by Seven Steps
“Well, don’t worry. We’re professionals.”
“But there isn’t any cover,” I argued.
Ollie looked at me in the rearview mirror. “There isn’t always going to be a safety net. Sometimes, you have to just take the leap.”
I leaned back in my seat. Take the leap or be reckless.
I remembered what happened the last time we’d tagged a wall. I wasn’t in the mood for running from the police tonight. Did Ollie have a vacant apartment around here too that he could hide in? How many apartments did he have just lying around the boroughs? And, if he didn’t have an apartment, where would we go to hide if we had to?
I bit my lip to keep my questions inside.
“Okay,” Ollie said. “Let’s do this.” He opened his door and climbed out of the van. We all followed suit.”
“This is a pre-built job,” Ollie said, walking around the back of the van. “Do as much as you can in the next four hours.”
They opened the trunk and pulled out giant sheets of durable, shiny paper, spray cans, and portable lights. Jean and I set up the lights, while Ollie, Jeff, and Able held the paper to the wall and sprayed it with black paint. The paper was a stencil, something Able had printed prior to us coming here. By the time the lights were on and they’d completed the outline, I could see clearly what it was.
A series of four, giant interlocking gears that moved from right to left and ended with a man who seemed entirely made out of metal. Almost like a transformer.
“Jasmine, take the left. I’ll take the right,” Ollie said. “Jeff, Jean, and Able, fill in.”
I stood in front of the left gear, while Ollie worked on the man and Jean and Able worked on the gears in the middle.
How was I supposed to come up with something on the fly? There was no prep work. I hadn’t even known what the picture was until now. It was like my brain froze up or something.
I wished we would’ve had a meeting beforehand to plan this out, like they were having for the virtual tag. I felt lost, while everyone else had already fitted their masks over their mouths and were painting away. I bit my lower lip, willing an idea to come.
Where would this metal man come from? What would be his origin story? Could have come from the stars? Maybe he was an alien.
Or maybe he came from the magma at the center of the Earth.
I went with the latter.
Then, grabbing the red paint, I started to work on my magma wheels. I used different colors like Able had taught me, until I had an interesting shade of red that faded into yellow at the center. In the very middle of the wheel I drew a tiny smaller wheel. That would be where the man had come from. A piece of this tiny wheel that had grown through the ages into something that could explode out.
I peeked over at everyone else’s wheels.
Jeff was painting a sort of battle scene between darkness and yellow light. Able was painting a sky scene on one wheel, while Jean made the last wheel like the planet Earth. Ollie had painted vibrant colors on the man, starting with a red like mine at his feet, then moving to stars in the man’s head and around his body. He was incorporating each of our pieces into his on the fly.
It was like we were a single unit, painting in harmony. I saw the scene clearly now. The man started at the core of the wheel, then a great battle happened between darkness and light. The light won, creating a vibrant sky and eventually planet Earth. Then, out came this man, who was a mixture of light, dark, sky, and earth.
It was amazing.
I’d never been a part of anything like this before.
It filled my chest with a sense of peace and safety. I was part of this amazing group of people who did these amazing things, and I was in awe.
How had I missed out on this feeling for all of these years?
Ollie caught my eye, pulled down his mask, and smiled at me.
“Doing all right down there, Princess.”
I pulled my mask down too and smiled back.
“Yeah. I’m doing okay.”
He winked at me and pulled his mask back into place.
This time, I didn’t mind the wink.
Nope. I didn’t mind it at all.
51
It was half past three when the RATZ dropped me home.
We’d all worked together and finished the tag earlier than expected.
I was happy for the extra sleep, even if it was only an hour or two.
But the problem was that when I lay down, I was far from tired.
Being around all of the creative juices made my own juices start to flow.
I tossed and turned for a half an hour, then jumped up and went to my art studio. I pulled out my big box of paint and started blending and testing hues, just as Able had told me to do. After a while, I’d created a perfectly shaded starless sky.
Next, I pulled out a tube of gray paint and soaked the bottom of the canvas with it.
Then I streaked green, yellow, purple, and red over the gray.
The middle of the painting, the focal point, took longer, but I was filled with passion. Almost an obsession. I needed to finish this painting as much as I needed to breathe. To live. And I was living. The colors and the shapes were living to me.
When the painting was finished, I quickly snapped a few pictures, then fell into bed. I felt such an amazing peace within me.
Whether it was from my time with the RATZ or if it was from painting, I didn’t know. But I knew my mind was clear and my heart was open.
I turned on my side, patted Raja on the head, and quickly fell asleep.
52
I’d only gotten two hours of sleep before I had to go upstairs to Ariel’s apartment and start making the Battle of the Bands costumes. When she’d heard I needed help, she called in backup. Her sisters. It was nice spending the day with five of the seven Swimworthy sisters. It’d been so long since I’d had some real family time. The Swimworthys weren’t my actual family, but they never made me feel that way. They always treated me like the eighth sister, and for that I was grateful.
