Basquiat.

chapter eleven.

•••

August

"Prop ya' hand up right under your chin and stare straight up at me, love," I instructed.

"Like this?" She said while adjusting in her seat and removing her jacket.

"Perfect."

She stared at me while maintaining the pose for the portrait.

"So, let's talk," she giggled.

"Shoot, what's on ya' mind?" I asked while setting up a canvas and paint.

"Well, I'm not the type to be in anyone's business, but you've been giving me some 'off' vibes lately."

"Is that right?"

She nodded.

"How so?"

She sat up on the stool and discontinued posing, giving me her undivided attention.

"You lack of energy and interest when you teach, sir. You no longer have that sparkle in your eyes when it comes to art."

I stopped painting, taken back by her words.

She was right.

"Damn," I mumbled under my breath.
"Where you come up with allat? It feels like you been watching a nigg-"
"I mean, watching me a whole lot," I quickly answered.

She shook her head in disagreement.

"I'm capable of recognizing an individual's change in behavior pretty efficiently."
"It's like, I can sense negative energy," she muttered quietly.

"Look, I'm alright, Masika. I've just had a couple rough days is all."

"Your actions tell me otherwise," she mumbled before returning to her pose.

I glared at her again,
"Whatchu' talm' bout, Willis?"

She laughed.

"Willis? Who's that?"

"You mean ta' tell me you ain't never heard of the show Diff'rent Strokes?"

She shook her head,
"Nope."

"Anywayyy," I exaggerated.
"What about my actions? You trying ta' read me or something?"

"A man who carries a burden upon his back tries his best to hide it, but fails miserably when pushed past his breaking point," she recited.
"My mother taught me that."

I stole a glance of her from behind the canvas.

"We all need a shoulder to cry on, Mr. Alsina," she whispered.

To avoid becoming emotional, I changed the subject.

"You got any plans for the holiday weekend?"

She gave me a small sympathetic grin, symbolizing she understood I didn't want to talk about myself anymore.

"Yes actually, I'm going back home."

"Home? You mean Africa?" I questioned.

"Yes!" She cheesed.

"Oh word? That's dope Masika, I'm happy fa' you, love."

"Thank you."

There was a short silence between the both of us, despite the hushed murmurs of students working in the classroom.

Just as I began to start painting, she spoke swiftly.

"I-I want you to come with me, sir," she said innocently.

I stopped painting.

"I know we haven't known each other for that long, but I would appreciate it  immensely much if you'd accompany me."

"Masika, I can't-"

"You told me that it was your dream to be given an opportunity to paint in Africa."
"Something like this only happens once in a lifetime."

"But I-"

"It's an all expense paid trip, you'd be a fool to reject my offer, sir," she joked.

"Of all people, why me?" I questioned.

"I know this may sound weird, but in the short time we've known each other, I've been really enjoying your company."
"Sometimes it feels as though I've known you for years," she admitted.

I blushed.

"Tell you what, I'll think about it."

"That all I ask," she grinned while reaching into her purse.

"Can I finish painting now?" I asked impatiently.

She pulled out a ticket along with her phone number written on a small piece of paper.

"If you do decide to come with me, meet me at the airport this upcoming Friday. If not, just know my heart will be broken into a million pieces," She joked.

"No problem," I slightly grinned.

"I can tell that you really need this vacation, Mr. Alsina," she advised.
"We'll be only going as friends, nothing more."

"I heard you already, na' gon' head and pose fa' me." I laughed.

She shrugged me off,
"It's nice to see you smile."

I grinned.

If only she knew why.