Chapter Two Something Concrete 2 page

“Look at how she’s playing,” he stated, this time without needing to gesture at the flock of children. “She’s avoiding the girls at all costs. She sees enough of them at home. She’s playing with the boys; and she’s playing rough too. Hence the dirt on her face. She’s not poor. She just hates her sister.” Gerard smiled to himself. “I would too if I had to wear that ugly dress.”

Though he had totally just crushed my pride, I smiled. “God,” I uttered, placing my cold hands over my flushed face. “I feel like such an idiot.”

“Don’t,” Gerard insisted easily. He was back to working at his doodle, but he was still conscious in the conversation. “You’re still learning. You just need a good teacher.”

I could have sworn I saw him shoot me a look out of the corner of his eye, but it may have been one of the kids blurring past me. I wasn’t sure. All I could do was nod and agree. I did need a teacher; I had never had one before. He was the only person who had even given me a chance. And even though the subject of art had never, ever interested me before, I couldn’t help but want to learn more. That’s what good teachers are for though, aren’t they?

“Are they looking at us yet?” Gerard’s sudden stale voice overrode the freshness of my thoughts. I snapped out of my daze.

“Huh?” I asked my mouth hanging open in the most unattractive of ways. “Who?”

But before Gerard had a chance to answer, a tall purple menacing figure stepped in our way. It was one of the group leaders of the small day care and the hate in her eyes scared me to my very fucking core. She stood over us, towering over us actually since we were sitting down. Her arms were placed roughly on her hips, making her appear like a brick wall. Her face was red and flushed, and as she breathed through her nose I could hear the air squeak with the speed. We were in trouble, big time.

“I am going to have to ask you to leave, gentlemen,” she snarled, some spittle flying from her mouth. My jaw slacked open, but before I could do anything about it, she apparently was not done with her talk. “Leave now, without trouble. Or I’m getting the police involved.”

I couldn’t help but gasp; police were my worse fucking nightmare. Ever since I was young and there was a body found down the street, I’ve hated the sounds of sirens. And it doesn’t help the fact that I’m not the most law abiding person. I didn’t have anything incriminating on me, I didn’t think, but the mere thought of police was nearly enough to make me shit myself. And when I looked upon the situation from the woman’s eyes, it must have looked really bad. There were two men sitting on a park bench, talking and pointing to little children. One man was even well above any healthy age to have an obsession with children and to be drawing pictures of them. This was bad. Quite bad indeed.

When I gazed a worried glance over to Gerard however, he was cool and calm as the day he was born. He even leaned back a bit, tossing his cigarette away not bothering to step on it.

“We’ll leave,” he assured the stout woman in a calm voice. He began to get up and gather his things, the woman receding slightly somewhat disappointed that her tough bitch approach hadn’t jarred us further. Before Gerard packed away his art book however, he reached in and ripped out a page. He handed it over to the woman, placing it in her stiff hand. The page was folded and crumpled but I knew it was his drawing of Billy; the corrected version, showing the boy’s inner scars on the outside. My thoughts were only proved when Gerard uttered his next words.

“But still call the police.”

The woman’s frail hands took the paper, unfolded it and stared at the picture. Her countenance grew more perturbed and her confused eyes darted over to Gerard as he began to walk away. He looked over his shoulder before he got any farther and motioned with his head that he wanted me to follow. I had been standing awkwardly, my hands in front of me, twisting and bawling into fists out of sheer nervousness. I had nothing better to do and I certainly didn’t want to stay around the militant day care worker, so I did as I was told; I followed the artist.

We were a few paces back away from the playground when I finally broke the air.

“Where are we going?”

“My apartment,” Gerard replied like it was the easiest thing in the world. He looked over at me, smiling at my pure shock. Just why we were going there of all places, I had no clue. But what made me feel even odder was the fact that it didn’t sound like too bad of an idea. The day care worker had left us alone and was now more concerned with her children’s safety, but it was still a good idea to get out of the park. Who knows what they could have done next. I didn’t want to go home just yet, because school had not even been let out. And it was getting cold too, my fingertips tingling slightly. I had no where else to go and Gerard was inviting me in. My brain racked together excuse after feeble excuse of why I should definitely go to this strange man’s house. But still, I tripped over my words. How were they supposed to make sense out loud if they didn’t in my head?

