Fight or Flight

Part 1

The restaurant's air was heavy with the smell of herbs and warmth; bodies were bumping into me as I followed my friend Ava to the bar. Molly's Salante is a family owned restaurant near my apartment known for its great food and cozy atmosphere. I frequented for the proximity to my residence and the ability it had to make anyone I took there feel at home. Growing up even when I was in my family home, I never felt like I was where I belonged. Molly's gave that illusion I craved and I was grateful for it.

It had been a long day at the studio trying to come up with my next piece and I was ready to have a glass of red and listen to Ava talk about her new-old boyfriend. They had dated years ago and broken up despite Ava hoping they could work it out. As it turns out he was more interested in making it work with a waitress who was barely legal. He recently reappeared seeming like he had regretted the break up and wanted another chance. As it seems, Ava was more than happy to give him one.

On paper, my best friend and I couldn't be more different. She was an emergency room doctor, constantly on high alert and ready for the next disaster. She had a way of making others feel like she had everything under control, probably because she did. She was like a still lake, always constant, always there keeping everything afloat. I on the other hand was more of a stream, flowing with the wind trying to keep things moving because that's what streams are supposed to do.

She has been a constant in my life since we were freshman in high school. She was on scholarship at my high school, she felt like she didn't fit in because of her home life. She lived with her mom and two brothers and would never have been able to afford to go to my school under any other circumstance. Through the craziness that was my teenage years and adolescence she was someone I could always count on and as I have learned, you can never have too many of those.

I was always the more flighty of our duo, she was a doctor and what society called smart. I was, well I was an artist and tried really hard not to forget where I put my cell phone most of the time.

Painting had always been my passion. When I was young, I showed an interest in art and it had been my mom who helped me pursue it. My father thought it was a waste of time and pushed me toward more conventional activities like horseback riding and ballet. Two things my sister, Maura, happened to have been amazing at. Little sister syndrome ran deep in our house, Maura and I were very different but we loved each other all the same. In the beginning my parents thought if something worked for Maura it worked for Erin, but much to my father's surprise that was in fact not the case.

"He is the same as he always has been." Ava's voice drags me from my day dream. "He doesn't listen to me and can never get ahold of him" Ava says as we hike ourselves up onto the bar stools.

I look at the bottles hanging on the wall and try to gather my thoughts enough to support her, "I know it doesn't feel that way now, but there was a reason you decided to take him back. He can't be exactly the same."

"You're right, I know why I keep doing this to myself." She said with her hand on her brow.

"Wait, why is that?" I am genuinely wondering.

"Obviously because I love him, Erin?" She says as though it's a question.

"Of course, duh, yeah."  It's not that I didn't know what it meant to be in love, I had—been in love that is. No, it didn't turn my world upside down, but I knew what I had felt. It made me feel anxious and excited, like I was running and running toward a destination and I knew it was going to be amazing once I got there.

"If he calls, I am not going over there. Don't let me go over to his place, Erin. As my best friend it's your responsibility to make sure I stand my ground." She pushes her phone away from her on the bar.

"Good for you Ava, you have to let him know you don't like his behavior. But I do have to ask, why did you take him back again?"

Ava hits me with the back of her hand and ignores me with an eye roll.

The bartender approaches us and we decline menus and request glasses of the house red blend, our chilly fall night usual. This is the first cold night and I have a feeling it might stick.

Beth seems semi settled into her seat and I feel like I can exhale and try to relax too.

"Erin, you have paint on your face. I didn't think you were still doing large canvases." Beth says to me as more of a statement than a question while scratching at the acrylic blue paint dried to my cheek. 

"Oh god, I have been walking around all afternoon like this. Why am I the way I am?" I groan.

I had left the studio a few hours ago and decided to walk the streets and get lost in the city. I love the city of New York; the smaller boroughs and hidden gems always gave me much needed energy and inspiration. Wandering in and out of boutiques and pawn shops this afternoon felt good, it felt like I was connected to the city I was born and raised in.

Most of my paintings that I have taken to gallery are of the everyday streets of New York and the people that inhabit them. I paint realist works and I have a knack for making a painting look just like a photograph. Painters Magazine had said I was someone to see and lucky for me, people listened. My shining moment was a show that took place in a fairly large gallery in SoHo. There were hundreds of people in and out and enough champagne and shrimp puffs to keep them all happy.

My agent is dying for me to do another show and I keep putting her off saying it's too soon, but if I was being honest, I wouldn't have anything to put in the show. I have felt a little stunted since then, I have painted but not nearly enough to fill the walls in my studio loft let alone a gallery. This was something I always chose to push to the back of my mind and worry about later. I received enough commissioned work requests that I could afford to live, I was not a starving artist yet. Why have another show when there were rich old ladies who wanted pictures of a sunset? This was always my argument, but it never held up.

Looking at my paintings you can see everyday details that one may miss when hurrying to a meeting or trying to hail a cab. When I do large canvas work, I want everyone looking at it to feel like they can step into the painting, this often puts me nose to nose with the canvas. And wet paint.

As it happens the side eyes, I was getting weren't just a normal New York greeting, they were looking at the insane amount of paint on my cheek and speckled in my long dark blonde hair.

I push her hand away and decide to go to the ladies' room to survey the damage of Ultramarine Blue.

On my way, I caught the eyes of other patrons eating and enjoying, finding myself wondering what brought them here. Since the passing of my mother when I was only 9, I became a little obsessed with being in the right place at the right time.

Had my mother not been traveling to meet girlfriends for a cocktail she would have never been in that accident. Or I guess I could look at it the way my sister did when I told her that, "Erin, at least she had been doing what she loved, drinking. If she had been doing something maternal, we would have been with her and would have been killed too. Be grateful for the little things."

My older sister Maura had a way of saying things with a completely straight face and could terrify some. She was blunt and unapologetic and I admired her for that. My sister has always been the string and I the kite. Without her I would have floated away a long time ago.

This keeps my head busy while I travel down the narrow dark hall way toward my destination. I arrive at the ladies' room and push hard with my hands on the swinging door only to be jolted back by a flipped deadbolt. I survey the area, not a soul around. I don't think anyone would mind if I used the men's room obviously just to clean myself up.

The door easily opens and I am at the sink looking at the smears and start to wipe them away. I look into the reflection of the mirror and am immediately locking eyes with deep green irises.