In the Shadows of Freedom

by C

  Wanting to escape, she raced down the stairs to the first floor, where she came upon a study lounge. She sighed with relief: the overhead lights were off. This was exactly what she wanted. She pulled open the door and flicked on the lights—a room all to herself, a refuge from other people.

  She was wrong. Someone was looking at her as soon as she entered.

  He sat at one of the several wooden, circular tables, a closed laptop in front of him. Something about his look made Amanda’s breath catch in her throat. He didn’t even appear surprised at her entrance. The way he stared, though … it was almost as if he had been watching the door, waiting for her.

  Brushing the thought aside, she looked down at the floor and scurried to the table farthest from him.

  “Hey.”

  Of course he had to initiate a conversation.

  “Umm. Hi.” Bending her head, she opened her book bag and rummaged through it. She didn’t want to talk to anyone else today.

  “I’m Ethan.”

  Seriously, couldn’t this guy take a hint? She let go of her bag and gave him a sidelong glance. “My name’s Amanda.”

  “You must be new; I haven’t seen you around here before.” He nonchalantly stretched his arm over the chair next to him.

  “Yeah.”

  “Nice. What brought you here?” His baritone voice sounded friendly and inviting.

  “I paint. … It’s my passion.”

  “You’re at the right place. A degree from here will help you make a career doing what you love.”

  “That’s exactly what I was hoping.” She put her book bag down and studied him a little more. He had black hair, which he had styled so the front pieces curved upward ever so slightly. His face was long and slender, with a sharp chin and Roman nose. A neatly trimmed goatee framed his mouth. “So … how about you? Are you working on a degree here or something like that?”

  “I’m taking a couple of classes in graphic design … which, by the way, makes me wonder: If you’re here for painting, what brings you near the graphic design studios?”

  “Oh … I was just looking for a quiet place.”

  He smiled for the first time, a wide, enchanting grin. At the sight, her social barriers, normally so rigid and impenetrable, began to weaken. He had no idea what he was doing. Or maybe he did?

  She reactively stood up. “I better get going to my next class.”

  He leaned forward on the table. “It was nice to meet you, Amanda. I’ll see you around.”

  “Yeah, thanks. Bye.”

  She turned and did her best to walk out the door like a normal human being. A few yards away from the lounge, she picked up her pace and took the stairs two at a time until she returned to the second floor again. She stopped and leaned back against the cool concrete wall, trying to still her racing heart.

  There was something distinctly peculiar about Ethan—maybe more than just the fact that he’d been the only person to welcome her thus far today. She actually would want to talk to him more, if she had the chance. But a lot of students attended the Masters Academy, and he wasn’t even in the same discipline as she was. The likelihood of them bumping into each other again seemed slim. She could hope for it, but realistically speaking, she would probably never see him again.

  At least running into Ethan ended up as the silver lining for what otherwise turned out to be an abysmal first day.

  Chapter Four

  Living Nightmares

  “Roomie!” Nikki breezed through the doorway wearing an ankle-length suede coat. “What’s new and exciting?”

  “Nothing.” Amanda sat cross-legged on the sofa, fingering the soft bristles of a paintbrush.

  Nikki cocked her head, looking at the blank canvas in front of Amanda. “Very original. Is this your specialty?”

  Amanda tossed the paintbrush onto the floor, lying back on the sofa and letting a clipped sigh escape her lips. “No, it’s not. I can’t do anything today.” She felt zero motivation to paint. The rest of her week had been as disappointing as the first day. Attending the Graduate Academy had been the dream that motivated her for so long. But now? She was living that dream, and it was a nightmare.

  “Ah, I see.” Nikki pursed her lips. “Have you been sitting here all day?”

  “I’m trying to do my assignment.”

  “Amanda, it’s Friday. You know you have the whole weekend to finish your work, right?”

  “I figured I might as well get it out of the way.”

  Nikki didn’t reply. Instead, she gazed in another direction, her eyes betraying a hint of mischief.

