by S. Massery
I shook my head again.
“No, this is…” I almost missed her swipe at a tear. “You made me beautiful.”
“Georgia, you are beautiful.”
She choked on a laugh and glanced at me. “I can’t believe we just went there.”
I stuck out my tongue at her. “We were bound to get dramatic and disgustingly cute eventually.”
She came over and sat down next to me. “So, let’s talk about inspiration. What’ve you been working off of lately?”
I told her that I had been inspired by the feeling of being a good person, while also having the ability to hurt people. “There’s good and bad in everyone. That’s kind of played out in light and dark schemes, so I just expanded on that.”
Georgia smiled. “Yes, I can see that. What about your past?”
“My past?”
“Colby? Avery? Jared? Hell, take your pick.”
I thought about it, and came up with a lackluster answer. “I don’t know. I feel like it would come out as anger for Colby, sadness for Avery, and… disappointment. At Jared.”
She leaned forward. “There has to be more to Colby than just anger.”
“You’re right.” I scrunched up my face. “I’ve tried to block it out, but maybe I shouldn’t. I just don’t know where to start.”
“Do you still have those journals? You should start there.”
I froze. “Georgia.”
“What?”
“That may be genius.”
She cracked a grin as I scrambled upright. It only took me a few minutes to find the journal that I’ve carried with me since Thanksgiving of last year. “Okay, I need you to leave.”
“Really? I don’t get to watch the master artist at work?”
I scowled. “Absolutely not.”
She started to pull on her outerwear. “Hey, I forgot to ask—how was your Christmas?”
I had gone home for a few days, which was nice because I hadn’t been able to fly back for Thanksgiving. The Browns’ house was dark—I couldn’t stop checking until my mother informed me that they were meeting Jared in Alaska for a family Christmas vacation. I had brought a painting for my parents, albeit a small one that fit in my luggage, and my mother couldn’t hold back her tears. “Excellent,” she kept whispering.
I took it as a sign that she approved.
My father gave me tips for improving my business strategy, which I diligently wrote down and then shared with Robert.
I gave my parents a handwritten invitation to the gallery’s opening. I wrote it on the back of our new promotional fliers. C & R Art Gallery had printed fliers designed by Georgia, and then we—Robert, Paul, Georgia, Henry, and I—smothered Seattle in them.
I hoped they came. I hoped everyone came.
“It was good,” I told Georgia. “How was Henry’s family?”
They had went down to Alabama, where his grandparents lived.
She gave me a shy smile. “It was really nice.”
“I’m glad. Okay, out.”
I had a lot of work to do.
Now, I stand in a gold and black dress, wondering who is going to show up. We hired a catering service from a local restaurant to serve hors d’oeuvres and champagne, and they’re setting up in the living room of my apartment.
“Charlie!” I jerk and turn to see Paul rush toward me. He looks nice in a light grey suit and crisp white button down. “Are you freaking out?” he asks. “Robert is in meltdown mode in his black room.”
“You mean the darkroom,” I say with a smile.
“That’s the one.”
I glance around at all the work we’ve pulled off. We have sectioned off the gallery with the removable walls based on themes, and a combination of photographs and paintings that seem to go well together. The atmosphere is of a dark warehouse, with the only lighting focused on the art.
“Well, we open the doors in a few minutes. Is he going to be okay?”
Paul nods and moves to one of the paintings. It was one that I just barely finished in time—it’s a girl standing on the threshold of a house that is completely engulfed in flames. The force of the fire blows her clothes back, and her hair whips out. When I first had the idea, I wanted her to be fluid. I wanted the girl to be unwavering in front of such danger.
I think I managed to accomplish at least a little of that.
“Charlie,” Paul whispers. “This is terrifying. And beautiful.”
Avery’s voice comes back to me: You’re wholly terrifying, he had once said.
I swallow. “Thanks.”
Someone bangs on the front door, which makes both of us jump. I hurry to the door, waving in Henry and Georgia. “Welcome!”
Henry helped us hang the last of our art yesterday, but he left before we set up the lighting. There are big fluorescent lights in the ceiling that have been on every time they’ve been in here that are off now. “Wow, guys. I can’t believe how amazing it all looks.”
Georgia elbows him. “He means, we never had a doubt.” She comes over and hugs me. “You look beautiful, Charlie, and this is so cool. Did you decide on…?”
I nod as Robert comes out of the darkroom. “Oh, hey guys. Sorry, I was—”
“Puking,” Paul finishes.
Robert scowls at him.
I tell them, “For anyone who asks, all the artwork is for sale except this one.” I point to my most recent, the girl and the fire. “They take the number on the card next to each painting or photograph, and bring it to the desk. Once it’s paid for, it’ll be marked with a ‘sold’ sticker on the card.”
Georgia snorts. “Yeah, you definitely didn’t steal that from that book.”
“I’m pretty sure most galleries do it that way,” I tell her.
“Sure.”
We both crack smiles, and I feel myself relax a bit.
My phone starts going off, and I realize it’s time. “Okay. Okay. Places, everyone. Paul, can you tell the wait staff—”
“On it.”