We finished the four costumes in a few hours and scheduled time in a couple of days for the band to come for fittings.
They invited me for dinner, but I told them I couldn’t come.
I was still tired. And, I was hoping for some one-on-one time with my parents that night. I wanted to tell them I didn’t want to be a doctor. Even if there was fallout.
I found my key and pushed the door open and stepped directly into chaos.
“Take your stuff and get out of my house!” I heard my mother scream.
I rushed into the living room and directly into a war.
My mother’s face was so blood red that I thought it would burst, while my father sat on the couch looking up at her. His hands were outstretched and his eyes pleading.
“Please, May. You are overreacting. This is not what we planned.”
“New plan. Get out!”
“No. That was not the arrangement.”
“Oh yeah. Was this part of the arrangement?” She hurled a piece of red clothing and it hit him directly in the face. He didn’t even flinch.
I recognized the red garment. It was the negligee I’d found in the living room. I thought it was Mom’s. I thought they’d finally made up.
Oh no! Daddy was caught, and it was all because of me.
“May—”
“She was in our house! You brought her to my house, where my beautiful daughter sleeps at night. Why would you do that to me? To her?” Mom’s voice was cracking, and tears spilled down her cheeks.
“It was a mistake.”
“Is this what you do when I’m not home? You bring strange women into my house? Into my bed? How dare you! Get out!”
“May, if you would just liste—”
“I don’t want to listen anymore. You cheated on me. After everything I’ve given you, everything I dreamed for us, everything we worked for. You walked out and you cheated on me. And I will not sit by while another woman parades you around in fr
ont of me like you’re a prize she’s won. You took everything from me, Sultan. You took everything!”
“I’m sorry for that. I truly am. But I am not leaving my home. Not until Jasmine has graduated from high school. You and I both signed the papers.”
“You can burn the agreement for all I care. Burn it all. I just want you out and I never want to see you again!”
I stepped into the room, arms crossed, trying to hold myself together.
“What papers?” I asked.
My parents both looked at me as if I were a ghost. My father’s head dropped and my mother’s face stretched in what I could only describe as horror.
“Jasmine,” she whispered.
“What papers?” I repeated.
Mom’s entire body went limp, and she plodded over to me, wrapping me in her arms.
“We love you so much,” she said. “So very much. And we never intended for you to find out this way.”
“Find out what? What are you talking about?”
She held me tighter, but I pushed her away. What was she saying? What did she mean?
“What papers are you talking about?” I demanded.
Daddy threw his hands up. “Well, it’s out there now. Tell her, May. You were the one screaming about it.”
“Me? You brought it up.”
“But I didn’t yell for all the neighbors to hear. You did that on your own.”
“Sultan, now is not the time.”
“When is the time?” he demanded. “Everything is always on your timetable. What about my time?”
“Ask that harlot you brought into my home!”
“What are you guys talking about?” I cried. “All you do is yell and fight, and I don’t understand any of it. Just please, tell me what you’re saying. Please!”
My parents froze, staring at me wide-eyed. That was when I saw it. The defeat in their eyes.
They had given up.
But on what? On this marriage? Me?
“Your mother and I have started divorce proceedings,” Dad said. “Part of the agreement was that we wouldn’t do anything until all the children had graduated high school so we wouldn’t upset you. I know it’s hard to understand.”
It felt like I’d been punched in the gut. All this time I’d held out hope that my parents would find their way back to each other. That they would stop all the fighting and finally listen to each other.
But I was a fool.
Hopes and dreams weren’t enough to build a relationship on. It needed love, communication, and trust. And from the hateful glances my parents were throwing each other, I could tell they hadn’t had any of those things for a long time.
My stomach rolled. My lungs seized.
My parents were getting a divorce, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
I felt powerless. Stupid. Betrayed.
I clamped my hands over my mouth and ran to my room, slamming the door behind me, shutting them out. Then, the tears started to flow heavy down my cheeks and shirt.
I cried hard that night.
Cried because my parents would never be happy again.
Because we’d never be a real family again.
My brothers would never come home.
I’d have to choose which parent to live with, and which one to live without. It felt like they were dying right in front of me. Everything in my life was dying.
I put the pillow over my face and bawled into it.
I’d hoped for so much for my family and now I knew that none of it would come true.
I felt desperate and my heart ached.
What would become of us?
What would become of me?
53
I awoke Sunday morning to the sound of hammers.
Who could be doing construction on a Sunday morning?
I reached over for my phone to check the time, but my phone wasn’t on the nightstand where I’d left it earlier.
I peeked over the side of my bed. It wasn’t on my floor either.
I yawned and sat up in bed, holding my hands to my head against the horrible sound that emitted from somewhere in the house.
