Chapter Fifty Invincibility

I felt fucking invincible in Gerard’s jacket. It was amazing how something so simple, just stitches of fabric clinging together with a small emblem of a bird could make me feel the way I did, but it was happening. The fabric was heavy under my small shoulders at first, but as the night wore on, and person after person came into the small art gallery, everything began to feel lighter.

My thoughts had been running rapid, thinking of all the things that could go wrong, all the problems I still had to face, and most of all, how Gerard was acting. He was still his normal self, walking around like he owned the place (which, in a way, he did), clicking his gum in the hoity-toity people’s faces whenever he got the chance, and basically being his big arrogant self. But there was also something else about him, something different that I had never seen before, or at least hadn’t seen for awhile. Though he was smiling, laughing, and walking with that skip in his step, pushing his sunglasses down his nose as he glared at people whenever he got the chance, there was a bittersweet nature to his actions. Everything around him seemed morose, but it was hard to detect with his outward demeanor. I only really noticed the true sadness behind his actions when I saw him viewing the art around him. He would stare for the longest time, whether it was intricate blades of glass dotted in rows with water colors or it was two lines down the page. Everything that was art seemed to captivate his interest and forced him to stop. He looked at the works, his hand on his chin, clucking his tongue at some points to an unknown person or force. He would breathe heavily before moving onto the next picture, his hair falling down over his face in long octopus like tentacles, and sometimes he wouldn’t even brush it away. He’d let it cling to his face, obscuring his vision. He took way more cigarette breaks than usual, going outside what seemed to be every fifteen minutes. He’d always come back though, smile on his face and interact with some old friends and enemies, though it was hard to tell who was what. I thought it was odd the way he was carrying on, but I seemed to be the only one who noticed.

Vivian was too busy that night, wandering around and taking care of final sales, missing brochures, and artists that didn’t turn up. She simply didn’t have time to pay her completely one hundred percent attention to Gerard. She vanished halfway through the show to go and visit her daughter at her mother’s place. She had gotten the flu a few days prior, and though the medication she was on had been working fine, sometimes a child just needed her mother. That was how Gerard had explained it to me when I asked where the fiery redhead had gone off to. The gallery was left in a complete disarray for the half hour she needed. I had no idea what an essential role Vivian played in so many people’s lives. It was hard to divide time evenly. When she returned with a heavy sigh, she informed me that Cassandra was more homesick than anything else, and then disappeared off to sort out what she had let fall at the seams.

For some reason, I almost wished she had brought her daughter to the gallery. I wanted to see what Vivian’s child would have looked like. It interested me, even though I didn’t really have an aptitude for children right at that very moment. I thought they were cute, for the most part, but as far as hanging out with them, I would have probably rather eaten my own liver. They were something, like Gerard, I would have much rather admired from a distance. But I often found myself wondering just what Cassandra would look like.
Would she have Vivian’s red hair? Her aqua eyes? Would she be a spitting image of her mother, or the deviant that left her alone and pregnant?

It suddenly fascinated me how two bodies blended together to make one person, and what traits dominated over others and how this was all formed. It was truly a miracle, the whole process, and I started to understand why Gerard was so often preoccupied with the human body. Learning a language and often breathing seemed like such epic and wondrous accomplishments. There was no real rhyme or reason to them; they just happened. Birth came into my mind, and I longed to me back in Gerard’s apartment, hearing him tell me the story of Vivian’s pregnancy all over again. I would have listened so much closer, paid much more attention because I could appreciate it more now. I saw the beauty that Gerard did, whereas before I was too focused on other factors.

My mind began to wander, and I started to conceptualize inside my mind at what people – not juts Vivian’s - offspring would look like. I did it all the time subconsciously when I saw a married couple, combining their faces together and body structures seeing what I could come up with in my own mind. It was part of the artist coming out in me, I supposed. I often wondered what Gerard’s children would look like, if he had bothered to have any. The thought made me smile and frown at the same time, realizing how gorgeous and intelligent his kids would have been. I could imagine them with the long flowing raven hair he had, his pointed nose and strong jaw, topped off with an immaculate taste for the arts. I wanted to meet more people like Gerard, or if it were possible, have them created. I frowned at the thought, realizing the fact that Gerard would probably never reproduce in his entire life. He was gay and there was no chance he would be with a woman anytime soon to get her pregnant. Even Vivian did turn him on like she used to, he didn’t want kids. And it was sort of impossible for us to have babies, anyway.

It seemed like such a waste. Good genes like his shouldn’t have been tossed aside like nothing. But it was what he wanted, and I knew it. Children take and take and take without giving anything in return. My heart sunk with the thought then jumped into my throat drawing another conclusion. Gerard had given me so fucking much that night, I didn’t know if I could ever repay him, or if it was possible at all. I was taking from him like the children he never wanted. Was that why he was sad? Was he realizing just how much this relationship was taking out of him? My heart tried to leap forward from my mouth again, stupid thoughts of this whole thing ending conjuring inside myself. I shoed them away, turning my attention over to Jasmine.

She had stayed with me the entire time, occasionally linking arms with me and exchanging small chit-chat. We were both so fascinated by the people surrounding us that we made little or no effort to talk to each other, just mentioning random facts. I would look over to her occasionally and see her smile brightly, and I knew I had done a good job. Her grip felt weird against Gerard’s jacket, but perhaps that was because it was still growing on me. I may have felt invincible, but even the strongest feeling in the world took a bit getting used to. It was a different experience for me to stand by the wall that displayed my very own work, having people pass me by and give me dirty, skeptical looks and then ask simple, stupid questions (“Is this yours?” Of course it is, I would think. Why would I be standing here?) in a bitter voice. I managed to answer and hold my ground, without coming off as either too weak or too nasty, but it was hard when some of them still discounted my work.

The biggest rush of people came in the door as soon as it was open to the artistic public. Maybe thirty or forty people came in all at once and scattered like paint flung down on a blank and blinding canvas. There was an interesting bunch of people with the mix, some pompous and self-involved like Charles, some loud and fun like Vivian, others cocky and arrogant like Gerard - but never pulling it off with the same amount of charm that he did.

None of them were normal in the way I was used to at least. All of them had a particular quirk about them, be it the God-awful ugly tie they wore, their cock-sucking attitude, or the weird mole that looked like Italy on their face distinguishing them from the crowd. I began to feel like one of the picture frames that held my work, a mere support beam for my artistry when I realized what my distinguishable quirk was: I was the youngest one there. Other than Jasmine, I was the only teenager that graced the presence of the art gallery. And I was definitely one of the youngest exhibitors there. Even if this was a new artist gala, age seemed to be insignificant to being ‘new’. The youngest person there next to me was a twenty-eight year old man, obviously gay from the amount of colors he had thrown together in one outfit, his high pitched voice and his flamboyant nuances.