“Henry, open the door—”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies.
Georgia squeezes my hand. “You’ve got this.”
I inhale and exhale.
The first people through the door are my parents. They’re grinning from ear to ear, and I wonder if they’re going to be the only people we see tonight. That fear is squashed, however, when my father holds the door for more people. Rose and Eve. Tom and his wife. Strangers follow them. And then more.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Yes, I’ve got this.
61
“Thank you all for coming,” I say. I’ve been through this speech twice before: once, when we opened, and again on our second showing. Robert and I decided that we needed to limit the supply of the paintings, and give ourselves time to create. So, we have a small showing every other Friday night. It’s now the first week of March, and I have a small crowd in front of me. I have a glass of champagne in one hand, and a card of brief notes in the other. “We appreciate you all for coming out with us tonight. Robert and I have been blown away by all of your words of encouragement and support.” There are some familiar faces who receive my grateful smile.
I take a deep breath.
“Tonight, we are doing something a little different. We only have three paintings, and four prints.” They are currently spread around the open room. Next to each piece is a standing table wrapped in string lights. The art is covered in black cloths, so our guests have not seen anything. “Instead of setting a price, we’ve set up a silent auction. It will only go on for an hour.” I gesture toward Robert, who holds a stack of cards with numbers on them. “Register for a number with Robert, and bid with that number.”
I give everyone a large smile.
“Have a fun evening, everyone.”
People form a line, and between Robert, Paul, and Georgia, we get everyone registered quickly. While we do that, Henry pulls down the black curtains. As with the last two showings, I meander amongst the people
, answering polite questions about brushes and how long it took me to perfect one thing or another.
And then, I see Julianne, Jared’s mother.
“Charlie,” she says. She pulls me into a tight hug. “Congratulations! Your mother told me what a big star you were turning into, and I had to see it for myself. You didn’t do the photographs, too, did you?”
I shake my head, a bit bewildered that she’s standing in front of me. She’s only ever reached out to me about her son, so it’s easy to I assume she is here about Jared this time, too.
I pray she doesn’t recognize his eyes in one of the pieces on the wall.
“Are you in Seattle for vacation?” I manage to say.
She laughs and pats my shoulder. “I flew in to see Jared, and today’s the last day I’m here. My flight leaves tomorrow morning.”
“Does he know—”
“No,” she says. “Although, I may have accidentally left a flyer there that your mother had given me. I just can’t seem to remember.” She laughs as I turn red. “Now, Charlie, can I get a number? I would love to put a bid on one—oh, goodness, is that you?”
She points to a photograph on the far wall. Robert had caught the rare photo of my uncontrolled laughter. One hand rests on my stomach—because, at that point, it was starting to hurt to keep laughing—and the other is in the action of brushing a tear from my eyes. My mouth is open, my eyes are squinted shut. I had been painting all day, and I had dark smudges on my hands from the charcoal that I used to sketch it out beforehand. There was a streak of grey in progress under my eye.
We meet eyes, and it isn’t the first time that I’m reminded of Jared: they have the same eyes. Most everything else of his comes from his dad, except the hair color, but the eyes are purely his mother’s.
“You managed to capture his spirit,” she says. She points to the one behind me.
One of my paintings tonight is inspired by Colby: one of toxic anger, in abstract—kind of like how a black hole swallows stars—and the other is his face, as crisp and accurate as I could get it, crying and looking repentant. At the last second, I splashed it with red paint, which dripped and spotted the canvas.
The last is Jared: his back, with a backpack, as we follow him through a blur of forest. It was a recreation of the day we went to the lake, before it spiraled. His head is partially turned in my painting, so we can see the strong outline of his nose, chin, throat. One blue eye. Pink lips, parted, and white teeth.
I don’t have anything to say, because she’s right: I know Jared’s spirit. It’s easy to put it on my canvas.
“He cares about you a lot, Charlie,” she says as she fills out the information for her number. “He would want you to call him.”
I sigh. “I know.”
She fixes me with a stare. “Then, why haven’t you?”
I purse my lips until I say, “I haven’t been ready. I wasn’t really… healed.”
She knows exactly who I’m talking about.
“He got out of jail a few months ago,” I tell her. “I didn’t tell anyone, but I think it messed with my head a bit. I kept thinking he would show up. It wasn’t this… conscious fear, but it was making me anxious to go outside. I didn’t realize it until I found my old journal.”
Julianne touches my arm. “Oh, honey.”
I shake my head, shifting until her arm drops. “It’s okay. I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t ready before. And I wasn’t over Avery.”
She grimaces.
“Georgia makes that same face when Avery’s name is mentioned.”
We smile at each other.
“Charlie, it’s almost time,” Henry says at my elbow.
Julianne looks him over. “A new boyfriend?”
Henry snorts.
“No—” I elbow him, “he’s my best friend’s boyfriend.”
They shake hands, and I move to slide past Julianne. “One last thing, Charlie,” she says. She holds out an envelope. “In case you change your mind.”
She moves away from us, and Henry mutters, “Change your mind about what?”
I roll my eyes. “Who knows. That was Jared’s mom, by the way.”