  Amanda eyed her. “What? … What is it?”

  “It’s so perfect and—Hold on.” Nikki strode over to her purse. “I can tell you need inspiration, and have I got the solution for you, missy.”

  “When I can’t paint, I usually find it helps if I just spend some time alone, thinking.”

  Nikki swiveled, her hands on her hips. “You’ve been home all day, and so far, all you managed to do is that.” She pointed at the blank canvas. “I rest my case.” Nikki gave a cry of triumph and pulled a piece of paper from her bag, thrusting it in Amanda’s face. “Take a look at this!”

  Amanda did as ordered, straightening out the crumpled paper before reading the flier. The headline, in bold bubble letters, proclaimed: Living Nightmares—Mixed Media Sensations at Little Pete’s.

  She looked up at Nikki and said, “Living nightmares? That’s the theme of the art display? That sounds pleasant.” She returned the flier, shaking her head.

  “Pleasant—just like you, right? Always so chipper and optimistic. A ray of sunshine!” Nikki raised her eyebrows and stared at Amanda.

  Amanda gave a sheepish half smile. “Well, what’s Little Pete’s?”

  “It’s a club downtown. My friends and I are regulars. The owner supports local artists. You can buy the art on display, so artists make a few bucks, but, better yet, you never know who’s going to spot you.”

  Amanda bit her lower lip. How could she forge a career as an artist with her inspiration and drive to create mired in disappointment and dashed expectations? “Will your friends be there too?”

  “You better believe it! We were just talking about it last night. They’d love to meet you! I’ll introduce you to all the right people.”

  She sighed, shoulders sagging. “Okay … I’ll go.”

  “Well, don’t get too excited now.” Nikki glanced at the clock on the microwave. “Ooo, crap, we’ve got to move it! Come on—off the couch! It’s time to get ready!”

  “But the flier said it doesn’t start for another three hours.”

  “Tell me about it! Let’s go!” She grabbed Amanda’s arm and started pulling her toward the bathroom.

  “What’s going on?”

  “If you’re planning on going dressed like that, you will not be going with me.” Nikki gestured at Amanda’s jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt.

  “You won’t do anything really wild?”

  “I promise: no purple eye shadow or green lipstick.”

  Amanda nodded and shuffled toward the bathroom.

  Nikki pumped her fist into the air and dashed into the bedroom. “I’ll be there in just a sec. I’m getting all my stuff!”

  A full two hours later, Amanda stood in front of Nikki’s tall mirror, hardly recognizing the reflection staring back at her. If clothes made a person, who was she becoming? Her black curls, normally bobbing every which way, now weaved their way below her shoulders. Black eyeliner outlined her eyes, while the red lipstick contrasted her white skin. The short dress she now wore caught the light in its tight seams, highlighting royal-blue hues.

  She never used makeup or took much interest in clothes. She didn’t have some inherent opposition to them. She just pretended not to care. … It didn’t hurt as much that way.

  “And now for the finishing touch!” Nikki placed a purse in Amanda’s hands.

  “Thanks, but I don’t really use purses.”

  “Oh, co
me on. First off, it’s a designer evening bag. Get it right. Secondly, every woman needs one. Didn’t anyone ever teach you these things?” Nikki pulled a dress from her closet. “Give me a chance to change and freshen up, then we’re outta here.”

  Nikki, of course, was not to be outdone. She exited the bedroom wearing a teal dress, the hem zigzagging above her knees as the chiffon material cascaded in varying lengths. A black pendant formed the center, where the material gathered low on her chest. She slipped on a pair of ankle-strap dress sandals, easily gaining another inch; Amanda felt a dwarf next to her in black flats.

  Soon enough, their taxi sped toward Manhattan. Slouched in the back seat behind the driver, Amanda crossed her legs, squeezing them together, and then pulled the hem of her dress down as far as possible. Her legs and arms were naked … leaving her feeling vulnerable and exposed. She shivered and rubbed her arms up and down. They must be getting pretty close to the club now. … Her breathing quickened.