There were a few women who had their own displays up and running, but they were far less vocal than the men, at least volume wise. They tended to cling to the backs of the walls, dark, baggy clothing lining their frumpy body. They refused all cosmetic advantages, showing up bare cheeked and without any sign of make-up. That was all well and good; I didn’t like girls who layered the stuff on as if it were a second skin. Jasmine didn’t wear make-up, other than some lip gloss it seemed on some days, but God, Jasmine bathed. These women had hair that was either frizzy or greasy and it layered the front of their eyes in a form of disguise. When they did talk loud enough for those to hear, their voices came out like the tearing sound of paper, croaky and hoarse from either smoking or yelling too hard. I began to realize why nearly all the men in the art field were gay when I looked at these women. I wasn’t a person who got completely enwrapped in beauty regimes, but God. I cringed when I looked at them. And their art wasn’t even that good.

Most of them produced modern art, based upon the oppression of women and the globalization of man. I didn’t get half of the things they talked about, and I really didn’t want to. There was one woman who had a million canvases coated with spidery splashes of dark red paint. It was clumpy and almost black in some areas. I found myself going closer to it to figure out just what the fuck it was and why she had painted so many goddamn canvases of the same thing…and then I realized what it really was. It wasn’t red paint in the least. I had bolted to the other side of the gallery at that point in time and found Jasmine (this had been the one time we had separated, and I told her it was not going to happen again). I told her my story, and after she got some taste of what that side was like, we exchanged worried glances and ignored that whole section. I was all for art, but I was also for sanitation as well.

Not all women present fit with the frumpy and unclean model these women were presenting, but they composed a majority. There was one woman, in her early forties who had a water color exhibit set out for people’s enjoyment. Her paintings were very pretty and delicate scenes of water and nature, but barely anyone took notice. She was too quiet and docile, most people past her right by. I felt sorry for her, but there wasn’t much else I could do. Not many people were looking at my art, either. I told myself it was because it was at the back of the room and people were still working their way through the thick art frenzied crowd, but I knew my age had something to do with it. The jacket may have made me feel invincible, but there was a difference between confidence and security. I may have been standing tall, Jasmine by my side, but on the inside, I was more than insecure. And as I saw Gerard standing around, looking at paintings and gradually moving his way towards our collection, I decided to meet him halfway. He was looking, at least to me, almost as dejected as I felt.

Taking Jasmine by the hand, I led her over to the oil paintings Gerard was cocking his head to the side at. We stood in next to him for awhile, just waiting for him to notice, but his placid expression and extreme focus proved to be too much.

“Hey,” I called, unknowingly squeezing Jasmine’s hand as I did.

“Hello,” Gerard greeted, turning his head and widening his eyes once he knew he was being watched. He smiled looking at me up and down, marveling at the small teenage boy with such a huge jacket to fill. “How is the show going?”

“Boring,” Jasmine answered right away, then placed her hand over her mouth, realizing that she had spoken too soon. Her eyes went wide as she looked from me over to Gerard and then back again. “Sorry,” she mumbled, my surprised expression causing her to cower a bit under my gaze.

I thought she had been okay the entire time, just watching people with me. It never occurred to me that she didn’t have a zillion thoughts to keep her busy. I didn’t know what to say, without spiting out an apology in my shaky voice. But, as always, Gerard came to my rescue.

“Boring?” he scoffed, waving a hand in the air and opening his mouth into an appalled expression. His mannerisms were exaggerated, causing Jasmine to ease up a bit and laugh at herself. I calmed down a bit too, knowing where Gerard was going with this.

“Art is never boring, Jasmine,” Gerard started, his mouth curling up as he said her name. He paused for a second, letting the air absorb all that he had said. “I love that name, Jasmine. It’s very beautiful. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Gerard smiled again, winking at the girl on my arm, being a total shameless flirt. I had to stifle back laughter, watching the gay artist flirt with a teenage girl. It just seemed too weird. He hadn’t even been that straightforward with me, but then again, he had actually had feelings in my case. That small fact made their flirting with each other a lot easier to swallow.

“No, actually,” Jasmine responded, sending me a playful evil glare.

“What?” I said, playing along, dropping her hand to raise my own up as a surrender. “How was I supposed to know I had to compliment your name?”

Gerard and Jasmine both chortled at my awkwardness, Gerard leaning over and extending his hand to Jasmine. “Frank is busy with his show. I think we can forgive him?”

Though the last part was a statement, he curled his voice at the end to make it a question, extending the flirt with Jasmine even more as she smiled and took his hand. She looked at me, shaking her head slightly. She gave me a look, just rolling her eyes as if to ask if Gerard was for real. He had quite the personality, something Jasmine had never come into contact before, but loving every minute of it. I nodded my head to her internal question, which only made her shake it even more, her smile growing by the second.

“How about you and I venture down these walls and I can show that art is everything but boring,” Gerard proposed, looking at the young girl and then back to me for approval. Jasmine glided over beside him, his larger hand still in her small delicate one. I felt a pang of jealousy, though I knew nothing would come by it. It was just a little odd seeing both people who I had lost my virginity to talking together and playfully flirting as if it was nothing. Though I felt fine on my own, the jacket hugging my sides, I still didn’t want them to go.

“Fine. Way to just leave me alone, guys.” I folded my arms across my chest, rolling my eyes. Gerard and Jasmine giggled, but didn’t answer me directly.

“How did it go with your parents, Frank?” Gerard changed the subject immediately, causing me to snap my head up from my pouting position, a little caught off guard. He looked at me with a serious expression, eyes wide and waiting.

“Ummm,” I started, standing up straighter, feeling as if I was on trial. There was nothing demanding about Gerard’s voice, but the previous interrogation left me feeling a little raw. “Not so good. But my mother is supposed to be coming.”

My heart sunk momentarily, realizing that I had yet to see my mother. I really hoped she was coming and that my dad had not talked her out of it. Or worse. I raised a hand to my mouth and began to nibble on my index fingernail, nerves creeping into my system again. When my eyes relocated on Gerard, he was all smiles. I looked down at Jasmine too, realizing that she was staring at something in disbelief.