“Um, er, gah…” I trialed off thinking. I didn’t just want to go to some forty-year-old’s apartment, even if the conversation he was offering was interesting. Conversation was not something that I could back my way out of later saying that I was only using him for that if Sam or Travis found out. I needed something more solid and concrete; something those guys would understand.

“You can say no if you want,” Gerard merely smiled, so amused at my adolescent stutter.

“No,” I shot out too quick, but I caught my mistake soon after. I breathed in slowly, collecting my thoughts. And then I discovered something I could hold onto for support. Something concrete I could use as an excuse. “Will you buy me beer?”

Gerard let out a deep throaty laugh as he walked. His hands were buried in his pockets but he shook them at the sides a bit, over-exaggerating his point. He did that a lot; making himself seem bigger than he actually was. It was almost as if he was coating an extra layer of paint on his own skin, coming off as something that someone else could look at and consider art. He wanted to be in a painting too, just like he had done with me. But as I looked at him then, I knew he was already quite the piece.

“No, I’m not buying you beer,” he stated once again, rolling his eyes.

“Why not?”

“Because,” he stated his voice growing in character. I had been falling behind a bit as his strong legs marched forward, but now he turned his whole body around to face me, looking directly at me and catching me off guard as he talked. “You need fine wine. Not shitty beer.”

“Wine?” I questioned back. This is why he wasn’t buying us booze before? Because we didn’t want his booze? Arrogant, to say the least.

“Yes, of course!” he exclaimed, his voice taking on a slight French twang. He wanted to sound like high society, but instead he sounded high pretentious. But I could see the humor in his eyes as he said it, and I found it hard not to forgive him. He was in his forties and prancing around on a sidewalk near a park going on about fine wines. Damn, he was an interesting piece of art indeed. Definitely a Picasso or something abstract where the people just flung down colours like it meant nothing, only to have it fall into place and take on a strangely bizarre meaning.

“Sound okay to you?” his voice entered normally again, intonating the question. And since he had offered me alcohol, I saw no reason not to give in. It was just his apartment, and only for a little while. I had nothing else better to do.

“Great,” Gerard said, waiting for me to catch up and then putting a friendly arm around me. I was like a dead weigh under his quick embrace, not expecting it at all. But then again, nothing was ever expected of Gerard, especially what he said next.

“Maybe I can be that teacher you’ve been sorely lacking. You’ve still got a lot of learning to do.”

Chapter Three
Security

Gerard talked a lot on the way to his apartment. His tongue flashed and flicked in his mouth as he enunciated words, bringing in other dialects like it was nothing. He had this weird fascination with the French language and sometimes even talked with its accent, while slipping in the occasional French word or two. His favourite expression definitely appeared to be ‘sacré bleu’ - the same word he had shouted at us before he tossed down the bucket of paint. When we finally reached the steel gray door to this place, the one he had come out of the day before, and were greeted with the brightly coloured sidewalk, Gerard let out a deep throaty laugh and let the common phrase burst forth from his fleshy pink lips.

“What does that even mean, anyway?” I asked him as he held the door open for me. I walked inside the dark corridor of the apartment building first, my back to him as he stepped inside, feeling vulnerable. I waited in the dim light for him to walk up past me and make me feel less nervous, but he remained in the frame of the now closed door. He stopped, looking at me, giving me one of his now more recognized innocent ‘what are you waiting for?’ faces. His eyebrows were raised and he had a smirk planted on his lips as he watched me shift my weight from side to side nervously in the dark hall. I didn’t know where the fuck to go. Why was he making me lead? I grabbed the inside of my pockets and began to squeeze it hard, feeling very susceptible in the dark with a forty year old.

