Camry In Tissue Land

A Good Day

• Alfred J. Rotheous •

I stare, open mouthed at the giant, almost done mural filling up one side of the cafe wall.

"It's not finished." Ricky hands me my receipt.

I don't understand the painting. But the colors work well with the ambience. "Did he do it all by himself?"

"Yep. We hooked up his playlist. It was super fun. The day flew by. He left an hour ago."

I want to inspect it closely. But I want to see the artist first. I left the office the moment I could so that I could give him company.

I consider it as growth.

Bagging fresh croissants, I walk home.

Camry has a face mask and a spread of clothes on the couch.

"I went shopping!" He swings an empty bag as a greeting. "Today is a good day. Self care."

He haphazardly pushes the colorful clothes back into the bags. It reminds me of his mural.

"The painting is great," I say.

"Oh, you saw it!" He smiles, the grey mask gives the smile a ghost like quality. But it doesn't reduce even an amp of the sizzling current his smile produces in my belly. A ghost. A kind ghost.

I wave my brown paper bag and place it on the kitchen island. "Help yourself. I need a shower."

"I don't know how you wear so many layers and travel by bus daily."

I shrug as an answer and speed walk to the bedroom. I have plans for this evening. I'm going to sit down with Camry and kill this nervousness I have around him. I'm ashamed of myself and I'm planning to do something about it.

I'm going to talk to him until it feels normal. This is my self care.

The smell of butter wafts around the living room when I come back from the shower.

Camry brings a plate with the croissants to the coffee table. His face mask is gone. He looks brighter if that's possible.

We start to devour the plate in silence.

Then I remember my plan to be a better person.

"The painting is great," I say again.

"Did you figure it out?"

I shake my head. "I can't. Unless it is on the nose."

"It is very much on the nose. Here, I have rough work." He wipes his fingers on a tissue and picks a notebook from his side.

The couch kind of morphed into his own little house. It is cluttered with his shopping bags on one end and a blanket, tissue boxes and a water bottle on the other end.

He flips open it to a particular page and thumps the notebook on his lap.

I lean closer for a better look.

With the tip of his lean, long forefinger he draws a line on the chaotic doodle. "Watch my finger, this is a cup, saucer and the steam. That's the whole mural. If you just look at the cup part of the drawing, it has tiny stories within itself. They are about the customers who visit the place." He points at individual doodles. "Laptop, phone, umbrella, jacket. The saucer is about the owner. He has two sons and plays soccer with them. See here, shoes, ball, little legs etcetera."

I peek at the steam part of the sketch. "What goes there?"

He grins, causing a short circuit in my brain.