“What?” I asked voicelessly. I turned around to follow their gazes, and was met with a sight I had been waiting to see, essentially, since I was born.

My mother was working her way through the crowds of people, her brows furrowed slightly, not accustomed to the wide variety of people and grandeur. She was wearing the beige sweater she had on at dinnertime, only now it was bottomed with a pair of dress pants, and her white faux leather purse dangled off to her side. She was wearing her gold chained cross, something she only wore to church and special occasions. Pride gushed its way through my veins, realizing that my mother considered this to be an important event in her mind. She was dressed like she was going to church, and it made me feel almost God-like, in a way. She had faith in me, almost as much as she held to a Man she had never even seen before. I felt pretty damn special, because not only did she believe in me, she was still willing to keep believing, despite her feeling of awkwardness. I could see her eyes trail along the immensity of foreign people in front of her, stopping and staring extra long and hard at the man wearing ninety-seven different colors in one outfit, and the woman with the Italy mole on her face. Albeit nervous and maybe even a little scared, she was still here, and she was making her way towards me as fast as she could.

But there was something else I saw, something else almost buried in the crowd that needed my recognition. Screamed out for it. When I finally realized what it was, my heart nearly stopped. Pulling him along in her frail hands, bit by slower bit, was my father.

I could tell he was uncomfortable, even more so than my mother. He was hunched over, but still managed to be taller than most of the people around. Just then I noticed how short most artists were, none of them being much taller than Gerard, who was just dwindling on average height for men. Noticing this vertical challenge, I felt like I belonged again.

My father was wearing his leather jacket, brown material coating his back and making it bunch up slightly, giving him an even bigger appearance, which he really didn’t need. I couldn’t really see what else he was wearing, other than jeans and his steel-toed work shoes, but that didn’t matter. He was here. He didn’t like it all that much; his tough leather-like skin was clinging to his face and appearing tighter than usual as his face was twisted in an uneasy sneer. But holy fuck, he was here. I had to look around me a few times, taking my eyes away from my parents and then looking back at them again to make sure they hadn’t just been a mirage, a miracle of my mind and nothing else, but no. Each time I looked back, they were there. And coming closer with every second.

“We’ll get out of your way,” Gerard whispered to me as he took Jasmine’s hand and started to walk. I barely heard them, and I really didn’t care all that much. Sure, I was nervous that they were alone together, but they already had been once that night. Another few more minutes couldn’t hurt. I had bigger and better things to deal with.

My mom spotted me first in the crowd, her tense expression fading as she locked eyes with the one person she could recognize. The grip she had on my father’s hand increased, pulling him forward more from his lagging behind position as they made their way over to me. I still stood stationary, not believing what I saw.

“Frankie!” my mother shouted, probably a little louder than she needed to. I didn’t really need more artists looking down on me for my mother yelling in the middle of the gallery my pet name for everyone to hear, but my ears barely registered anything. I didn’t fully gain all of my senses until my mother wrapped me in a small hug, my father standing idly in the background. He had his fists jammed into his pockets, looking all around, even up at the blinding light fixtures.

This was the first time my mother had given me a hug since I was about seven years old, and it took me awhile to respond. I was used to giving them to Gerard and Jasmine, who always threw their whole body into the act. My mother’s embrace was still slightly cold, only being categorized as a hug because her arms were around my shoulders, but out bodies still quite far apart. I was unsure as to why she was hugging me; perhaps she was just glad to see a familiar face inside the crowd of eccentric artists, or maybe, just maybe, she was proud of me already. I decided not to decide.

When the embrace was over, she smiled at me, still a bit frazzled and stressed, her teeth not aligning properly.

“This place is so…” she started to say something, her eyes wandering around and finding a suitable adjective, “…white.”

I laughed louder than I needed to. My nerves and emotions were just so shot, they found one way to escape they took it and ran with it.

“Yeah, mom,” I said, liking the way the term sounded on my tongue. Mom. She really was one right then. “It is really white.”

She nodded, unsure of what else to say. She glanced over to my father who was still looking around and making funny expressions of disbelief, and grabbed his hand again, almost making sure he couldn’t run away.

“You see who I brought?” my mother asked, her eyes wide with excitement or fright, I couldn’t decided which.

“Yeah,” I said breathlessly, looking my dad up and down. He still refused to look at either of us in the eye, but he began to speak, at least.

“I never thought I’d come here,” he stated, a bit too honestly. He looked down at both of us, and then at me, but I felt like he was looking right through my skin. “So show me why I came.”

It was a direct order, and though his words stung, I was going to show him. I needed to show him – and my mother – what I had been up to all of this time. I wasn’t just fooling around with the forty-seven-year-old artist; I was becoming an artist myself. He was my teacher, my mentor, and not my fucking rapist. I didn’t need to get into that debate right then and there. I needed to show them the pictures I had taken, the truth I had captured on film and maybe bring back their trust in me bit by bit, photo by photo.

I led them through the crowd, walking faster than I needed to. I passed by Gerard and Jasmine, and though my vision lingered for a moment, watching them as Gerard pointed to little flowers on a canvas, talking extravagantly with his hands, I prayed my parents didn’t notice. Jasmine and Gerard’s backs were to us anyway, and I hoped that they could remain some faceless people in the artistic crowd. Gerard had wanted to meet my parents, probably my father more than anything, but I really didn’t think that was such a good idea. I wanted to avoid it happening at all costs, just in case something bad happened. I didn’t even want to let my mind wander over into that dangerous territory, so my feet kept moving fast to my own onto a territory that was still unfamiliar but I was beginning to recognize.

When I turned the corner to go to my exhibit, I was surprised to see many more people wandering around and looking than had been there before. I stopped in my tracks, my mother almost crashing into me when I did. It was just a shock to me; people looking at my work, paying attention to me, and not saying horrible things. Nothing much was being said, really. I could barely hear from the faint murmur of chatter, but in this incandescent hum I could hear no bad thoughts. People were pointing at the pictures, but it wasn’t an angry point. They were pointing out a detail, and smiling once they did it. All things looked good. And I had never felt so naked and exposed in my life. Oddly enough, I had never felt so good at the same time. I was beginning to understand why Vivian was an exhibitionist.

“Is this it?” my mother gasped, startled by my sudden stop, and by the amount of people. I nodded my head, my jaw still slacked and opened as I felt her push past me to look. She led herself on her own, finding a frame no one was standing near and starting her viewing. I was glad she didn’t ask me to explain or be around her as she went on her way, mostly because I didn’t know if I could talk. I didn’t want to hear praise or criticism anyway. I just wanted to let things happen. I was about to turn around when I came face to face with my father again, who was still standing hesitantly at the beginning of my exhibit.