Who was hammering this early in the morning?
I pushed my feet over the edge of the bed and stretched.
The irritating hammer tapped again, and I groaned.
Would they stop it already?
I stood up and walked toward the sound. It sounded close. Really close. I opened my bedroom door and peeked out, first left, then right. My mother was standing in front of my art door in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
And a hammer.
When she saw me, she beamed.
“Good morning, dear. Breakfast is on the table.”
I examined my mother’s face. Her eyes were red-rimmed and wild. Her smile shaky. She looked like she’d gotten even less sleep than me.
“What are you doing?” I asked, stepping out of the room.
“Refocusing,” she said. “You and I need to refocus.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that things are going to change around here, and we have to roll with the changes.”
“What changes?”
She tucked her hammer under her arm. “Your father has officially moved out. He’ll come back for a few things but, as if right now, he’s out of our lives.”
My throat burned. Tears welled up in my eyes.
My father and I hadn’t spoken in a long while, but we’d been close once. Now, he was gone. I’d probably never see him again. I knew he was still living, but it felt like she’d just told me he’d died. It felt like I’d just been hit by a sixteen-wheeler truck.
“No need to be sad,” Mom said. “We are going to refocus and do what is best for us. Now that he’s gone, things are going to change around here, and the first thing to go is this room.”
My entire body jolted. “What?”
I ran to her, examining the hammer in her hand. The same hammer that had just nailed the door of my art studio shut from the outside.
“Mom, you can’t do this!”
“It was taking up too much of your time. Look at your eyes. You look exhausted. From now on, we are going to focus on getting you into med school. That means no more painting. And no more boys.”
“Boys? What boys?”
She reached in the front pocket of her jeans and pulled out my phone.
My eyes went wide and my gut clenched.
“These boys. This Andrew guy, and Oliver Santiago.”
I snatched the phone from her, the rage within me building.
“You took my phone.”
“Jasmine, you wouldn’t open up to me. I had to do something.”
“I tried to open up to you, but you were too busy arguing with Daddy.”
“And now that your father is gone, I can refocus on you. On this house. So no painting, no boys. I’m going to schedule conference calls with all your teachers to see where you can improve academically. No more bringing home Bs, young lady. As only in this house.”
“But, Mom—”
“No buts about it. Now get dressed and eat your breakfast. Then bring me your homework. We’re going to use this day to make sure you’re all caught up with your assignments.”
My mother had gone crazy! She’d locked my art studio and now was barring me from using my phone.
What had gotten into her? Who did she think she was?
I checked my contacts.
Empty.
My pictures.
Empty.
My social media apps were all gone too.
She’d wiped my phone.
She’d erased everything! I screamed and hurled the phone against the wall.
Why would she do this to me? I wasn’t the one who’d hurt her. Daddy had done that. And now it seemed like she was passing off all that aggression right onto my lap.
A horrible thought occurred to me.
If she could wipe my phone, what else could she do?
I looked from my p
hone to the door of my art studio, then I sprinted through the entrance in my room.
Everything was gone. Every canvas, every paint, every brush, every sketch. Gone.
All the things I’d worked so hard for were gone.
I fell to my knees, dropped my forehead to the floor, and let out a scream. I slammed my fist on the floor, beating my hands to a bloody pulp. How could she? How could she just erase hundreds of hours of work? I’d invested blood, sweat, and tears into those paintings, and now they were gone. Tears poured from my eyes. I couldn’t stop crying. I feared I’d never stop crying again.
My parents’ marriage was over.
My mother had lost her mind.
And now I would never finish enough paintings to make the summer internship in time.
It was over.
My life was over.
I picked myself off the floor, wiped my face clean with my shirt, and quickly got dressed. I couldn’t stay in this house another second.
I jammed my feet into my shoes, grabbed my phone, turned off Find My Phone, and blocked my mother’s number. Then, I opened my room door and stormed past Mom, who was sitting at the kitchen table.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Out.”
“You can’t go out. We’re doing your homework.”
“No, I’m not!” I cried.
My mother’s eyes widened, and she took a step toward me. I didn’t care. I hated her. I hated her guts.
“Jasmine, you are not allowed to leave this house. If you leave, you’ll be grounded.”
I rolled my eyes. “Then ground me. I don’t care.”
Her mouth dropped open as I yanked my coat off the hook and pulled the door open.
Then, before she could say another word, I slammed it as hard as I could.
I drove my car to the warehouse, then texted Ollie. Mom had erased my contacts, but she was a parent, so, of course, she forgot about cloud backups.
Thank God for small favors. I needed Ollie right now.
My friends wouldn’t understand my parents’ meltdown. And they definitely wouldn’t understand me yelling at my mom. They wouldn’t fully get how much of the line she’d crossed because they weren’t artists. I needed someone who knew just how sacred my art was.