  “Just chill.” Nikki bent over a pocket mirror, applying some mascara. “Tonight will be awesome.”

  Amanda gripped the edge of the seat with white knuckles and just stared out the window.

  A thumping bass sound made it clear that they had arrived. The taxi pulled to the curb in front of a three-story brick building nestled off the beaten path. Upon getting out, Amanda spotted the flashing neon sign that read Little Pete’s. A long snake of people lined the sidewalk, mingling and laughing in the night air. Nikki was exactly right: Amanda at once felt stimulated by the rush of what her senses drank in—a fluorescent green straw resting on the rim of a cocktail glass, the scent of hot wings as a miniskirt-wearing waitress carried them to an outside table, the obnoxious guffawing of a man probably on his fourth beer.

  Nikki was busy paying the driver, so Amanda waited for her on the sidewalk. From her position, she could just make out the side of the building where a massive mural spanned the space. This was no graffiti done by the Unfit, but the serious work of a trained artist. She walked closer to investigate. One massive figure dominated the wall: a brilliant red dragon. Its wings spanned the broad expanse of brick, stretching from one end to the other. The beast arched its back and twisted its head to glare at the viewer. Its eyes were fire, and Amanda marveled at the strength it conveyed, even as a two-dimensional image. She would like to know about the artist and the meaning of the work.

  Upon turning around, Amanda saw that the taxi was gone—and so was Nikki. She swallowed and stared at the sidewalk. Her whole consolation with this escapade was that Nikki would help facilitate conversation with these strangers. Now Amanda had lost her critical link. She walked inside, scanning the room for Nikki. Her eyes fell upon a group of people at the far end of the bar. They sat on bright red stools, laughing and talking with sweeping hand gestures. Several of them sat there, but she paid attention to only one of them: him.

  He wore a navy-blue shirt, the top button casually undone, and dark blue jeans, the latest design. The man next to him said something, and they both laughed. She once again felt mesmerized by his smile, and her heart began to pound. He was here—really here.

  His green eyes turned from the table and looked at her. She met his look for a second, taken aback, and then turned away. Her cheeks burned and her body froze. He had caught her staring at him. How rude could she be? Maybe she could disappear into the crowd …

  “Hey!”

  Her head shot up at his greeting. He stood before her, stretching his arm out to lean against the wall. The booming bass pouring down from somewhere above made his greeting hard to hear, but his voice still sounded as appealing as the first time she had heard it.

  “Hi.” She was certain he couldn’t hear her tentative reply.

  He moved closer and her heart began beating even faster. For the first time, she could observe all his finer features. She was not disappointed.

  “Amanda, right?”

  He remembered her. Her stomach fluttered … and everything else besides him faded into the distance.

  “Right. And you’re Ethan.”

  He nodded, a pleased smile on his face.

  She wanted him to stay here, interested and engaged. She had to keep the dialogue going. “Do—Do you come here often?”

  “Definitely. I wasn’t originally planning on coming tonight, though.”

  “Oh.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say. How profound …

  Ethan shifted his body, inclining his head closer to her. “To tell you the truth, I only came tonight because I was hoping I might see you.”

  She nearly gaped at him. No, this was too much. Knowing her name was one thing. That was unexpected, but still fairly credible. But to think that he came with the explicit desire to see her?

  Complete shock took over, and skepticism emboldened her. She crossed her arms. “Yeah, sure you did. You’ve probably been looking all over for me.”

  Ethan’s eyes widened, and he seemed uncertain how to respond to her sarcasm, which came so natural to her.

  “I’m sorry … I …” She floundered. “I didn’t think you were really serious. It sounded like a one-liner you’d use on a girl you wanted to pick up.”

  “I’m not like that.”

  “I guess I’m a classic cynic. You’ll just have to get used to it.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Get used to it? It sounds as though you’re implying we’ll be spending some time together.”

  “I didn’t mean that. … I mean, you don’t have to …”

  Ethan gave a little smile. “I know I don’t have to. But I’d like to. How about over dinner?”