“Where’d you get the jacket?” he asked me, his thick booming voice echoing off the walls. I looked down at myself, almost forgetting the dull heavy feel of the fabric on my body. When I realized I was wearing Gerard’s jacket all over again, the weight hit me hard, rupturing against my fair skin. I felt like my lungs were knocked out, my breath gone.
But remarkably, my brain still remained.

“A friend.”

My dad looked down on me, squinting his eyes and cocking his head to the side. He breathed sharp and heavily, so much I could hear the slight whistling noise his teeth made. In the moments in took before any kind of answer was produced, I was pretty sure I had gone deaf.

“All right,” he finally stated, accepting the answer though I could see he didn’t want to. He pushed past me, not saying a single word as he met up again with my mother, who had been motioning him over with her hand for a few solid minutes. I felt like he had walked through my body as he plodded along, traipsing over my confidence and soul in one single kick. But at least he had realized I had a soul to crush. He was beginning, ever so slowly, to see things about me he never knew existed. He was seeing that I had pictures in a gallery, that I was an artist and was capable of more things than he was giving me credit for. I had a feeling, as I looked back on him and saw his posture stiffen, that he knew the jacket had not been from a friend. He didn’t like where his thoughts were taking him, he didn’t like where I was going, but he could see no harm yet. He was accepting my answer, because that was all he could do. There was no evidence to not believe me otherwise. He was stuck, just like I was.

And ironically, it was the closest and the farthest I had felt to my dad in the longest time. It made me want to laugh and cry at the same time, but I settled for just taking a deep breath, clutching the lapel of the jacket, where the dove was and moving forward. Then, I went in my pursuit of Gerard and Jasmine before my parents were done.

I walked through the gallery, my feet feeling like they weren’t hitting the ground. I found my two friends right where they had been moments earlier, only moved down by one picture. They were talking (well, Gerard was doing most of the sentence formations while Jasmine nodded her head, and got a few words in here and there). They were very close, his hand gingerly on the small of her back, pointing to some finer detail in the frame of the picture. They were both looking forward, but occasionally Gerard would turn his head, setting his pointy noise ajar into a profile stance, half-smile spreading on his lips as he conversed.

I stared and watched for a long time, not wanting to disrupt what was going on. I could tell from the way they were situated that something special had happened, something special not involving me, for once. They were bonding, but not because of the fact that they had both fucked me and seen me naked. My name was devoid from the conversation. Gerard was talking to her, teaching her, and she was absorbing everything. Just like he had done with me. It wasn’t as intimate and personal, I could tell (or tried to convince myself), but it was something nonetheless. And Jasmine needed it. I saw the way her eyes lit up, the way she laughed as he smiled, and the way she nodded her blonde hair along with him.

In that moment, both of them had never looked so beautiful to me. Jasmine was a turtle dove at her fullest form. She had always been gorgeous and righteous and free, but then, I could tell that she realized that she really was free. She had been all along, just never believed it. She thought she was forced to do things, like go to the cottage with Jason, because she didn’t want to lose him. She couldn’t lose him though, only herself. It wasn’t her fault that her brother had left before. It wasn’t her fault that her dad beat her mom. None of this had been her fault. She had just been there, just as damaged. Her dad had been trying to skin her, to extract each one of her feathers one by one, pulling it from the root. She thought he had been successful, too, but with each jump on her trampoline, she was learning to fly again. She was recapturing that youth she had lost, while growing up at the same time. She had always been a free spirit, but she was fully grown now. I could have sworn that I saw wings sprouting from her back, just above where Gerard’s hand was.

He was helping her find those wings and I could tell that Gerard knew what he was doing. He always did. He knew all about the turtle doves, the two birds who were meant to be together. He knew that Jasmine was going to wait for me and though it hurt me inside to know that he knew, I could tell in the way he carried himself that he was aware it may take years for that to come. I may have meant to be with Jasmine, but I wanted him. I needed him and I loved him. He was just as gorgeous as she was as he talked, explaining art and managing to slip in a life lesson or two. He was so completely not an artist there – he wasn’t selfish. He was a human instead. He was grasping and absorbing all the human contact he needed to survive. He needed a lot, I could tell. He needed people’s attention – for them to care. And if you got close enough to Gerard, you couldn’t help but care for him. I knew I did and I knew that now Jasmine did, too.

I watched the two as they talked for what felt like a lifetime. It could have been a lifetime too, for all I knew. I had died and been reborn so many times, I had no clue what was going on anymore. All I knew was I was watching the two people I loved in a place I never thought I would be.

Gerard caught my staring eyes as he turned to look at Jasmine, explaining something else. It was a quick flash of a gaze, then a sly smile and a head nod, acknowledging to me that he would be over soon. He gradually moved his hand away from the small of the young woman’s back, talking to her lowly before giving her a hug and walking over to me. Gerard left with the same skip to his step, smile a permanent feature on his face. Jasmine saw me as he turned away and gave a small wave as she went to look at the art which was now no longer boring.

“Hello,” Gerard greeted, connecting arms with me. He did the gesture so smooth and quick, it took me awhile to realize how essentially dangerous it was. But we kept with it, walking elbow to elbow around the gallery at a leisurely pace. He touched my hand with his other one, shocking me internally.

“I’ve been talking to you for the past five minutes, Frank,” he said, his voice clear and concise, a smile on his face.

“Oh,” I stated, shaking my head. I was so full of so many thoughts, about Jasmine and Gerard, my dad and mom and what everything all meant I felt a little dozy. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said clearly, his voice like liquid. I brought my eyes to meet his again and I felt my body relax, his mere gaze sending waves of comfort through me. I gripped back on his hand quickly, before removing it back to my side.

“That Jasmine is a very nice young lady,” he stated once the silence had passed its point of being too much. I nodded my head, not really wanting to say anything else to the matter. Gerard chuckled a bit as he continued, not wavered by my lack of vocalization.

“She was eating up every word I said,” he smiled, remembering Jasmine’s soulful smiles. “We stopped at this one piece. It was of a sunset over the lake. Very beautiful, very well done. I think I may have dated the artist’s father, years ago, but I can never remember names all that well anymore. Just faces. Anyway,” Gerard said, waving his free hand in the air, carrying on quickly. “Back to the art. I was telling Jasmine about the spacing, the impressions, the brushstrokes. Basic art jargon. I told her about the flippant brushstroke and how it made the painting look so detailed and yet so flushed and blended together.”

