pieces, making fifty entries for the showcase award tonight.
Walking over to Jess, I stood beside him as he looked at my work. He smiled like a kid in a candy store, who just found a package of Skittles the size of a garbage bag. It was the same grin I captured in my drawing of him, fishing next to a pond at Sprayberry. The gallery required each entry be available for purchase. A sale seemed outside the realm of plausible outcomes for my artwork. Nonetheless, Flecks of Blue had a price tag on it.
“Is it weird to think someone might have a picture of you hanging up in their house?”
His eyes absently sweep down my body, looking at my party outfit put together by Sadie. “I don’t mind, it’s more of a landscape anyway.”
“I guess so.”
“Besides, I have the original. Who cares if they get that one.”
“The original?”
“The first one you tried by the pond, remember?”
“That awful thing?” I laughed, thinking about my first attempt when I was twelve. “You still have it?”
“Are you kiddin'? How could I get rid of somethin' like that? Perfect blackmail,” he smirked.
“You would.”
“Actually…” He leaned in close to my ear, his lips touching my hair as he whispered. “I have all of your originals, even the ones on the napkins.”
“What? How…did you.” The words stumbled in confusion. My heart beat a little faster, seeing flashes of all the times he cleared the table at Jeeter's. I assumed the napkin doodles went in the trash with the ketchup packets. My skin got warm thinking of Jess saving something so trivial. The thoughts made me want to wrap my arms around his shoulders, squeezing tight. Instead, I absently bit my lip, trying to focus on something else.
We kept our physical interactions to a minimum. On my part at least, it was intentional. He had kept his word and never tried to kiss me again. Tonight was hard. Even though he wasn’t touching me, Jess didn’t bother to hide his true feelings. They were as clear as his blue eyes. It was all very confusing because my heart wanted to thank him for always believing in me.
“You look pretty tonight,” he whispered next to my cheek.
“Thank you. Sadie made me wear her clothes. The dress is too short.”
“I kind of like it that way,” he grinned and my face got hot. Stepping back to his own personal space, he pointed at my last entry. “Does Uncle Frank know 'bout that one?”
“Um, no,” I shook my head. I’m sure Frank would spit fire on the ground from both my drawing and the retro hipster attendees at Gallery 51. I could hear his Marlboro voice muttering, nothin’ but a bunch of damn hippies standin’ around while there’s work to be done.
With his question, I reflected back across the showcase entries. Flecks of Red featured Jeeter's with only the outline of the neon sign and tail lights in crimson. Flecks of Green displayed an entire wooded landscape with a single green tree. Flecks of Blue showcased a teenage boy fishing by a pond. Flecks of Orange highlighted a faded sunset over the old farmhouse and a lone, orange kitten on the porch.
Flecks of Yellow was the one in question by Jess. It featured a cowboy on a horse, standing in the yellow meadow grass. I captured Frank's rugged face, complete with cigarette dangling from his lips, and his yellow tinted hat and handkerchief tucked into his pocket.
“I think you got a shot with the one of Frank.”
“Maybe.”
“I took a picture of it on my cell phone. I’m plannin’ to show it to him. I can’t wait to see his reaction when I make him look at it on my devil box.”
“That’s just great. You’re going to torment Frank with my drawing of him.” I smiled, shaking my head. “But really, you think I could actually win?”
“Yeah, I do and I’m not just sayin’ that.”
“Thanks…I mean it. I would have never done this without you.”
“You’re beautiful and smart and insanely talented, Al.” He pushed a piece of my hair back behind my ear. “I just wish you saw yourself the way I see you.”
I froze. My heart beat a little faster, hearing his soft words and seeing his eyes get a little dark on the edges. The feeling happened again. I wanted to hold him tight against me. Looking away, I searched the gallery for my father, Caroline, and the Masons. They were alone somewhere in a sea of men in skinny jeans.
“We um…should probably go find the rest of them,” I suggested.
“I guess.” He let out a deep breath and smiled. “Mother is probably ready to shit some bricks.”
“Pearlized ones,” I laughed faintly.
“Are you Alexandra?” I turned around to find an older man in a suit with curly spirals of hair clipped close to his skull. He stood about six inches shorter than my accelerated height.
“Yes?”
“I’m Professor Lynch. I work in the university’s art department. Mind if we visit?”
“Hey Al, I’ll go find ‘em,” Jess excused himself.
I shifted nervously in front of the professor, wishing Sadie had not insisted I wear these damn heels for the show. They hurt and I bobbled around like an anxious giraffe.