Lust over Love

Chapter 6 : The Lone Artist

Pulling out of the obscure lot I take one last look at The Vaguely Cup. An old worn out, dusty looking establishment. Seemed to have neglected any form of life or spirit for years. I hop back on 291 west and begin my journey back home. Not a single car on the road. No music playing. Just the sound of the car's transmission changing gears as my velocity approaches the speed limit and the wind seeping in from the cracks of the windows, I lowered just enough to filter out the air inside. The sun's rays slowly peeking over the distance. Reflecting aggressively off the ring as I grip the steering wheel. The ride back home seemed to last a lifetime and I also appear to be low on fuel. But I have no intention of stopping.

I arrive at my apartment, the first thing I do is turn on the shower. As I wait for the water to get warm, I remove my clothing, toss them in the laundry basket and proceed to brush my teeth. The bathroom is slowly being consumed by the steam coming from the shower and oxygen levels begin to thin out. I rinse my mouth and spit into the sink. Aside from the water and toothpaste residue, I noticed a small amount of blood. I didn't taste any blood beforehand. Maybe I was brushing too hard. I pay no mind to it and hop in the shower. The water droplets hit my body like needles during acupuncture. Drop by drop... releasing stress, burden, and any remaining toxicity still left in my system from the previous night. Closing my eyes and running my face beneath the running water. I hear it all. The chitter chatter of regulars around me. The clinking of glasses and the crashing of ice being thrown into the bottom of the polished cup. The low-volume laughter as well as the secrets and stories being shared. The sound of her steps... getting closer. Like a love song stuck on replay in the hardest of breakups. A light at the end of the tunnel or a breath of fresh air after being submerged in water.

* RING. RING. RING. *...

My phone begins to sound. An incoming call. Annoyed at the interruption I let it go to voicemail. As the ringing stops a notification comes in and my phone by default reads it aloud...

"You have one new voicemail."

I am in no rush to hear what's usually an offer from some spam call center. It's about that time of year anyhow. I finish up my shower, head to my bedroom and dress myself. Nothing fancy, just my casual black t-shirt and black slacks. My light accent jewelry and my black sneakers. I grab my phone, open the new voicemail play it and toss it to the side while I organize the room.

"Hey man, I know it's been awhile... Uhh, its Theo from...

*the phone blurs with static over the next second or so*...

Anyways, me and some friends are going out to dinner tonight at the Belagio Café its by Indigo Blvd. Theres a girl going, her name's Aryn. I think you two would really hit it off. She's calm spoken and very intuitive. Just Uhm... shoot me a text if you're interested. We'll be there around 8 O'clock. "

*Boop*

The voicemail ends. Never would have expected to receive a call from Theo. We weren't the best of friends, nor did we have anything in common. However, perhaps a dinner with some fresh faces is worth the time. I reply to the missed call from Theo and tell him ill meet them at the café, spray on some Kelvec cologne and prepare to run a few errands. Someone once asked me what sort of cologne I used and what smell it was based off. I guess it really caught their attention. It was difficult trying to put it into words, but I told them...

" I'm not sure what the creator based the smell off of, but to me it smells as if the Devil himself beyond all the evil had a box filled only the sweetest nectar and the softest secrets. "

Let's just say the comparison I made did more damage than good to our brief conversation.

Being a tad deprived of sleep I feel surprisingly uplifted. I headed out to the market to get a few house amenities. I return with about two hours to spare before I must meet Theo and his friends for dinner. I go ahead and turn on the deep maple scented candle in the kitchen and have a seat on the couch. Lighting a cigarette, I turn on the television and flip on to the first channel that comes to mind. I may have lost the attention span to actually sit and watch T.V, but I like to play it in the background. It gives me a sense of connectivity to the world I tend to avoid out there. It makes the apartment feel less... empty. Sitting in complete bliss smelling the cigarette burn I scroll through my social media feed. Skipping past trending dances, get rich quick schemes and the bullshit emotional posts about other people's feelings. I tolerate most of it only because every now n then, I come across a post with beautiful scenery or a poem written by the purest manifestation of their own mind paired with melodies as unique as each star visible in the night sky. My stomach begins to growl, well past the time for lunch and with dinner creeping around the corner. I suppose a light snack would be fine. I tossed the dead cigarette into the toilet, flushed it and headed back to my car. I drove toward the Belagio Café stopping about two or three blocks before Indigo Blvd. I needed gas and eye drops to flush out the tired color still lingering in my eyes. Parking at the pump nearest to the door I head in grab the eye drops and give the cashier just enough money to fill the tank two thirds of the way full. On my way back to my car you can hear a faint sound of scribbling on paper. A man sitting in the small alley way between the gas station concession and the fence separating their establishment from the next. A small cardboard sign reading "Self-Portraits for donations". I don't condone begging even in the worst of situations but something in exchange for something else. What could I have to lose? I have about 10 minutes to spare and I'm right not far from the café. Ahhh... why not. I approach the man and toss in ten dollars to the upside-down hat he had places beside him. He grins, takes one look at me, and begins doodling away at his page. Never again looking up to me for any type of reference or second opinions on his work. He takes his finished product, crumples it up and buries it in a pile of dirt next to him, removes it and opens the portrait. Revealing an amazing sketch of ME on what used to be a plain white sheet of paper, now resembling an old scroll like texture. Like a portrait of a king one would see hanging up in a museum.

"Wow. I must admit I'm impressed" I mumbled over to him.

"Oh thats theres?? That aints nuthin. I ushhhed to make sketchings and designs of the moshhht highest beauties. *heheeh*" he chuckled to himself.

"Well thanks again" I said.

"WAIT! I almost forgot to mark it hehehe. Art without its signature is like music without ears." He stated.

In the bottom right corner, he doodles on his signature mark, folds the portrait and hands it back to me. I wave goodbye and slip the picture into my back left pocket. I hastily fueled the car up, grabbed my jacket from the back seat and drove off to the café to meet Theo. I found myself a nice corner parking by an old tree with no leaves hanging from it. I made my way inside and walked up to the hostess.

"Evening, I'm looking for Theo's party."

"Ah yes, he seems to not have checked in yet. I will need the creator of the party present in order to seat you. Forgive me for the inconvenience." She apologized.

"No worries. I'll give him a quick call."

I stepped outside and took a seat on the bench by the entrance. I dialed Theo's number and waited for him to answer.

"Hey man sorry we're running a little late. I had to turn around to get my wallet we'll be there soon." Theo assured me.

"Alright I'll see you guys then."

I slide my phone back in my pocket and decide to wait where I am. Afterall I've already warmed the seat... I watch families go in and out of the café. Cars driving back and forth on the road. I watch the fallen leaves being carried around by the cool breeze. I wonder to myself if this is how people who sit outside all day view the world. Passing them by minute after minute. I wonder if this is how that guy by the gas station spends his free time when he's not painting portraits for other people. He is one hell of an artist though. I pull out the work of art the man handed me and admire its craftmanship. The details are just uncanny. The eyes, the facial expressions are all precise. I never did catch his name. Oh right... he said he signed or marked it I think. I glance over at the corner of the paper... his mark... I know I've seen it before. It looks familiar... where have I seen it before? Last time I saw a mark something like this was on... her... HER BAG!