“Turn to your left and take the stairs all the way to the top,” he said in one breath, shaking his head slightly. He knew he had started to scare me, only a little, but he still had to bite his lip to keep from making fun of me more. However, his battle was unsuccessful and he let his thoughts spill forth. “You are so hilarious sometimes.”

“What? Why?” I asked, still standing in one spot but not shifting nervously. I began to move, finding the staircase in the exact place he said it would be and moving up it when he motioned with his hand, giving me another one of those looks.

“Because,” Gerard started, taking the steps two by two and nearly beating me at our undeclared race up them. I was in no hurry however, and I let him win by a nose. At least I wasn’t leading anymore. I always hated doing that; especially in other people’s houses. I never felt comfortable in my surroundings, so I didn’t want to make my way through them first. As long as I had someone’s previous footprints to follow, I was good.

It took me awhile to realize Gerard hadn’t answered my question with little more than a conjunction. I had been too busy trying to fall at least an inch behind the strong man walking up the stairs confidently. The next thing I knew, we were at his door and he was fumbling in his pocket for his keys. The walls around me in the hall were painted a dark olive green, but the door knobs and the peepholes were all etched in a mousy brass colour, now stained with a slight film from old age and disrepair. Everything around me was so bright and vivid but the lighting had not changed since the dark stairwell where all I could see was metal and concrete around me.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I informed Gerard. I stood behind him with my hands folded over my chest as I heard the jingling of his keys.

“Sacré blue,” he stated with his French accent, drawing out the words. “Sacred blue. Reference to the virgin mother. It’s a curse word. Like holy shit here.”

I furrowed my brow, feeling my body grow tense again. I had completely forgotten I had even asked that question. Even though I could only see the back of Gerard’s head, I could tell he was smiling. He was purposely trying to divert my attention from him calling me hilarious. I was not going down that easy.

“No, the other question,” I corrected, my voice stern and strong. I even specified my claim, so he couldn’t play dumb. And with Gerard, I knew he would have to play dumb because he certainly wasn’t in real life. “Why did you call me hilarious?”

Gerard had just put his keys into the doorknob, but unlike my other question he didn’t keep his focus there. As he turned his keys in the lock, he looked over at me and smiled.

“Some questions don’t have answers.”

I was about to say something back (what, I wasn’t sure, but something to defend myself and get an answer to why I was just so hilarious) but I was taken aback by Gerard’s apartment. He had flung the door open by that point and the aura of the small living quarters had leaked out all over the hallway’s dull carpeting, distracting me entirely.

I didn’t really know what I had been expecting, but I did know it was nothing compared to what I saw then as he threw the door open wide, holding it for me yet again. With all the rumors and well documented facts about the apartment building itself being a dump, this place shattered those records in two. It was no luxury suit or anything and it certainly wasn’t clean but it wasn’t filthy either. It wasn’t filthy like there was dirt and bugs under every nook and cranny; the belongings Gerard had weren’t caked in dirt or grime, but they weren’t organized. In the kitchen, to the left of the open door, there were dirty dishes in the sink and on the counters, flyers and mismatched magnets hanging off an old model fridge, and newspapers on the small round kitchen table. Across from the kitchen, there was a living room area with blankets unfolded and tattered on the dark orange and musty couch and a TV with rabbit ears with a cracked screen that clearly hadn’t worked in years; it was just taking up space. Bookcases lined the remaining wall on the side where the TV was. Each mahogany shelf was filled to the brim with book after leather-bound book, with random sculptures at the end, holding the reading material in place. It was like a small mini-library in the middle of Gerard’s apartment. In fact, it looked better than the public library here, because the books essentially looked like they had some order and they didn’t have dust as their second skin. It actually looked as if Gerard read these books, or at least pulled them off the shelves once in awhile to look at the pictures.

What really caught my eye however was at the rear of the apartment. There were big and bright bay windows that lined the back wall, slightly raised off the ground by about two steps. There was a mini-staircase leading to the upper level of the apartment, where a door was placed at the side of the window that lead outside to the balcony. On the other side of the door in between the windows, was a small bench raised off the ground even more for someone to sit and look out the skylight, when the weather was too bad to go out onto the balcony. I could see the ashtray poised there, its contents spilling over onto the yellow cushion. There was also an empty mug that had previously held coffee.

