Altogether unusual

A piece of humanity

              'We all have 10,000 bad drawings in us. The sooner we get them out, the better.'  Walt Stanchfield

I woke up all sweaty and hot. At first I thought I had caught a cold, but when I tried to go drink some water, I couldn't move. Yeah, you guessed it. I was all wrapped in Jonathan. The morning was creeping out on the horizon, and I really had to get out of this bed. Moving didn't prove to be a good decision, because he held me even closer, nuzzling my nape. And of course, faster than I could predict, his erection pressed against my bum. I didn't want him to get up before I escaped him, because that would have been even more awkward. So I ventured another move, when he started talking.

"Come on Becca, let's have a good morning together, shall we?"

"Jonathan?" I said out loud, giving up my conciliatory plan quickly.

"Hmm?"

"Jonathan, who the fuck is Becca?"

He became rigid against my body as he woke up. But he didn't let me go though. We stood there, not saying a word, his body perfectly aligned and pressed against mine, for what seemed like the longest time. And call me crazy, but I think his skin became hotter all of the sudden, and his breath was shallow. Not to give details about other things. I thought this would be strange for him.

Finally he let go of me and I jumped out of the bed to the middle of my room.

"Wow," he said smiling like the maniac he is, "for a moment there I almost felt you up."

"Excuse me, but for much more than a moment there, I felt things waking up. And pressing up against me."

"Did you like it?" He whispered confidentially, wiggling his eyebrows.

"You're an idiot, obviously!"

"Oh come on, don't make such a fuss, it's just morning wood. In a few minutes it will pass." He looked under the blanket, as in to make sure he was telling the truth. "I thought you were Becca."

"And who the hell is Becca?" I asked already choosing my clothes for the day.

"My girlfriend."

"Since when do women like you? Aren't you supposed to be this virgin genius? Nothing can touch you, blah, blah..." I ask, mocking shamelessly.

"I like your consistency. Earlier I was an idiot, now I'm a genius? Make up your mind!"

"Mmmmm, definitely an idiot. Now wake up, we have to prepare for school!"

"Becca is short for Rebecca Show. You know her. I slept at her place during the past two weeks. I got used to the warm body. I forgot you are a wretched, cold witch."

"Rebecca Shaw?" I almost yelled at the realisation of who she was, dismissing what he had said about me being cold. He was right, so why bother? "I thought you hate her. Isn't she The Absolute Whore, in your all-so-mighty opinion?"

"Yes. Yes she is. That's exactly why I shag her."

"But you said she's your girlfriend." My face was probably laughable at that moment, the way my eyes were trying to leave their sockets.

"I shag her, she thinks she's my girlfriend. Everybody wins. And don't look at me like that. I have needs. Just because you're holier than thou at 17..."

"18. You jackass!"

"Wow, even worse. "

"Shut up and get dressed." I command, without thinking about the opinion he has of me. It's my fault after all. I've never told him the truth.

I went to take a shower, we had breakfast and we parted ways. It was still early so he went home to change and I took my bike to the gas station. While giving her a nice, full tank, I caressed her with love:

"Momma will never leave you home again. I missed you yesterday." It's good that nobody could hear me talking to an inanimate object. Freak-show, I told you. Totally freak-show.

The following days passed with a lot of work for school. Of course the things I was reading and learning inspired some work for myself, so I was swamped. The art year project an in my exam piece, is a full album based on Dante's Divine Comedy. Take that and stuff your face with it, Clarisse! Needless to say I became a maniac. All I do is think about that. How to do it, under which form to present it? I can get into a very good University, if the work I do is appreciated.

Drawing is a mind altering experience. I find myself loosing days completely, hunched over my notebooks, just trying to catch a vision. At first, when I was little, I thought I would remember what I saw in my head at a later time, when I had time for drawing, but I never did. I still think I've lost a lot of good ideas back then. Nowadays I always keep a notebook near, with plenty of pages free. As soon as something pops in my head, I stop whatever I do and catch it with the point of my pencil. I stop my bike by the side of the road and I draw. I stop listening to my teachers and draw. I give up eating and become one with the paper. Most of my sleepless nights are due to this endeavour. Most of the occasions the idea just wakes me up, and I feel compelled to listen to it. It's hard to imagine, even for my parents, that I can delay and be too lazy for anything else, but not for this. I'm not in control of my talent, it is in control of me. An invisible puppeteer. One thing is sure, this compulsion saved me from my nightmares. I have them since I was a kid. My parents even thought about settling down in one place when the psychologist told them I am rooted out and I need stability to escape the darkness of my dreams. Before they could decide on a place though, I began drawing the monsters out of my head. I still have the nightmares, but I wake up and make them destroyable. On a piece of paper they are just that. They are backing down. Winning over my biggest fears through such a simple thing as a pencil and a piece of paper, may be my most important realisation.

It's a noble thing, art. It takes us humans and puts us in control, by making us subdued to it at the same time. My drawing always gave me a sense of secrecy. I keep a diary with what happens in my most important days, but I do not write in it. I sketch everything out. Some people use letters, I use lines.

The greatest part was when my little secret became known. At first in my family. Then friends of my parents. And the circles went wider. You should hear some of the opinions circulated, trying to understand "what I intended to express" through my creations. Very few people come close to my original path, but you see, that is the beauty. It remains something of value and complexity even if it is not understood in its birth core.

Not being able to paint brought more flavour to it still. I like dark drawings. Monsters, war, devils, fallen angels, realist faces, the absurd and the aesthetics bound together in love. Not many people appreciate that shadowed side in me, and most of these same people think I must be crazy, or sad or depressive. Which I am not. I never thought of self-destroying myself. I like laughing and having a good time, I like talking to smart people, I absolutely adore my parents and I don't feel trapped in this world. I just see it differently. And the pencil, the charcoal, give me a taste of the original world. That's why I chose tattoos or album covers or book covers. A person comes to you, let him or her be a musician, a writer or a simple person, and they put in front of you an entire life. An inner conception. Something which was born inside them. A piece of humanity. A piece of art. I have to take that in and create it out of lines, figures, colours. The possibilities are infinite. But the space to put them in is not.