Gerard stopped suddenly, both in words and in movement, and cast his eye over towards me. He gave me a look that I couldn’t place right away. It was almost like he was signally to me that it was my turn to speak, but I was at a loss for words. Had he taught me this lesson before, and I had simply forgotten it? The thought alone scared me to no end.

“The flippant…” I started, pulling a foreign word out of the air and dwelling on that. “I don’t remember you teaching me that. Is that really what it’s called?”

Gerard chuckled, more bitterly than I was used to. “How the hell do I know? I forgot all that shit years ago after art school. I just need to know how to paint, not the terms for what I’m doing. They have no baring on anything.”

Again, he paused, trying to egg me on. I let my mouth hang open, but I struggled to find the words he wanted. I had a hard time comprehending what exactly was going on.

“So, what was the point?”

“The point,” he started quickly, cutting me off too readily, “was that I said what I thought and Jasmine believed it. She’s a very intelligent girl. I could decipher that from the very few minutes I was in her company. But she still believed me.” He sighed, slowing the pace of our saunter. He said his next lines with a bittersweet chuckle. “It happens with a lot of people. Too bad I’m full of shit.”

I stopped in my tracks, causing us to unlink our arms and for Gerard to wind up a few paces a head of me. He turned around, furrowed his brow and cocked his eyebrow.

“Don’t say that,” I told him, answering his confused countenance. My voice came out more serious than I had intended, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t believe what he was suggesting for himself. I knew he had looked a little sad, but I didn’t think he would be doubting himself, of all people. Why had he even bothered to tell this story of brushstrokes? It was pointless. It only made doubt circle where there didn’t need to be any. He couldn’t doubt himself. If he did, I would have nothing to believe in.

“You’re not full of shit.”

Gerard sighed, sticking his hands into the tight pockets of his pants. He looked down at the ground and then back up at me, his bangs hiding his deeper than usual eyes. “Some days I am, Frank,” he insisted weakly. He sighed again, kicking one of his shoes on the ground. “Sometimes I’m just as clueless as you.”

“Don’t say that,” I mumbled, not liking any of the words I was hearing. I looked at Gerard, and something was just off. The way he was standing – it didn’t radiate confidence anymore. It wasn’t weakness either, but it was something different. Something I wasn’t used to and I didn’t like it at all. I drew in a deep breath, matching his own as I began to speak again, filling the silence. “Are you okay?”

I had been serious in my inquiry, but Gerard didn’t see it as such, or he thought my question was trivial. He cracked a smile, and gave a small hearty laugh, and though it was good to hear those mannerisms spill from his lips again, I couldn’t help but doubt them at the same time.

“Oh, don’t worry, Frank,” he said, nodding his head and meeting my eyes. He came closer, setting his hands on my shoulders, keeping our faces close. Again, this was a dangerous situation, but by this point, we were in the far side of the gallery. There was a window next to us, the black sky pouring in from outside, the makeshift walls lined with more art, segregating us and giving us some shelter from the onlookers at the gallery. Gerard smiled at me, his eyes deep and sincere. “I’m better than okay. I’m very proud of you.”

“Thanks,” I said, still unsure. He looked happy – he really did, but I couldn’t help but think that it was happy for the wrong reason. Before, he had always found joy in his own activities, now it was mine. It didn’t feel right on my own skin.

“So, do you like Jasmine?” I asked, just to ask something. He may have mentioned the fact that she was eating out of his hand, but I didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing yet.

“Oh yes,” he expressed breathlessly. “I love her. She’s charismatic and has the way of capturing someone’s attention even if she says very few words. Her smile is something that makes my own feel inferior. She’s very beautiful and really quite smart. It’s not often you see that combination together. I can see why you fell for her.” He gave me a sly smile, not the least bit jabbing at the fact that I had had sex with her when Gerard wasn’t around. He almost seemed proud of it actually; that I had picked the right girl to do it with.

He left me feeling awkward and speechless, my tongue twitching in my mouth, but never moving enough to form words. I didn’t know what I was supposed to say anyway. Thank you? No. Definitely not.

“She loves you, you know,” Gerard stated suddenly. He flicked his hand out of his pocket, running it through his bangs. Again, I was dumbstruck. I knew what he said was true, but I didn’t want him to ever know about it. And how could he tell? Was there something Jasmine had said? I knew she would never do that though, try and jeopardize Gerard and mine relationship. There were too many people out there willing to do that for her. She wouldn’t have said anything, and even if she had, it didn’t look like it would jeopardize anything. Gerard looked happy again. He was smiling at me, and though I thought I saw some small crack of sadness behind his gaze, it was overrun by his baring teeth.

“I love you more, though,” I said back, finding my voice again. I couldn’t let him be sad, even if it was just a crack, but I couldn’t dispute the truth. Knowing Gerard, he would know that I was lying. This statement however, was far from a lie. I loved Gerard more than I ever had a person in my entire life. I hoped he saw it from the sheer desperation of my own movements. I was leaning forward, hands palm up and reaching forward slightly in a giving stance. Or a taking. I wanted him to take something from me, because I had already done so much to him.

“Impossible,” Gerard stated right away. I could almost feel him take my palms and turn them over, sliding them back to my sides. He didn’t want to take anything from me, but he still left me feeling empty with his words. I was about to argue, willing to spill my entire heart in the middle of my own art show, not giving a fuck if people heard me proclaim my undying love for the fag artist, just so he would know. Before I could, he started talking again, explaining everything.

“It’s impossible to measure love,” he elucidated, grabbing my attention immediately. “You can’t say you love one person more than the other because there is no scale to weigh that measure. Love just exists; it does not have to occupy validated space.” He paused, thinking of examples to make it all clearer in my mind. “I love Vivian, like I love you. But they are different; very different.” He rolled his eyes, thinking of his past flame. “I love you in different ways than I love her. Better ways.”

He gave me a weak smile, knowing how corny the last line sounded. I didn’t care if it was an overused stock phrase, it sounded good coming out of his mouth. I knew he hadn’t overused it before, and I felt honored that I was the one he was using it on. I smiled back, something cooling and calming down inside my brain.

“I love you, too,” I reciprocated, watching as he rolled his eyes.

“And you love Jasmine,” he added, walking closer to me and placing his arms on my shoulders again, the air getting serious between us. “And that’s okay. She’s a very easy person to love.”

