Jaywalking with Strangers

Chapter Five

"Friendship is so weird.. you just pick a human you've met and you're like 'yep I like this one' and you just do stuff with them." 

Unknown

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Jay beat me at mini-golf and I've honestly never laughed so much in my life. I had definitely overestimated my advantage of having both arms because on a par 4 course I think I set a record of 34 attempts to get the little white ball in the hole. I blamed Jay entirely for my bad golfing skills, he cracked me up over and over again. My shoulders quaked with laughter as he danced to Beyonce's 'Single Ladies' that blared through the speakers, mimicking the music video dance moves to perfection.

Somehow Jay managed to smoothly putt the ball into the designated area every time, with such tempered control it was rather impressive. In between all the laughing and jokes, we also talked about our lives. Not just the idle chat of strangers, but about deeper issues. By the time we reached the sixth hole in the fourteen hole course, Jay already knew more about me than Zoe did, and I'd roomed with her for an entire year.

"So why aren't you studying art instead of finance and accounting?" Jay asks as he looked at me quizzically. I'm struggling to get the golf ball across a particularly difficult course as he thumbs through my sketch pad, stopping every few pages to admire my work. I feel vulnerable and raw, my art is so important to me, and suddenly it's really important to me that he likes my work too.

"Because art doesn't pay the bills." My answer is matter-of-fact. It's true though, I knew my teachers and mother had pushed me in the more academic direction, and although I sometimes resented that fact deep down I knew finance was the more sensible career choice. 'You can still do art as a hobby on the side darling' I remember my mother's words as clear as day.

'Claire, you're extremely talented, there's no doubt about that. But you're also a great student with high grades. You can study something a little more reliable, no need to be a starving artist when you're so good with numbers' My teacher's advice echoes in my ear, still bitter to the taste.

"Your art would pay the bills. It's magical, I feel like I could say hello to this lady and she would smile right back at me, it's that lifelike, you've captured her energy perfectly." He holds up a portrait I drew in charcoal that I'm particularly proud of. "I'm serious, Claire why waste talent like this? If this is what you love doing then why aren't you painting and drawing every single day?"

"Because of her. Because one day I want to be able to look after her." I nod towards the drawing he's still holding up. It's the portrait I drew of my mum, her eyes are smiling, but there's a lingering sadness behind them. She's beautiful, but the fine lines around her eyes and mouth reflect some of the stress she carries inside.

"Is this your mother?" Jay looks from the drawing back to me and back again at the drawing, and I assume he's noticing now the similarities between my face and the one looking back at him from the sketch pad.

"Yes, she's sacrificed a lot to get me where I am today. Being a single mother was tough, and I never knew my father. Growing up Mum worked double shifts at IGA to afford my school clothes, and she's never had a proper holiday since I was born. One day I want to be able to look after her, to make her proud." As I say the words I feel the familiar pang of missing home. My mother lives three hours away in a smaller town away from the bustle of city life. We talk often on the phone, but I don't get the chance to go home to see her as often as I would like.

Jay looks reflectively at me, a mixture of admiration and understanding on his face. "You seem very close to her. I'm sure she's very proud of the person you've become, and she would want you to be happy."

"Well, I'm not sure how proud she would be right now, as she did warn me about stranger danger when I moved to the city." I laugh out loud as I wink at Jay, changing the subject away from my art. I already feel a little lost, like I've picked the wrong path. Jay's questioning has brought all those feelings washing back. My mother is the most encouraging and supportive person I know, and she would one hundred percent support my decision if I had chosen to follow art as a career. But I knew also that she had planned on studying at university before falling pregnant with me. She was so excited when I got accepted, living vicariously through me, and I never wanted to let her down.

I finally finish the hole, many many strokes away from the par, and we continue on. The conversation flows smoothly again, as Jay tells me about growing up in London. I listen, enthralled as he tells me about moving to America in his early teens. He doesn't mention the accident, he brushes over that time in his life and I don't ask. Instead tells me how he's been exploring the globe for the past few years. He recounts amazing experiences skydiving, swimming with sharks, exploring ruins and climbing mountains. Stories of cities and countries I've dreamt about, but never visited, enchant me.

Before I realise it we've completed the entire course and Jay walks over to the desk to return the clubs. I feel sad that it's over so quickly as I glance around half wishing we could start over again. I look at my phone, checking out the time as I see Zoe has text back, her message filled with good luck wishes and many exclamation points. She asks if he's cute and I suddenly register that in the middle of all our conversations that I've forgotten Jay is missing an arm. Somewhere along the way in my perception, he stopped being the boy with the missing arm and has become someone real and genuine, not defined or confined by a disability that would have completely crippled most people. Instead, he's chosen to turn life into one great adventure.

I think about all this as I watch Jay chat to the young guy who was manning the front desk. When we walked in the teenager was texting away on his phone, obviously bored. He had handed us the golf clubs barely looking up from his iPhone. But now, Jay has him talking and laughing about some joke, his infectiousness rubbing off on the teen. I'm in awe at his ease with communicating with people, the way he gets to the core of what the other individual cares about, and he seems to actually be genuinely interested in whoever he's talking to.

Jay looks over at me and gives me a quick thumbs up, I walk over to the desk as Jay says goodnight to his newly acquired friend and wishes him luck with the girl he's texting. It makes me smile, and I suddenly realise I don't want this magical night to end. This time I am the one holding out my hand, inviting him to follow me. "Haunted house tour next?" I ask as he puts his hand in mine.