Near the kitchen, there was another door other than the random closets strewn about his place, where I assumed was Gerard’s bedroom. The door was closed however, so I could not see the state of cleanliness it was in. However, that was not what my eyes focused on or cared about. I was transfixed with the centre of the room; where Gerard did all of his art. There were easels with canvasses of variety of sizes. Some were small, the size of a computer or TV screen while others were huge, nearly the size of the doorway itself. Some were blank and others were covered in paint for the hell of it, a violent orange streak and nothing else on one of the smaller canvasses. Or they had something on them, like the half finished sunset on a medium sized print. There were open buckets of paint everywhere in every colour, except blue of course. There were paint brushes and rollers and all of these magical tools everywhere. Nearby the tools was a giant jug of muggy water that I assumed was for washing out brushes. It was placed on the raised level of the bay windows along with a few other art supplies. Upon seeing this vast display of art culture, I walked right into Gerard’s apartment, not even caring if I was leading or not. I didn’t feel that odd to just walk into this guy’s place anymore. Something about the way he had set up the apartment; the casual messiness of it all and the beautiful arrangement of objects entranced me and practically flung me into the den. And it wasn’t awkward - after all, he had invited me. And he was holding the doors open. He didn’t mind me being there and I was enjoying myself, even if it had only been three seconds.

It was when I stepped into the apartment that I took notice of the walls. They were fucking weird, but it was in the good way. All of them varied. The walls in the kitchen still had the original colour of the paint the previous owner had used; a yellow similar to butter. It was soft and warm, but near the top of the stucco ceiling you could see where the yellow stopped being butter and started being nicotine. Some of the paint was chipping and flecking off from years of smoke and water damage. The walls in the living area however were still painted that shade, but you could barely see it for there were so many pieces of art on the wall. It wasn’t a full collage as there was about an inch of space separating each piece, but they were everywhere and in all different sizes. Most were landscapes of sunsets, mountains or fields. Some were just sketches of people done in simple pencil. Others were of objects that were warped to their initial shape, making them come out in a dream like pattern. A few were cartoons, garish depictions of celebrities or family members with giant ears and hooked noses. And then there were even just more random splashes of paint on canvases, making something abstract; something people could study for hours trying to decipher meaning from. God, the paintings were everywhere. It was covered. But it wasn’t until I saw the wall closest to the painting area, where his bedroom door was kept that I knew the true meaning of covered.

It was that wall, the one to the right of me, that bordered the whole length of the apartment. Aside from the kitchen, which was hidden away and secluded in the corner, it was a straight wall that lead from the windows down to Gerard’s bedroom door. And it was absolutely covered in paint. Some parts were even so covered that it looked thick and protruded from the wall slightly.

At the beginning part near the windows the mural started off as scenery; a hill with a road running down it. But as you began to follow the road further and further down the length of the wall, the picture began to change. You were led into a cityscape of a street with one lone shadow standing in the middle while blurs of people passed him by. Those blurs of people then stretched onto nothingness; just a sea of black. The rest of the wall was painted in black, including Gerard’s door. However, it looked as if a bucket of paint had been thrown over everything at the end. There were drabs and ripples of blue, pink, yellow and orange everywhere. Little flecks and then big blobs. There were handprints and foot prints and what I prayed to god was a face print all over the blackness after the city street scene. The only thing that remained black and untouched by the delicate throwing of paint was Gerard’s door. It was a black beyond black; a shiny abyss that no one could see through. And out of all the glorious things painted on the huge wall it was that door that caught my eye. Not the detail put into each blade of grass on the hill, not the shadow figure in the street, not the pink and blue hands that overlapped creating a purple blob of a heart in the centre but this fucking black door that had nothing on it. But perhaps the reason it had nothing on it, was the reason I was so intrigued. I wanted to know why it was blank, why Gerard had done something so seemingly stupid and a waste of creativity. Everything had to mean something to Gerard; I had only just met him and I could already see that. He threw the paint on us for a reason, and he had left this door blank for a reason. It was a black abyss and I wanted inside.