I nodded, taking my gaze away from his, feeling a little embarrassed. For once, I felt some happiness creep its way into my system for the actions that had occurred with Jasmine. Before, though I had accepted that they happened, I had never been completely pleased with myself, especially when I was with Gerard. When I was alone with her, talking and laughing, it was easy to see why I had done what I did. They were combated with the times where I was with Gerard where I’d look at him while he was talking and my mind would wander back to that night. I couldn’t believe I had fucked up the way I had, and even if he wasn’t mad at me, I had still felt mad at myself. I could feel the hostility for my being melting away, the approval of the girl I loved finally sinking in. If there had been anyone’s approval I actually cared about, it was Gerard’s. His act of helping me see that love, like many things, was immeasurable made everything easier.

“She even wants to come by my apartment. See my paintings. She thinks I’m good. That I’ve sold a lot of pieces and have had some on display in a gallery before,” Gerard chuckled, bringing us both back down to a less heavy reality. I looked up at him and saw him roll his eyes at his own talent. “I told you. Eating up every word I said.”

“Have you been painting?” I asked. I wanted to turn the attention back onto him, focusing on something other than my love for this girl. Even if he accepted it, there were better things to talk about. He smiled again, rolling his eyes a bit and took his hands off my shoulders. He nodded, collecting his thoughts through half-closed eyes and deep sighs.

“I’m almost done a piece, and I think it’s been my best one to date,” he answered, running his hand through his hair and pinching his temples, screwing up his face as if he had a headache.

“What’s it on?” I asked, very happy and intrigued that he was back to work.

“Freedom,” he answered simply, giving me a wide smile, which I reciprocated. Ever since I had been over and the only thing remaining of art had been the fumes filling the room, I wondered if he started up anything again, or if he had anything half-complete. He had gotten up randomly in the middle of the night, but that had been to get my film stuff in order. Apparently he had found time to work on this new piece, whatever it turned out to be.

I was about to say something (anything, really) back to him, when a loud thwack noise made us both jump out of our skins.

“What was that?” I asked, my breath catching in my throat. My hand was over my chest, gripping it tightly, feeling the shards of already dry paint fleck off in my grasp. Gerard furrowed his brow, looking around the gallery, towards the big black window where the sound had originated from. Within moments of our gaze turning that way, another sound could be heard, another a dull thwack that seemed to shake the whole building. My first instinct, whenever I heard a loud bang noise of any kind, was to think it was a gunshot. Living in Jersey, this wasn’t very far off. But the noise was too hollow and…wet to sound anything like a gun. I couldn’t place it.

Everyone in the gallery was paying attention by this point in time, all of us gazing at the black window which was not littered with bits and pieces of gooey whiteness, some orange running down the glass, making ghost like shapes. The color was too thin and transparent to be paint, too solid and grimy to be water. I watched for the longest time, trying to figure out just what the fuck it was. I had seen this before, and my memories plagued me, making me think I had been on the other side of the glass somehow in a prior life. When I heard the high pitched giggle followed by the same deep and contorting voice I had thought I escaped, I knew exactly what was going on.

“Fucking hell,” I exclaimed, gritting my teeth and slamming my foot on the ground. I heaved a heavy sigh, looking at the window and then Gerard, who seemed to have drawn the same conclusion from my withered countenance.

Sam and Travis had fucking egged the gallery. I couldn’t believe it. Actually, I could, I just didn’t want to. I knew Sam and Travis were dicks; that was clear. I also knew that they liked to do vandalism, fuck, I had done it with them. We would usually strike on Halloween, when egging was appropriate and kind of expected. But this wasn’t Halloween and I wasn’t with them. Perhaps that was why they were doing it; to get revenge on me once more because I still wasn’t coming back to them and being their friend. The note was bad enough saying horrible shit to me, the phone calls to, but now they were finding me in person, and ruining my life. A life I had worked so hard to create. I could feel the anger and the rage flowing through my body as I clenched my fists over and over again. What little I had of nails seared into my palm and left little half moons in their place. I was so fucking pissed, and of course, knowing Sam, he would have to escalate it more.

“Art fags!” I heard his distinct voice call from outside the building, running along the window and hocking more eggs at us. I jumped each time the white object hit and exploded though I knew it was coming every time. I was fucking gullible like that, and it made me sick to my stomach.

“What’s going on?” Vivian asked, running over to where Gerard and I stood awe and dumbstruck in front of the window. Her hair was waving around her face as she talked franticly. Her arms were out and open, shaking from the sheer stress of it all.

I felt so bad, almost as if I had egged the building. She was under enough strain with the art exhibit, she didn’t need pricks coming by and egging her building. My heart sunk farther and farther down my throat as each one of the egg bullets fell and crashed against the window like a bomb. The war had shifted focus.

“I’m so sorry, Viv,” I stated, my anger melting away, but only temporarily.

Something had caught my attention outside. I looked over and saw a third party, one I did not recognize. Yet, at least. Sam and Travis were standing side by side, egg carton in Travis’s long arms, smile on both of their faces. The third party was harder to see, mostly because the window was getting covered with goo, distorting our vision more and more each time. I knew the body shape, and even the distorted face but I couldn’t place him for the life of me. Jasmine suddenly appeared by my side, charging up to the window with a fury. She recognized the person right away. You don’t need many details to recognize someone you share a living space with.

“Fucking Jason,” she snarled, muttering lowly under her breath. “He must have heard us talking, and decided to rat you out to Sam and Travis.” She spoke harshly to me, but kept her eyes on the dark figure outside the art gallery. “Fucking hell,” she started to curse again, more angry than I had ever seen her. “I’m going to kill him.”

She took off in a dead run through the gallery, only getting a few paces before Vivian grabbed her arm (surprisingly strong – I figured she had been through situations like this before, having a nine year old daughter and all) and directed her to the front.

“Give me their names and I’ll call the police…”

I heard the two women talking, Jasmine’s heavy breathing still echoing through the gallery. Everything but the slick of egg falling down the glass and the occasional curse word was devoid of sound inside my ears, making everything seem like a dream. Or a fucking nightmare. I couldn’t believe this was all happening, and despite Vivian’s claim to call the police, I knew it would do little justice. Even if they were caught, they had lawyers, they would get off, if they were charged with much of anything. It didn’t discount the fact that I was this close to being free from them, having my won life back, and they had to worm their way inside. Again. I was not going to have a repeat of the cottage. They couldn’t beat me down that easily. They were still standing outside the glass, devious smiles on their faces, Sam holding an egg in his hand and waving it right before my very eyes. He was taunting me. He was letting me know he still had power.

