𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐄𝐱𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐬|𝟏𝟖+ ( ON HOLD)

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

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Bittersweet, by Lianne La Havas
...
TORONTO, CANADA

I STARE AT THE CANVAS BLANKLY, the tip of my paint brush grazing across my bottom lip. Something was missing, but I didn't know what.

The composition and arrangement of symmetrical pieces were perfect, the colors crisp and vibrant as they come. Could it have been the background throwing off the overall feel of the story? Could it have been the theme that needed adjustment? I didn't know.

As I stand in my art studio with contemplation, I take a step back and turn my head to the side.

disregarded brushes, littered tubes of paint, and eighteen by four stretched canvasses were scattered across the floor in a disorganized manner. To the unknown eye, people would assume that this room was a mess. Yet this was my space of creativity; and art can be messy.

" I thought I'd find you here,"

I flinched, but quickly relaxed once I see my best friend, Nneka, waltzing inside the space with two styrofoam cups filled with coffee. I put a hand on my chest, feeling my heart pounding against my hand. " You scared me,"

She rolls her eyes, sitting the two cups on one of the tables covered in paint and newspapers. She pushes the items back as she spoke, " I can see that. I still don't understand why you get so scared easily,"

" It's a long story," I muttered, turning back around to face my canvas.

There were some things that were left to be unsaid. things that needed to be left in the past. As far as Nneka knows about me, I came here from California at a young age so I could come to an Art school. That was it, and that was all that needed to be known about me.

Nneka waves me off, huffing loudly as she shrugs off her black coat and scarf. "Yes, yes, you've told me many times before,"

" Apparently not enough." I chuckled, shaking my head as I watched her in amusement.

She halts her movements, snapping her neck towards me." Eh Eh, what is that supposed to be mean?"

I wave her off, turning back towards my painting and putting my hands on my hips. " Anyway, do you think something's missing?"

" What? Your painting?" Nneka inquires, standing beside me and handing me my coffee. " I think it looks beautiful, but why is he surrounded by flowers?"

I take a sip of my coffee, then push up my framed glasses. " Black Men have always been perceived as these masculine and strong figures, but not vulnerable. They've been told all their lives to ' be a man' and not talk about their feelings. So in this painting, the theme is the vulnerability of a black man."

" I love how your paintings always have deep meanings," She compliments, glancing at me with pride in her eyes. " It's amazing, lẹwa."

I smile, " Thank you,"

" lẹwa" was a Yoruba term meaning beautiful, elegant, or magnificent. Nneka is Nigerian and her mother is Yoruba, while her father is Igbo. Her name ' Nneka' was an Igbo term, meaning " mother is great" or " mother is supreme."

Nneka's culture was beautiful, and I've also hand crafted some original pieces for her family back in Nigeria and created a Mural for Nneka's boutique here in Toronto.

We met in Ontario's School of Fine Arts and Creative Design. Nneka and I then became friends with Medjine, who is my art curator and manager who handles all business inquiries.

I was truly blessed to meet such passionate black women who shared the same love for art just as I did.

Nneka sighs, taking another sip of her coffee before sitting it down on the table just a few feet from my easel. " Well, I don't know about you, but I'm hungry as hell. Want to grab some lunch? We can swing by and see Medjine on the way back,"

I look back at the painting, biting the inside of my cheek. " Yeah, I'm kind of drawing a blank with this piece right now."

" That's because you don't eat when you're working," She snorts, giving me a look. " You forget the brain needs food to process things."

I scrunched up my nose, crossing my arms defensively. " That's not true,"

Nneka kisses her teeth, " Oh really? Then what did you have for breakfast?"

I furrowed my brows, thinking of an answer yet couldn't come up with one. She hums, snapping her fingers. " Mm, exactly! You don't eat when you work,"

I rolled my eyes, sitting my paint brush down and grabbing my jacket that was on the couch. " Shut up,"

Nneka narrows her eyes playfully, pointing to her brand new iPhone fifteen. " I will get my mother on this phone and have her cuss you out, don't play with me."

" Then she'll cuss you out for not making me my favorite dish, she knows how much I love egusi and fufu," I smirked, following behind Nneka's tall frame as I tuck my keys inside my pocket.

She groans, stomping her way out into the hallway of my apartment complex. " I swear that woman loves you more than me! You know what she asked me yesterday? She asked me how you were doing and if you ate, and I was like ma what about me? And you know what she did? Cussed me out for asking if she missed me."

" Come on, Mama Agbani is not that bad. She's such a sweetheart," I giggled, walking towards the elevators with Nneka trailing by my side.

" Yeah, that is what she wants you to think. But lẹwa, when I tell you this woman scares the living shit out of my father. Like he is more afraid of her than his own mother, and my grandma is crazy as fuck when she's mad." She shuddered, hooking her arm with mine as we enter inside the newly renovated lobby of the apartment building.

Sleek marble floors with floor to ceiling windows, a reserved bar strictly for residents and guests who come to visit, and of course the hallway leading towards the gym and indoor pool.

Rent was about as much as you could imagine it to be: expensive. But it was downtown Toronto, a city that many popular Canadians and Americans come to visit when they need something to do.

And by making money by doing what I love, it was worth it. I bought my first car when I turned eighteen, which was an older honda model. But recently, after selling my latest art piece, I upgraded my car from the Honda to a 2024 Black Ford Mustang that was two seater.

I made a promise, back then. And I still haven't broken it, even after all these years.

God did this.

God helped me.

God saved me.