Camp Paradis || Jean Kirstein

Those Marley Assholes

  I wasn't sure what I did to deserve this. Tuesday evening, after dinner, I needed some space from everyone. Since there were a limited number of people at the camp this week, it was kind of like a free roam situation. Meaning, the employees could pretty much do whatever as long as they were available when they were needed for activities.

  With my book and pencil in hand I stood at the steps of the studio, waiting for the courage to climb the steps into the opened door. Jean was in there, and I really wanted to go inside. I had felt so empty without him, like my days were incomplete because we hadn't spoken to each other (like we used to anyway). Even as I spent majority of my day and pieces of my nights with Porco, trying to get the artists out of my brain, it just wasn't working.

  I took a deep breath, held it, and let it out through my mouth. I took the steps slowly and I almost backed out when I saw Jean sitting at the table we sat at together with his back to me. I raised my hand and hovered my knuckles over the doorframe, but paused. I watched him for a moment. I watched the way his wrist glided over his own sketchbook, his other arm holding up his head. His fingers were gripping into his hair, and I wished they were my hands.

  "You don't have to just stand there, Beck," he said without moving, a new tone to his voice that I wasn't used to- like he was bored, "you can come in."

  I lowered my hand and took a hesitant step over the threshold, "How'd you know it was me?" I asked, attempting to lighten the mood.

  He waited to answer and I stopped at the table that was furthest from him, closest to the door, "I just did. Did you need something?" his wrist kept moving.

  "I was just wondering if I could work on my blueprints in here. I've been feeling uninspired... off." his wrist stopped moving, "I need the quiet and to just focus on something other than everything else going on this week."

He took another minute to answer. I held my book into my chest, pushing it further into me the longer he waited to reply. He eventually sighed, "Of course you can." I relaxed my grip on my book and my shoulders dropped. I didn't even notice that I was tensing up.

  I debated on sitting with him, or at least getting closer. But he went back to sketching, and I thought that it was better not to bother him. I started to sit down but I stopped when I took notice of the paintings that he had on display at the back of the room where his supplies were. They leaned against the wall in a visually appealing way, lighter colors fading into the darker ones.

  Each canvas was a specific color, and when I found myself stepping closer to them, I noticed that they made objects and landscapes. There was a purple flower, a dark green grass scene, an ocean, a black night sky, a brilliant blue sky, and red roses with white accents. I had seen Jean's paintings before, from when I came in to steal his brushes. The ones from before were much better and more visually interesting. I looked to the right and saw them pushed to the side, like he was trying to make sure the focus was on the other ones.

  I stopped right in front of them and studied them. Each one. For the first time ever, I felt connected to a piece of art- several pieces of art. I looked behind my back at him and saw that he was already looking at me, frozen in place. The way that he was looking at me made me think I had caught him in something. It looked like he was waiting for me to figure it out, which made me even more eager to learn the truth about them, "Jean..."

  His lips parted when he started to breath slightly deeper as he got more nervous, "Yes?" he was quiet.

  Something about the way he looked right now was driving me crazy. The way his fingers messed up his hair from where he was grabbing it, the way his forearms were exposed, and the look in his eyes made me want to crawl on top of the table show him just how frustrated he was making me, and how badly I wanted him.