“Stop drawing me!” I complain, when I notice Braden sketching me as I sit on the bench top, shaving my legs into the sink.
“I’m an artist, sweetheart. I see beauty, and I draw it. Simple as that,” Braden says from his position on the couch that also doubles as my bed.
“Me shaving my legs is beautiful?” I laugh, as I continue my quest of hair removal.
“Well, yeah. In a way. It’s the light. The angle you’re sitting on. And you of course. I like drawing you.”
“Hmmm,” is all I say in reply.
“Just why are you doing that there anyway? You know there’s a bathroom down the hall.”
“Yes. But that weird girl from number twenty-eight is in there. She sings all the time and asks me super happy questions. She kind of freaks me out.”
“Which girl? Oh Valerie? Geez Paige, she’s completely harmless. I’m sure she’s just trying to be friendly.”
“I feel like she’s trying to force me to join her super-happy-hyper-girl cult.” I shudder, bouncy girls really do freak me out.
“Sweetheart, it’s not a cult. It’s called cheerleading. She loves that shit.”
“Well fine for her. But she needs to leave me out of it,” I tell him, as I rinse off my legs and start applying some lotion.
“Fair enough,” he concedes, focusing intently on his drawing and rubbing at the page with his finger to smudge the pencil.
“How many pictures do you have of me in there anyway?” I ask, as I slide off the bench.
“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “A few.”
I move over to him and lean on the back of the couch to look over his shoulder. “Exactly how many is ‘a few’?”
He just shrugs his shoulder again and closes his book so I can’t see, sliding his pencil behind his ear as he moves to stand up. He never lets me see what he’s drawing.
Reaching over the back of the couch, I snatch the sketch pad out of his hands. “Oh no. You’re not getting out of it that easy. I’ve been here for weeks and you’re always drawing in that thing. I want to see it.”
“Give it back Paige,” he warns.
Immediately, I start moving around the studio, dodging him as I start leafing through the pages.
“Close it Paige! That’s private!”
“Wow, Braden. You’re really good,” I admit. There are drawings of everything in here, from people, to animals, trees and vehicles. Basically, whatever has caught his eye, has been recorded in such vivid detail that it actually looks real.
I’m so focused on the drawings that I forget to move out of his way. Although, my reactions are quick enough that I tighten my grip on the pages as he pulls on the binding.
“Give it back.”
“No. I’m looking. Let go Braden. You’re going to make me tear it,” I tell him calmly. He narrows his eye at me and releases his hand. Grinning triumphantly, I continue to leaf through his drawings.
The visual arts diary he uses is one of those thick bound ones with a hard black cover. More than half of it is filled with his sketches.
Slowly I flick through all the pages, marvelling at his work. “You can tell when I moved in,” I smile, glancing up at him.
Suddenly, there are pages and pages of me. Sitting watching television, brushing my hair… “You drew me sleeping?” I ask, turning the book to him and tapping on the paper.
“I like drawing you. So sue me,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking surly.
“Well… you’re very talented,” I compliment him, as I shut the book and hand it back to his eager hands.
“You’re not weirded out?” he asks, taking it back and folding his arms over it protectively.
“Why would I be? I’ve seen you drawing me. I just wanted to see them.”
“They don’t mean I’m obsessed with you or anything,” he assures me.