I began to walk forward more, pulled in by the black gateway before Gerard’s words snapped me back into reality, pulling me out of a black hole I was willingly surrendering to.

“You know, before we go to the bedroom, maybe I should know your name first.” Despite the obvious sexual connotation in his voice, I could tell that by the way he looked at me, his arms folded across his chest and leaning his weight to one side, that he didn’t mean anything by it. It was just one of those things you have to say, especially if you have a dirty mind.

“It’s Frank,” I told him, backing away from the wall as quick as I could. I knew Gerard was kidding, but I still didn’t want to give him any openings for more jokes. It was a little awkward; I could feel my face flush and my stomach turn around. I was the one who usually made the sexual jokes, but rarely was I apart of them. Especially from a forty-year-old. No bedroom. Not now. Not ever. “I was just looking. I don’t want to go inside.”

Gerard’s permanent smile widened and he rolled his eyes. I was about to argue, when he beat me to it.

“So, come on,” he said to me, motioning with his hands. He had already taken off his coat while I had been transfixed with his apartment, giving him time to place his coat on one of the brass hangers on the back of the door. He was wearing a black button up collared shirt, but started to undo the cuffs as he talked to me. He turned towards the kitchen and entered it, still talking, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows. “Let’s get us some wine.”

“Oh, right,” I uttered, collecting my hands back at my sides. They had been stretched out a moment ago, trying to touch the paint that seemed to leap out at me from the walls. I moved myself over to the small kitchen and watched as Gerard opened the small fridge. The contents inside were absolutely bare. All I could see were a few bottles of dark wine, a loaf of French bread and some cheese. There appeared to be tubes and jars at the bottom, but they didn’t look at all edible. I hoped that Gerard was weirder than he appeared to be and kept his painting supplies in the fridge, explaining the odd appearance of the weird bottles. Surely he didn’t eat that...

Gerard withdrew a bottle, cracked it open and picked out some glasses from his top cupboard while I stared awkwardly from the entrance of the kitchen.

“You can come in, you know,” he stated. His back was too me and I thought he couldn’t see my fidgeting but apparently, I had been wrong. “Sit down. Stay awhile.”

I followed his advice, stepping a shaky foot forward and pulling out one of the chairs to sit at. He turned around at the same time, placing two tall glasses of a dark red, almost purple, liquid down in front of us. He took the chair opposite me and gripped his glass in his hand close to his face, smelling the strong aroma coming from the wine. My glass was just sitting in front of me and I still could smell it. I didn’t know if I could take having it as close to my face as Gerard had it without choking, but ostensibly he seemed to be enjoying it.

“Sorry I don’t have actual wine glasses,” he apologized, his voice lacking sympathy. “I think I broke them. Probably threw them at someone from the balcony. They didn’t hold enough wine anyway.” He smirked at me, then without breaking eye contact took a giant swing of the liquor in front of him.

“It’s okay,” I insisted. It felt weird drinking wine for one thing, especially out of a tall glass I would normally use for my juice in the morning. And really, that’s all it looked like then; juice. Really aromatic juice, but juice nonetheless.

“Drink some,” Gerard urged, leaning forward and raising his eyebrows in delight.

I swallowed hard, even before I placed the glass to my lips. “All right…” I agreed slowly. I didn’t know why he wanted me to try some so bad. Probably because this was his wine and his brand and he wanted to convert me from my ‘shitty beer’. And besides, it was alcohol. I was going to try some eventually. I tried to plug my nose by holding my breath as the strong odor got closer to my face, but I failed miserably, especially when I tried to swallow. I choked a little, the juices going down my windpipe. I thought that was the worst of it until I began to become aware of the bitter aftertaste in my mouth left by the wine. I wanted to stick my tongue out and scrape off my taste buds it tasted so nasty, but I couldn’t; not with Gerard staring at me the way he was.