  Now Amanda’s eyes widened. Could this be too good to be true? He was asking her on a date?

  He stood there, watching her and waiting.

  “That would be good. I’d like that.”

  He grinned. “So what day would be best for you?”

  “I have a pretty open schedule.” In other words, she had no social life.

  “I have a conflict tomorrow, but would Sunday work? Maybe around six?”

  “Yeah, that’s fine.”

  “Great. Can I get your phone number? I’ll give you a call tomorrow, and we can work out the details.” He pulled his phone from his pocket—he had the Axis 13-S, which she knew hadn’t even been released on the market yet.

  “Nice phone.”

  “Thanks. It’s useful.”

  He entered her contact information and tucked the device back into his pocket.

  “I’m guessing you must be into technology?” she asked.

  “You could say that. I have a very scientific mind. I like understanding how things work. … It’s a sort of puzzle to me. I unravel something—undo it and take it apart—so I can see its internal functioning. Then I challenge myself to create it anew … create it better.”

  “What brought you to the Masters Academy, then?”

  “My employer sent me to take some courses in graphic design.”

  “Oh. You work in the city?” She couldn’t stop asking questions: she wanted to learn everything about him.

  “Yes. But, you know, I’ve been talking a lot. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

  “There isn’t much to say. What you see is what you get with me.”

  “No. You fascinate me.”

  “Me? Why?” How could this rich, attractive, successful guy be so interested in her?

  “You just fascinate me … in many ways.” He shrugged. “Like, for instance, this whole time I’ve been trying to figure out the color of your eyes.” He moved even closer, until his fingers brushed against hers.

  A powerful adrenaline burst began pounding within her. She looked down, diffident beneath his unrelenting stare. “I guess you’ll have to wait until Sunday, then.”

  “Right. Well, the best things are worth waiting for.” He stepped back and put his hands into his pockets. “I should probably get back to my friends. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

&nbs
p; “Good night, Amanda.”

  She walked toward the stairs at the other end of the room, her mind still reeling in disbelief and confusion. She glanced once more behind her. She expected to find him returned to his friends. Instead, he remained there, cemented in the spot where she’d left him—a dark, solitary figure among all the others, still watching her with his analytical gaze. Goosebumps ran up and down her back as she headed upstairs.

  A DJ and a large dance floor glutted with sweaty, entangled bodies filled the second floor of Little Pete’s. The floor shook from the bass, and she turned away from the flashing neon signs and disorienting strobe lighting.

  Continuing up a back staircase from there, Amanda reached the top floor, where a large poster advertised the “Living Nightmares” exhibit. Her eyes had to adjust to the darkness in the large, open room. Red beams—the only lighting—eerily illuminated the display lining the walls.

  The nearest painting was a take on Norman Rockwell’s Freedom from Want. It showed a bounteous Thanksgiving dinner. A man, presumably the patriarch of the family, sat at the head of the table, a blank expression on his face. Surrounding the table, instead of people, were coffins. Amanda turned away, not wanting to sink into the painting’s depressive and familiar tone.

  “You finally made it! I thought I’d lost you!” Nikki jumped up from behind, throwing an arm around Amanda’s shoulder, the scent of alcohol distinct on her breath.

  “Yeah, sorry.”

  “Come on over here. My friends are dying to meet you.”

  Nikki steered Amanda to the other end of the room, where three women gathered around another painting. A brunette wearing a purple sequined miniskirt waved at Nikki. Adjacent to the brunette, pushing her bangs to the side, stood a girl clad in a black leather jacket and wearing an animal-print dress that hugged her figure. A tall dirty blonde finished the trio. Her thick burgundy lipstick matched her stilettos perfectly.

  “Ladies, this is Miss Amanda Burrow.” Nikki pushed Amanda into their inner ring.

  “Hi.” Amanda glanced at each of them in turn, then stared at the floor. She ran her thumb across her clenched fingers, back and forth, back and forth.