“Fucking fag,” he mouthed oh-so quietly, but my ears nearly ruptured from the connotation of it all. Sam looked at me, at Gerard and then smacked the egg against the window where Gerard and I silhouettes were. The throw made the whole building shake, it made everything shake, but not fall to the ground yet.

Suddenly and to my surprise, I snapped. Just like Jasmine, I began to lunge myself forward, knowing full well that I would do nothing but smack into the glass, but not caring either way. Like my female counterpart, I was stopped by two surprisingly strong hands around my waist. I looked up from my struggle and saw Gerard, his eyes narrowed down at me. I gave him a distressed and heated expression, not understanding the action he was doing to me.

“Let me go!” I hollered, taking my anger out on him. He didn’t flinch, even as my leg ricocheted back and kicked his shin. I didn’t even notice at first. He bit his lip and blinked, but still held onto me tightly.

“Don’t do this,” he said in a calm voice, only wavering through the strength he was exerting on me.

“Why the fuck not?” I asked, confusion and anger boiling over inside my head. “You told me that there is passion in fighting. I want to fight!”

I was surprised I could recall his words in a time like this, but I had heard them so many times, they were common knowledge by that point.

“There is no passion in this,” he corrected me, shaking his head slowly. “This is fighting for a lost cause. This is fighting without wining.” He paused, biting his lip from the strain and gathering together a final point. “It’s like living without loving. There’s no point, Frank.”

His words were simple, yet powerful, just like the state of being that he was. I looked at him square in the eyes, and without saying it, I knew he had proclaimed his love. I stopped struggling against him, but I could not ignore the anger in my system. It was Sam and Travis – I had to fight them. They were still on the other side and I could hear their laughter in my ear. They were throwing gay comments at me over and over again, especially now that Gerard was touching me, holding me back. It was making my blood boil. I had to do something.

“But –“ I started to argue, my hands waving wildly before Gerard cut me off.

“No, you don’t have to do anything,” Gerard countered my internal thoughts, making the wrinkles on my forehead deepen as I listened to him talk. He moved his hands from my waist, holding me back, to my shoulders again, gripping the back of my neck and making me look at him. He needed me to pay attention. My life was at stake.

“They will never grow up. You’ve tried to make them. They’ve probably tried themselves. It didn’t work. This is not your responsibility. Even if they hurt you and everyone here now, it’s not your responsibility to turn things around and make them better. You can’t change anyone but yourself, Frank, no matter how hard you try.” There was a truth to his voice, a real life experience and a pain I couldn’t fathom in his voice. I almost didn’t want to. He glanced quickly at the people behind us, narrowed his expression, and then turned all of his focus, all of himself onto me. “You tried to grow up, Frank. And you did it. You changed yourself because you knew you could. Sam and Travis can’t. They aren’t your friends anymore, and they’ve shown that. So forget them. Focus on all the people that are right here, right now, looking at how you grew up.”

He paused again, running his hands through the back of my hairline, drawing me forward. He took one hand off of my body, and extended it forward, presenting to me the gallery as if I had never seen it before. Everyone had gone back to their duties, only a few lingering eyes on me other than the ones belonging to Vivian and Jasmine. Soon enough, they faded away, gone to the front to call the police. I knew Sam and Travis were still behind me – I could feel it – but I looked ahead, and I heeded to Gerard’s next words.

“How about we go and meet these people?” He looked at me, giving me a smile and cocking an eyebrow. “Your new friends.”

The friendship Gerard was talking about was hard to fathom, especially since people’s attitudes thus far had been less than stellar. I heard another thwack of egg, and I realized I didn’t have much to compare to, and not a lot to lose. I locked eyes with Gerard steadily. He wrapped a hand around my waist, inching up the small of my back, pushing me forward. He was only there for a mere second before I left the past behind me, three boys standing in their shells of existence, dumbfounded, with egg all over their faces.

The rest of the night was far easier and much more entertaining than the first half. The show was to be finished at around twelve at night, but Vivian realized that artists had no real concept of time, so it would most likely run late. She glared at Gerard the entire time, who merely raised his hands high in a surrender stance, confessing that all clocks should be killed. I smiled at him, realizing the deeper meaning of what he was saying. He had taken me around to meet a few of his art friends, and they had actually been somewhat nice. I had been introduced as his protégé and not his lover, though I was unsure at what term gave me the most sense of pride. I wasn’t entirely sure if I could call Gerard’s art friends real friend. They hadn’t seen Gerard in ages and only heard vague updates on his status from Vivian, but they were happy to see him nonetheless. It was in talking to them, however, that I began to conclude how little Gerard actually left the house. The only memories some of the people shared with him related to Cassandra’s baby shower nearly a decade ago. I couldn’t believe that he had so much history, and yet, missed out on so much at the same time.

Other than random occurrences with some art people, I pretty much kept to myself, arbitrarily seeing Jasmine or Gerard as they filtered through the crowd. I hadn’t seen my parents since I left them at my own display, and I didn’t really care where they were. I figured they had already left, and if they wanted to find me, they could. My mother had mentioned briefly that she might go around and look at the other exhibits, but I really couldn’t blame her if she just went home. I somewhat wanted to know what they thought of my own art, but I didn’t want to ask, and I was reluctant to hear. I stood around most of the time, beginning to see what Jasmine meant by art being boring. Art itself was never dull, but the exhibition and pretension was getting a bit tedious.

“Hey,” Vivian called to me, appearing at my side all of a sudden and rousing me from my thoughts. I had been just outside my exhibit, looking at a picture of a sunset for about the seventieth time, my thoughts randomly flowing like the colors on the page.

“Hey,” I greeted back with a surprised smile. She was grinning too, the stress from the prior event still in her eyes, but getting better by the second. I still felt some guilt creeping its way into my system however, and I couldn’t help but apologize. Again.

“I’m really sorry about before.”

She scoffed, waving her hand in the air comically and scrunching up her face. “I’ve dealt with plenty of dickwads in my life, honey. I know how to handle myself. I’m a big girl.” She grinned at me again, assuring me that everything was still okay. I merely nodded my head, taking a relaxing sigh.

“Anyway,” she said, changing the topic as soon as the other one barely died. “That’s not why I came over here.” Her grinned changed form, the corners of her mouth rising and curling together at the same time.

“Hmm?” I noticed just then that she was standing awkwardly, leaning into me with her hands behind her back. I tried to maneuver my head to look, but she was too quick for me. She whipped out her hands in one quick motion, handing me a small white envelop. She dropped it in my hands quickly, and then with a smile began to turn around again, no explanation.