“Like it?” he asked me coyly, knowing the answer already.

“It’s great,” I lied, my voice hoarse and raspy. I tried to smile, placing the glass to my lips again, but only pretending to drink this time.

“You’re such a bad liar.” He shook his head, taking another drink but letting it savor in his mouth for a few moments before swallowing it, almost like he was showing off. He chuckled after he was done at his own personal joke. I tried to smile but my throat still was dry and my mouth was in disarray.

“It will grow on you in time,” Gerard assured me, waving his hand in the air as he leaned back in his chair. I nodded meekly, unsure of what to say. I didn’t really want it to grow on me all that much. It tasted nasty and bitter; too overpowering. Beer hadn’t tasted all that lovely when I first tried it either, actually, none of the liquor I ever consumed did. But I had always stuck it out, hoping to get the buzz off of it before I vomited from the awful taste. Maybe the same thing would happen here.

“How old are you?” Gerard asked suddenly, still sipping at his wine.

“Seventeen,” I coughed out, my voice improving slightly. I found myself biting my tongue back slightly, afraid of what he would say. Age was always a hot topic with people and I had many memories – mostly bad – of people overreacting to my age.

When I was around eight, I had been hanging out at a comic book store, just looking around and trying to find a certain issue I had wanted. I ran into some other boys while I was there and they had been looking for the same thing. We talked for ages and it seemed like we had known each other forever. But when they found out how old I was, they were shocked and absolutely disgusted. I wasn’t even in ‘double digits’ yet. They were twelve and took it upon themselves to be high and mighty and look down on me. They brushed me off that day and never talked to me again. It was only four fucking years difference. It wasn’t like they were the best people in the world, but the whole incident still angered me. And it had happened almost a decade ago, but honestly I was still pissed off about it. I hated and loved my age at the same time. I loved it because I was young and that meant that I didn’t have to grow up just yet. The idea of growing up and growing old scared me because of the decisions and responsibility. I loved being young and not having to make those choices; but I also hated that term because people labeled young as bad. And for some reason, I didn’t want Gerard to hate my age. He already knew I was young, at least younger than him (that wasn’t saying much though). But when he found out the actual number he merely nodded his head, committing the knowledge to memory. I breathed a sigh.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” he then asked me, his eyebrow poised and cock, smirk twisted on his face.

“Uh…” I trialed off. Maybe he wasn’t going to be so lenient about my age.

“Hey, don’t worry,” he breathed out a laugh, waving his hand in the air and dragging my worries away. “I’m not going to rat on you.”

This time, it was my turn to just nod. “Thanks.”

“What are you taking in school?” he asked after awhile, actually genuinely interested. I had gotten this question so much from friends and family but most people seemed to be asking it as a conversation starter or to just fill dead air. Gerard placed his glass down though, and leaned forward waiting for my answer. He actually wanted to know. And it made me nervous; he was taking me out of my normal surroundings. I was used to people not caring.

“Umm,” I started, trying to think. We were on the semester system at my school, and with the ending of the winter break, we had started a new term. I struggled to remember what I was taking, my old schedule leaping to my memory and screwing me up a few times before I got it right. “I have applied math, basic chemistry, a computer course and a spare.”

“Ugh,” Gerard let out a loud sigh, showing his aggravation clearly. He even shivered a bit with the mere mention of my classes’ names. “No wonder you skipped. It’s all so cold and sterile. Math? I hate numbers. Computers? I hate technology. Chemistry can be fun, but I doubt it’s the kind you’re learning.” He gave me a slight wink, making me smile back at him before he continued. He lifted his arms up in the air before he finished with his final question. “Where’s the creativity?”

I smiled at his over dramatics but I honestly could not answer his question. I did have no creativity in my line up. Math and Chemistry were pure numbers, formulas and inputting data. And computers were the same thing, only working with codes and specialized programs. I had no creativity at all. And I hadn’t for a long time.

“I don’t know where it is,” I answered candidly. My face dropped to his kitchen table where I proceeded to trace a small crack I found with my finger.

Date: 2015-12-17; view: 616