An Unfinished Painting

13- The Start of a painting

(Present Day)

    May stood in front of me and to her right was a hotel worker carrying her enormous white canvas, along with all her painting supplies.

I stared at the poor hotel worker as he struggled to get the canvas out of the elevator, "We can use one of the empty rooms upstairs." I reluctantly said.

They followed behind me as we walked up stairs. I stopped at the door of Daisy's old bedroom, how odd, I do not think I could recall the last time I had opened this door. The only thing in the room was her old bed and a picture frame sitting on top of the small coffee table to the side.

The room that May was painting in had a French white sofa towards the middle of the room, the same room my mom used to keep her collection of vintage furniture. It did not take long for May to set all her painting supplies up, along with the white canvas that leaned on the wooden walls of the room.

"What do you use this room for?" May looked around, "Gives me the creeps."

"I don't really go in any of the rooms, other than my own." I looked around, it was an odd room. Even when I lived here with my parents, I do not remember ever going into this room. I do not think my mom ever let me go into this room when she alive, she claimed there were too many 'expensive artifacts'. (Which I sold most of when she passed.)

"It's pretty early, want to have a drink first?"

"Yeah!" May jumped up and followed me out of the room, "I don't think I have ever seen your full house." I turned back to see May looking around.

"There's no need to." I do not understand why kids can be so nosey.

I had a few glasses of wine and ended up making May a cup of hot tea, since she thought it would be a bad idea if she drank before painting. I stood there watching May set her painting tools out on the white sheet she laid out on the floor right below the tall blank canvas.

"Oh by the way, why did you leave so sudden the other day?"

I was sitting on the old sofa drinking the bottle of wine I took up with me, "No reason." I started reading the wine bottle name, trying to avoid the topic.

"Oh yeah?" May stood up and walked over to me, "Were you late for a date?" I looked up at her and drank more wine.

"And what if I was?" Which was not true at all, but teasing seemed awful fun.

May leaned down and licked my lips, "You can lie naked on the couch."

I laughed, "Are we in the movie Titanic or something?"

"I thought the sofa was cool! I was thinking of turning the canvas horizontally. You have a nice body, Augie" May said as she started unbuttoning my shirt, "Your breast are perfectly round and I think your pink nipples are cute." May's tongue felt hot as she kissed my chest over and over again. "I love how perky they are."

"Do you do this to all your models?"

May looked at me and smiled, "I've never had someone model for me."

"But what about that painting you showed me?"

May looked confused for a moment, "Oh! That painting was of my mom, other than that I have never painted anyone." May kissed me, "Plus, you're the only one I have wanted to paint."

I took off my pants then my panties. "I don't know how I'm going to be able to control myself." May said as she grabbed my butt, "How is your ass so round when your body is so thin, you know before I saw you naked I honestly thought you were going to be all skin and bones. It's pretty hard to tell since you wear baggier clothes."

"Can I drink while you paint?" I ignored what May had just said, "And how long is this going to take?"

May walked over to her where the canvas was as I laid down on the couch with a wine bottle in my hand, "We won't finish today if that's what you're asking."

I got bored as I laid on the couch, May was staring at me holding her sketch book and a pencil. It was interesting seeing May be in this state, she looks serious yet at peace. Like she genuinely enjoyed doing this, painting.

That day when I left the coffee shop in a hurry, I was up for the next twelve hours starting to write a new novel. I wonder if I look the same way as May looks when I am writing. So intense, but calm as ever. I remember growing up being asked what I want to do when I grow up. The kids around me would say things like; I want to be famous. I want to be a cop. I want to be a singer. I want to be an actor. I want to be a doctor. I want to be a vet. I want to be a teacher. Yet when I was asked, I just stared at the person who had just asked me this generic question. Even as a child, I thought this question was preposterous to ask someone my age. How would a child know what they will be doing when they reach adulthood. Even to this day, I find the question quite depressing. To think that is all human beings are here on this earth for. 

As a kid, I did not say much, I would often stare into space, even if I was thinking about nothing and I never understood why the kids around me would cry.

Back in third grade one of my peers fell down next to me and started bawling their eyes out. I stood next to them and looked down at them as they cried, holding their knee that was bleeding. The kid kept saying 'I want my mommy' and kept crying and mumbling things I could not hear. I watched with a blank expression on my face and asked "Why are you crying?" The kid looked back up at me and got upset, which made them cry even more. Eventually, a teacher came running up along with a few other kids. I watched them as they comforted the crying child. Then I heard some other kids say 'That girl is weird' 'No wonder she has no friends' 'Is she a robot?" They all laughed.

I thought there was something wrong with me for a while, I never was able to make friends because the people I grew up with thought I was some sort of emotionless sociopath. But really, I felt pain, I felt anger, sadness, happiness. It took me a while to understand how to feel empathic towards others and still to this day find it difficult. But my brother was the one who taught me this. During my early childhood was when I found this passion for writing. Even though back then, it was nothing of sort. I simply wrote short stories, poems, descriptions of what the world around me looked like, or stories about my family. Sometimes I wrote for hours while I sat at the park, I wrote stories about fictional places with fictional people. In these stories, I had friends, no one thought I was weird and no one saw me as different. It was a beautiful place and the only time I was able to find happiness.

And when I saw Daisy for the first time, she reminded me of one of the fairies I wrote about when I was younger. I fell in love, Daisy was the first person I ever met that did not think of me as different. She was accepting and her heart truly pure, just like the people I wrote about.

"Augie" I opened my eyes to see May's face in front of mine, "It's pretty late." I felt her pick me up in her arms and carry me.

"Is the painting done?" I asked half awake.

May laughed, "I started working on the canvas, got further than I thought. You can look at it tomorrow" She laid me down in my bed, "Let me get your pajamas." I woke up to her putting my underwear on, my shirt was already on. "I'm going home now." May leaned down and kissed me.

"Stay the night." I said as I grabbed her arm before she walked away. I opened my eyes, "It's late yeah?"

May did not hesitate to jump into bed with me, "I love sleeping with you." May wrapped her arms around me, pulling my back close to her chest, "Goodnight Augie Jay."

I wanted to think I was using May to not feel so lonely and maybe in a way, I was. And it was better than admitting that I was starting to catch feelings for this twenty one year old. But I would not mind sleeping in the same bed with her every night, it would not be too bad.

Ever since she came prancing her way into my life, it oddly has been nice.