“Oh my god!”
I glance at Henry, who gives me a large smile.
“Nope. Don’t start, Henry,” I warn.
Robert is at the podium when I arrive, making small talk and generally getting the people’s attention. He hands me a glass of champagne, and we clink glasses. “Alright,” he says to the crowd. “Let’s see who’s going home with a one-of-a-kind piece of art, yes?”
Henry fiddles the lights, and the whole room goes dark except for a light on Robert and me. “The first is a painting titled, Swallow Me Whole, by Charlie Galston.” Robert leans forward. “That’s the lovely lady standing beside me, if you were confused by the name.” Henry lights up the painting, and the crowd turns to look at it.
The crowd chuckles.
Robert moves through the line, naming the winning bids and the amounts. The people then shuffle over to Georgia and Henry, who help with the paperwork and money collecting. The last photograph is the one of me, and my mouth drops open when Julianne wins. She winks at me as she heads toward my friends. And then it’s just the painting of Jared left, and I feel a sharp stab of regret over letting it go. Robert reads off Julianne’s name again, and I can’t help the tears that fill my eyes. There is a sob in my chest, ready to break free.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper to Robert, my hands over my mouth, as I rush to the door that leads up to my apartment.
I’m an idiot. I painted a boy with two legs, I painted a boy who hadn’t had the trauma of life affect him yet. I should’ve done something else. I shouldn’t have made it so clearly him. And now? Julianne is going to go home with that painting and hang it somewhere, and it’ll remind everyone of who Jared isn’t.
“Can I come in?”
I spin around, shocked to see Julianne standing in my doorway.
“Your friend said it was okay to come up. Georgia, I think it was.”
I wipe the tears away and clear my throat. “Yeah, sorry.”
“That was quite the dramatic exit. Are you okay?”
I pull myself up onto the kitchen counter. “No.”
She comes over and leans on the island across from me. “Charlie, it’s okay to remember him as who he used to be. It’s okay to paint the young him, the new him, the man you never met… It’s okay.”
I shrug.
“I bought it for you.”
“What?”
“I think you’re stuck on that year, in the back of your mind. Even now. It’s all you can paint.”
“It’s inspiration,” I tell her.
“You’re using paint to work out your feelings, which is great. You’ve flushed out Colby, I think. You’re only now beginning to reconcile your thoughts and feelings about Jared.”
I shake my head and laugh. “My feelings about Jared? What does that even mean?”
Julianne gives me a tiny smile. “I’m headed back to Massachusetts tomorrow. Don’t let any sort of fear keep you from living your dream. Right?”
“Right.”
She steps forward and hugs me, kissing my cheek. She’s always been like a second mom.
“When you sent Jared away… I kind of hated you.”
She pats the cheek she just kissed. “I know. We had to do it, though. He is the sort of boy that, without direction, would self-destruct. He needed a more strict lifestyle than we were able to give him.” She frowns. “Plus, your mom and I figured you guys would be married by twenty if we kept you together.”
I gasp.
“Married?”
She laughs. “I need to get going.”
I nod and slide to my feet. “It was nice to see you again.”
“Likewise.” She looks around my place. “And I love your apartment.”
There are half-started paintings everywhere. Things happen in layers, and so each individual painting moves more slowly th
an I would like. It’s organized chaos and it’s small. But, yes, I love my apartment, too.
I finally like my life, even if it feels a little too empty sometimes.
62
I hang the painting of Jared in my living room, so I can stare at it while I eat my breakfast. Every day, a little bit more of that day comes back to me. It plays in my dreams like a movie reel. And, one day, everything clicks.
In the water, Jared was making out with Leah.
My heart seized, and I turned and fled.
I ran like my hair was on fire, following the barely-there path. Eventually, I collapsed to my knees. Ugly sobs burst out of my mouth, spit flew everywhere, I choked and tipped my head back and howled my agony.
That was how he found me.
“Charlie,” Colby said. I looked over my shoulder, and he stood on the path with his arms crossed. “Jesus, you’re making a fucking racket.”
I swallowed my groan.
He stepped toward me and smiled. It looked so wrong on his face.
“You saw Jared and Leah, yeah? I thought you might be in love with him.” He shrugged. “Oh, well.”
I stood up when he walked closer. My fingers tightened on the strap of my backpack, every muscle tensing. He was close enough to breathe in; I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to step back and back. In fact, that’s what I did—right until I bumped into a tree.
He touched my face. I knew this moment would haunt me, but fear kept me paralyzed.
“Colby!”
I jerked, and tears started streaming down my face. I met Jared’s eyes over Colby’s shoulder. He looked angrier than I had ever seen. A whole tropical storm brewed on his face.
Colby swiped at a tear with his thumb, and then dropped his hand from where he had traced my jaw. He turned to face Jared, and my legs gave out. I slid down the tree.
The rest was a blur: Jared yelled about leaving me alone; Colby said something about Jared not owning me. Jared shoved Colby away from me and crouched down. He brushed away more tears. There was an endless supply of tears. But then he was pushed sideways, and Colby was on top of him with a manic look in his eye. He was possessed; I had never heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh before.
