Invisible

SEVEN

SEVEN

“Who is she?” I pointed to the portrait on Spencer’s wall.

“She is art.” He replies, looking at the photo with a smile. He seemed to recall memories attached to the photo.

It was a candid black and white photo of a girl who was smiling. The photo only showed up until half of her torso; covered by her two slender arms that seemed to place her hands neatly on her knees hidden from the picture. The rest of her chest was covered by her long straight brown hair with streaks of blonde on its full length except the head. She was beautiful. She looked so happy. So…in love.

I wondered what it would have felt like to be in her shoes. I wonder what memories this portrait held.

“Her name was Sophia.” Spencer smiled, “She was my favorite.”

“Favorite?”

“Yes. Have you ever noticed that she is the only one hanging here, at my home?” he gestured around him, “She was my all-time favorite muse. But,” he paused, his eyes looked pained, “I had to let go of her. She was in love with me. But to me, she was art. She was nothing but a mere muse.” He shook his head slowly as if recalling a terrible memory.

“Would you like to see my studio? It isn’t too far from here.” He offered.

We arrived at his studio. It was a wide spacious room. No furniture. Just a desk on the far left. And portraits of beautiful women decorate the entire wall.

One of them, a lovely girl. Her hair color was similar to Sophia’s only hers was messier. It looked effortless. Her smile was genuine, but was meant for the photo, not the photographer. This portrait was nothing compared to Sophia’s. Hers was raw. She was genuinely happy, and was smiling at Spencer through the photo.

“That’s Laura.” Spencer speaks across the room. “She was just a model; was very professional.”

There was another that caught my attention. It was a close up shot. The photo revealed nothing more but her face and her chest, her forehead was not even in the shot. Her blonde hair fell just above her breasts. Her eyes were shut; she looks like she was laughing. Her hand was in the portrait; it was raised to her face covered in tiny snowflakes.

“That is Chelsea. My ex-girlfriend. It was her birthday when I shot that.”

I looked at the other photos. More portraits of happy women. All of them in black and white.

“Why aren’t any of them colored?”

“I’m trying to portray the emotion despite the lack of color. Come here, I have something to show you.”

He walked towards a wooden stand covered by a black cloth. He lifted the cloth; it revealed another black and white photo. A girl on the bus, sitting in front of him. Her brown hair was tied into a messy ponytail, her lose shirt revealed her left shoulder; her head was turned towards the window, it outlined her eyes that looked far beyond the scenery outside.

“That was the day I ran away from home. She was my very first muse; I didn’t even know her name. There are days when I felt so lonely I nearly jumped out my apartment window. But instead of doing that, I make my way here to my studio. And I stare at her for hours at a time. I never reveal this shot to anybody. It’s my personal motivation. She is what keeps me going. I never saw her again after that day. But if I ever do, I would like to thank her. She has kept me alive as far as this point.”

I stare at Spencer while he stared at the portrait. Copper hair, brilliant longing hazel eyes. I would take a snapshot of this moment if I could. Instead, I memorize it and store it away in my head.

This became a habit. I’m too afraid to tell Gaby, but I gave up trying to find my memories years ago. Instead, I fill my mind with new ones. Like clippings of fun moments with Gaby, Spencer opening up to me, that night Gaby held me for the first time, and this right here: Spencer staring at the portrait of an unknown girl that kept him going for such a long time.

He then looks at me; his face breaks into a warm smile. My gaze dropped instantly. I suddenly didn’t know what to do with myself. I wanted to disappear again. I have never been stared at like this, ever. Like I was a beautiful piece in an incomplete puzzle.

“I want to add your face to my wall.” He says quietly. His eyes were searching mine. Hazel to hazel.

“That is impossible.” I chuckled

“I know.” His eyes were filled with disappointment.

“Maybe I could be drawn instead.” I smiled. His eyes darted to mine, lighting up; igniting me. He had a little boy gaze. Like you were going to buy him candy and he was really happy about it. It sent warm shivers down my ghostly spine. Those impossible feelings were there again. The feelings a ghost was not supposed to have.

My palms felt wet.

My heart pounded.

My skin yearned his touch.

What is happening to me?

I’m showing the same symptoms as when I get special times with Gaby. Oh no!

I sat on his apartment roof, watching the twinkling lights from the overhead buildings. Gaby was not back yet, he said he would try and find his way back to that graveyard again.

My thoughts travel back to Spencer’s gallery. His half smile when he looked at me. And his serious face while he scribbled on a piece of paper. He was trying to draw me; trying to capture my image.

“How about this?” he shows me a stick figure of a woman. And I laugh, and he laughs. And he stops laughing for a few moments to stare at me. Then dives down into the paper to scribble again.

His drawings were lovely, but he says it was not quite me. He couldn’t capture my essence. That of which a photograph could easily do. He was a skilled artist, but his own talent did not impress him. Not until he could draw me perfectly. Not until whoever views that drawing would feel the happiness in my smile, would see light in my eyes. Not until he caught me. That whoever would view that would feel the same way he does about the photo of the unknown girl on the bus. He wanted to inspire others, the same way I inspired him.

A hot blush rises to my cheeks. My chest started pounding as the image of him staring at me flashed in my head.

Oh no. No no no no no no no no no no.

This could not be happening to me again. Not this time. Not so soon!

The memory haunts me again.

I have been rejected before. I will not be rejected again. I refuse to fall in love. I will not fall in love!

“No!” I groan, “Not again!” I covered my head with my arms, resting it on my bent knees.

“Is something wrong Raquelle?” Gaby was standing in the corner, his blue eyes full of concern. Well, shit.

“Um, I…” I panicked searching my head for another excuse, “I kept having this strong urge to fart. But I can’t.”

Gaby furrows his brow. Unsure of what to say.

Oh no. Does he buy it?

“It happened before. It hurt my stomach badly. A-and…” I was stuttering, “t-that’s why I was saying ‘not again’.” I try to laugh it off until I realize how much worse my excuse made it. I completely concealed what I felt, but it created a more embarrassing scenario. Now I think I would rather have him think I was falling in love!

Gaby looked disturbed. His face couldn’t be placed.

“I hope you will feel better soon.” He said, uncomfortably flying off.