Notoriously Beautiful

15

Painting by the Beach

I'm not that good at painting, actually, I'm terrible at painting. Still, I do love to paint. I love the mixing of the colors, and the washing of the brush. I love the part of painting a picture that is 'the least important'. Some people just want to slap that paint on the canvas, make something pretty and call it a day. I don't like doing that. Even if it takes a whole day to make one painting resemble what I intend it to look like, I'll be happy. It doesn't take a whole lot to make me happy. I'm not a diva, not like my friend Nicole, who lives in New York. She's another type of lavish.
Art is a magical thing, you can make all sorts of images appear just by stroking different colors and lines onto a surface. Truly wonderful. Also, very calming.
I call Marco, and ask him if he'd like to paint with me. He says yes and so I pack two canvases, four paint brushes, (different sizes) twelve different paint colors, and two large books to lean the canvases on.
(I arrive at the beach)
We meet at the beach and we sit down on the sand.
"So were both going to paint the view?" I ask.
"If that's what you want to do, I would love to," Marco says, smiling.
I nod and we start painting, I lay out my blue, green, yellow, and brown paint.
"So do you paint a lot?" Marco asks me.
"I used to paint a lot. I'm not that good, but I love to," I say, still focused on the colors.
"Definitely not true! I bet you everything I have that your painting is going to be more beautiful than the Mona Lisa," Marco says.
"You really must not like everything you have," I joke.
"Or maybe I'm just really confident that your painting is going to be amazing," he says.
I stroke a thin yellow line across the canvas. That was where the sand ended and the water began. I look over my shoulder to see what Marco has painted so far.
"No look! You'll see it when I'm done," he says.
I think for sure it's terrible and he's embarrassed of it. I keep painting anyway.

We finish after an hour and a half. I finally get to look at the final product.
"Wow," I'm in awe of how wonderful it looks.
"You did it so fast, and it looks so beautiful," I say.
I keep staring, it's amazing, he painted the sand grain perfectly, and the water has a reflection of me and him painting.
"Let me see yours," he says.
"No, no, I'm embarrassed," I say.
"Why, come on," he insists.
"I thought it was okay, but that was before you showed me your Van Gogh," I say, frowning.
He takes the painting out of my hands and looks at it, bringing it closer and farther to his face, and bulging his eyes out of his face.
"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!" He says, smiling so warmly.
"Yeah right," I take it back into my own hands.
I look at it once more, the sand is nice and smooth, the ocean is a nice mix of greens and blues.
"You know what, I really do think I did good," I say finally.
"Does that mean I get to keep the fish pizzeria?" He says, laughing.
I pushed him a little,
"Aww man I really wanted it," I say joking.
"Whatever you want it, it's yours. Just say the word and you'll have the keys to the shop in your hands," he says. I don't know whether he's serious or not, but I'm definitely not taking his restaurant.
"You're so sweet. How about, if I get to keep your painting, you can keep the pizzeria?" I say.
"I'll take that deal," he puts his hand out to shake on it.
"A handshake to seal the deal?" I say, giving him my hand.
"Exactly," he says, answering my question.
"Can we make another deal?" Marco asks.
"What did you have in mind?" I ask, cautiously.
"Nevermind," his expression only changes slightly, so I can't tell what he's thinking.
"Please tell me. It couldn't have been that bad! I hate when people are about to say something and they don't" I say.
"Not yet, it's not the right time," he says.
I am so confused. Not the right time for what? I don't want to mean, imposing and disrespectful though, so I don't ask again.
"Ok, whenever you want to tell me, I'll be ready to listen," I put my hands in the air and shrug my shoulders, as if there is nothing else to say.
"Wow, now you're trying to guilty me Katerina,"
he says.
"Correct words are guilt me, not guilty me, and no I am not! I was just trying not to be a pain," I say, getting up from the sand.
"Katerina you are the opposite of pain. Pain is rough, pain hurts. You—you feel so soft, your lips so delicate, and smooth." Marco says, as he took hold of my arm so I could help him get up from the sand.
"And you. What do you think you're doing" I say, referring to his mesmerizing way of talking, of feeling, of being.
I just realized how not proper his English is.
I see his lips look like they are about to speak.
"What is it?" I ask.
"I think I'm ready for you to listen," he says.
"Okay..." I wait.
"Can I kiss you right now?" he says, grinning, one eyebrow raised, as he waits for my response.
"That's more of a question, not a statement. Let me think about that," I say, putting my fingers on my chin sarcastically pondering if I should accept his offer.
"Let me fix my sentence. I want to kiss you?" He pauses after want, and makes the word loud and clear. But the tone in which he speaks, still sounds like a question.
"Yes, after much thought I have decided tha—" I say, all he needs is for me to give the go ahead.
He leans in, puts his hands around my waist. I look up, his eyes are glistening, a perfect hazel, light brown. I put my hand on the back of his neck and take my hand through the little curls on his head. We drop to the sand again, this time, together.
"I don't know if you're ready," I say.
"Weeks without a kiss. I've spent weeks dreaming about you and me. And that's all."
Our lips meet for a while, he's warm, and his breath smells like cinnamon. I smile, and look over to the setting sun. As the sky gives off marvelous colors of pink and red, my heart does the same. What a wonderful feeling.
"Where did you come from bella," he says.
I can't say anything, I don't know what to say.
"You came to me from Dio, God gave you to me, He put you in my life, to make me a better man, and a better friend, I know it," he says.
"You've made these past five months, so wonderful, Marco. I just didn't know if we were just good friends until today."
I'm staring, and I know that I'm staring but I can't pull my eyes away.
"Love, thank you," he says.