“Hey!” I called over to her, confusion clouding my mind. I turned the white envelope over in my hands, feeling the cool crispness of new paper. It was unmarked and unsealed, completely mysterious. Sort of like how Vivian was being right then. I looked up at her, watching her pause for a second. “What is this?”

“Art is a calling,” she started to explain, trying to be just as philosophical as Gerard, but only coming off as a teasing minx. She couldn’t deliver her lines serious, no matter how hard she tried, and eventually she gave up and just giggled the whole way through, batting her red locks over her shoulder. “We do art because we need to, we want to. We have to if we want ourselves to become, well, ourselves. It’s in our blood. But…” she said, trailing off as she began to move farther away. “It’s sometimes nice when we have reassurance.”

She turned around completely after that, and before I could call her name once again, she disappeared into the dense arty crowd. I still held the envelope in my hand loosely, not wanting to crush whatever was inside as her words echoed my mind.

Reassurance? What was she talking about? Realizing my questions were futile, I just opened the damned thing.

And then I nearly dropped it.

What fell out of the small white encasing was something I never, ever thought possible. It was a cheque. The bluey green object fell into my hands and there was only so much I could do to keep a hold of it. I didn’t want to crush it, but I certainly didn’t want it to fall to the ground and get trampled on. I just couldn’t believe what was going on. It didn’t even make sense at first. Why was I getting money? I hadn’t done anything. I probably owed money, I thought bitterly at all the unknown fees that kept piling up. Why was I getting a cheque? I brought the bill closer to my face, and nearly had another heart attack when I realized how much it was for. There was a fucking three digit number on there. I felt my lungs expand and compress so much within the span of five seconds I thought it was going to burst, along with my heart. And then I wouldn’t even be alive to enjoy the money even if I had no idea why I was receiving this wonderful gift. I began to root around the envelope more, realizing that there was still something inside. There was a small piece of paper, a business type letterhead from the gallery explaining taxes or property rights or some other shit I couldn’t understand. My eyes traced to the bottom of the page and it was there where I found the answer I needed.

I had sold one of my pictures. I had sold my art, and now I was getting the profit for it. My heart started to beat again, but it didn’t feel like I was going to die anymore – in fact, it was quite the opposite. I felt like I could finally live.

I had never really thought much beyond taking pictures. It was just what I did, and I hadn’t been doing it for that long. I had only just found out I could even display them in such a fashion that day, and even that was a hard idea to get used to. I knew that it was my passion, but I didn’t think I could make a living off of it, nor did I think of making money. Gerard had been throwing his at me, though I was aware of the certain need for it, I just didn’t think about making on my own. But as I held the blue object in my hand then and there, I realized I could live off this. I could make money at this, and I could survive. Contrary to my father’s and subsequently my own beliefs, there was a future in the arts that went beyond happiness. I could find security in this lifestyle, as well as an actual life to lead.

I was going to give all of the money I held in my hand to Gerard, however, I told myself. I needed to pay him back for everything, but that still didn’t stop me from feeling elated. I could take more pictures, have more shows and make more money. It wasn’t about the money in a physical sense. I would have been taking pictures regardless, but I needed money to live. I needed it in our society because it was the only thing that made sense to them. Art was the only thing that made sense to me, and now, the worlds that I had made for myself were blending into one. They found a common ground where communication and an actual life could be set up. I needed this to take care of myself, to have a job and a house. I couldn’t depend on Gerard’s cash flow forever. I couldn’t depend on Gerard forever, as much as it hurt thinking that, it was balanced out by my pure and utter joy right then.

Vivian words began to make sense in my mind. This money as reassurance that I was a good photographer. Someone had wanted one of my photos. Even if it was one photo out of the million I took, someone wanted it. Someone liked it, someone was listening to my message, whatever it was. My mind began to wonder what message they were listening to, what photo they had bought and most of all, who exactly they were. I hoped it was a stranger, and not someone I knew. Despite the fact I was happy that Gerard, Vivian, and everyone else I knew had liked my work, they were too close to me. I almost felt like they had to say they liked it, even if I knew Gerard wouldn’t lie about art. If a stranger had bought it though, then it would be even more encouragement. Someone else would understand what I was getting at beyond the people that I let in. Another person had seen my soul and liked it.

I scanned the piece of paper, but had no luck finding out who the buyer was. But I was able to locate what picture it was, and was shocked again. It was the piece I had entitled ‘Love’ – the one with Gerard and I holding hands. I felt my breath, once coming in steady robust bursts, catch in my throat and cease to exist again. I had totally forgotten about that picture being in the exhibit. It must have been hidden inconspicuously in the display for me to miss it, or maybe I was just so used to it by that point in time. I knew I had to take risks in art, but this one seemed too scary all of a sudden. I didn’t care about other people seeing it; you could barely tell it was Gerard and I. My mind was abruptly drawn back to my parents, more specifically my dad and I begun to grow very worried.

I pocketed the cheque in quickly and then craned my neck around in the crowd to try and find someone – anyone. I didn’t even care if it was Vivian again. I needed someone to talk to, to gush about with my excited and worried emotions. I knew I was probably over reacting, thinking the worse when my parents had probably merely scanned over the photos, my dad probably not even looking. They may have not even been in the building anymore for all that I knew. That thought was dashed to pieces as I spotted my mother in the corner. She was looking at another painting, twisting her face around to try and comprehend it all, toying with her cross necklace. Slowly, and taking many deep breaths, I walked over to her, gauging her reaction as I went. She seemed perplexed, but I prayed to her God that she wore the necklace for that it was only the painting making her worried, and not anything I had done.

“Oh, hey honey,” she greeted when she saw me upcoming very slow. “Are we ready to go? I don’t know how these things work…” She trailed off at her uncertainty, but that seemed to be the only thing plaguing her. Her eyes brighten and she smiled, letting me exhale deeply. She was not disturbed at all, but that still left me with one giant life threatening question.

“Where’s dad?” I asked, my voice coming out shakier than I needed it to be. She lowered her thin eyebrows thinking, her gaze wandering away from me, to what was going on behind myself. I felt a large presence further back and turned around to see the exact man I was looking for.

“We’re going,” he boomed, his voice deep and billowy, like the smoke that clung to his now open jacket. I paused for a second, thinking hard.

My dad didn’t smoke. And yet, I could distinctly

Date: 2015-12-17; view: 521