Worth Living For

Chapter 3

I spent the rest of the day at work trying to find something out about the artist. I tried to find out about himself, his life, his art, anything, as I searched on the internet. But there was absolutely nothing.

I realized that it was after four o’clock, and decided to just give up, because I knew that I wasn’t going to find anything out online. I figured I would call the number again in the morning and try to persuade whoever it was that had answered to let me talk to Gerard, and then try to persuade him to come to an interview. I needed to know who this guy was, and why I had written his name down. I couldn’t just move on to another artist on the list and continue wondering.

I shut down the computer an hour later and left the office, saying goodbye to anyone that noticed I was leaving for the day. I made my way outside and started walking down the sidewalk towards home. I really should have brought my jacket, I thought, wrapping my arms around my body. I’m going to get fucking pneumonia.

I pressed my back against the front door of my apartment, sighing when I felt the warm air of the heater like I hoped I would. I pressed the button on the home phone that sat on the table and threw my keys beside it.

“What does mom have to brag about today?” I asked the answering machine as I unbuttoned my shirt.

The machine replied with, “You have no new voice messages.” and I sighed, clicked the ‘end’ button and headed towards the kitchen.

“A nice, warm cup of coffee should warm ya up.” I said to myself in a cheery voice, and pressed the ‘start’ button on the coffee maker. I unbuckled my belt and threw it onto my bedroom floor along with my shirt, then headed back to the kitchen.

“I guess I should eat something today.” I said as I opened the door to the refrigerator. “Why do I always talk to myself?” I laughed.

“I don’t know Frank, why do you?” I said in a high pitched voice.

“Because I’m CRAZY!” I said loudly. I shook my head as my eyes scanned the contents of the fridge. “And of course, there’s nothing to eat. Well, I guess we’ll just have to go out to eat!” I shut the door of the fridge and walked to my bedroom.

It was very rare if I ever went grocery shopping, and when I did, my kitchen had to be totally empty of food. Either that, or I ran out of stuff to make coffee, and I just picked up a few other things while I was at the store. I never had anyone come over and have dinner at my house with me, so I never made any big meals. If I ate at home, it would always be something simple, like mac and cheese or a sandwich. And if there was nothing at my house to eat, I would go for a walk down the street and eat at the first place that caught my eye.

Of course, when I went out to eat, I was eating alone there, too. I hadn’t went out with friends since high school, with my friends back in L.A. I didn’t talk to them anymore - I couldn’t even remember half of their names. I hadn’t made any friends in New York, and I didn’t think I needed to. If I had my art, my job to pay the bills, and a couple phone calls a week from my family, I was fine. I didn’t need someone to pass the time with. I was perfectly fine spending time by myself.

I hadn’t had a girlfriend since I’ve lived in New York, either. Sure, I had what you might call ‘girlfriends’ back in high school, but those were never real relationships, because they never lasted more than a week, and I never had real feelings for them. I didn’t feel like I needed a girlfriend right now, just like I felt like I didn’t need friends. Sure, it might be nice, but I didn’t go out looking for one. If it was meant to happen, it would happen, and I wouldn’t try to stop it. But if it didn’t happen, and I grew old without ever dating another person again, I wouldn’t be upset about it. It wouldn’t bother me. I didn’t need that ‘special someone’ to be happy. My art made me happy.