Fiction: Several untitled
October 13, 2002This is several parts in a series of character and story development I wrote sometime before 2002. These sorts of things are really “for eyes only,” meaning: not for public release. But it’s included here “for enjoyment only.”
Imagine for a minute that you are an amateur artist. Now, think about how you look at supply magazines, and how you long for the premium hues of paint — quality that far surpasses your mini collection of learn to paint a landscape tubes. Knowing that you can never have them is a feeling of defeat and helplessness. A feeling that anyone can understand — even little kids who lust for the toys in the back of the JC Penny’s catalog at Christmas time.
I am that landscape painter, and I long to paint a picture for you, even with my worn sable-hair brushes, and cheapo cakes of color.
One: “You know, the thing about her — she’s the kind of girl that you write sad stories about. Heart breaker stories.”
Two: “Yeah?”
One: “Yeah. But then again, I’m the kind of guy who writes stories of that sort.”
Although the scene outside my window changes everyday, some things seem to be constant. For one thing, the same bright and smiling girl is always there and this in turn makes me smile — if only for a minute. She’d stand there with a cigarette pushed neatly to her nimble lips and she would just smile. Maybe it’s the many boys that surround her, or maybe the calming cigarette, but always smiling.
Today was different. I saw her wrap her arms around a guy, and just lower her head to his chest. She wasn’t feeling his neatly knit sweater, but she was crying — and worst yet, I don’t know why. I saw her there, and she was in pain — nothing I could do to help. Today, I didn’t smile.
Sure, paint is a great thing — a great thing if you want to cover up the walls in your house. Same with wallpaper you know. It may look nice on display at Hechingers, but you’ve got to ask yourself: “Do you really want the display at Hechingers?” I sure as hell don’t. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like the clean smoothness of a fresh acrylic paint as much as the next guy, but I’d rather have something else. Something more meaningful. Don’t ask me what and don’t ask me why, but that’s what I’ve decided.
To shatter the preconceived notions and expectations I had of this girl would be an understatement. She was so much more than what she led me to be. Like a giant ocean coal that only unlocks its beauty if you swim down to its very depths. And you know it’s deep, so you better take a big breath before descending. I don’t want to resurface.
So it’s like this. I’ve got a burning desire to reach out and go for it. Make the long kiss goodnight. Wrap the arm around snuggles. And really, the only thing holding me back is a looming deadline. Otherwise — no question. But what can you do? What can I do? Close my eyes and go for what will only last a moment? Yeah, but what next? Bury in the mud this so-called stick? Sure, but what about the moment?