Worth Living For

Chapter 14

~Frank’s P.O.V.~

Ever since I was thirteen years old, I knew that I was an artist. Of course, I didn’t have any talent at the time, but I knew that making art was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life, who I wanted to be. I wanted to be an artist from then on. Thirteen obviously sounds like a very young age to decide who you want to be. I hadn’t even graduated junior high yet, and I already had the rest of my life planned out. It was odd, and I knew it, but I was somewhat proud of myself.

I remember picking up a paintbrush for the first time. Of course, everyone had painted in art class when they were little kids, so it hadn’t been my first time painting. But it had been the first time I had painted without anyone telling me to, and that one action changed my whole life. I had gotten a strange urge to paint; so I found everything that I could; and I sat down and painted. I got a feeling that I couldn’t name, and I still can’t name to this day. And that feeling told me that I wanted to make art for the rest of my life.

I started to do other forms of art; like playing instruments, singing, sketching, writing, photography. You name it, I did it. I found that I could do anything that involved making some kind of art, and I loved doing every single one of those things.

I was very mature for my age, because of my outlook on life. And the way I looked at life was influenced by my passion for art. I had tried to explain to my parents, family members, best friends, art teachers; anyone, about how making art made me feel. But no one would listen. They all looked at me as an immature teenager that had no idea about life or art, and nothing that I said or did could change their minds. So, I hid the creative side of me away, for no one to see. I started hanging out with some new friends.

These people were known as the losers, the partiers. They failed all of their classes in school, and everyone believed they would never get out of high school unless they dropped out. I had hated these people, especially when I discovered the artist side of me. But, I started to hang out with them, mostly to cover up who I really was. I started drinking, going to all the parties, hooking up with random girls, smoking, breaking the law, sneaking out. It was all new to me, and I didn’t like it, but I did it anyway. Before I knew it, I was known as one of those losers.

I still did my art every chance that I got. Every time that I was behind the closed door of my room, I would do whatever I felt inspired to do. My art never left my room, though; until the end of high school.

Though I had been given the label of ‘loser’ for the first three years of high school, I had managed to still do my best in school. I had never failed a class; and though my friends made fun of me for it, I made it to senior year. As the first few weeks of school flew by, my parents started to throw the big question at me; ‘So what college are you applying for?’ I had replied with answers that told them I didn’t want to go; but I really did. I had been looking at colleges for the last year, and had already applied to a few. I didn’t want to tell them that, though, until I had graduated. I didn’t want anyone knowing that I wanted to go to an art school until I was out of high school and my friends would never have to find out where I disappeared to.

I got a letter from the college I had applied to first, the college that had been at the top of my list. It was also the college of my not-so-possible dreams, though; because I doubted my parents would let me go. I pleaded for weeks upon weeks, and finally, my mom convinced my dad to let me go, and I was off to New York.

I had achieved my goal of going to college in New York, and right after graduation, got offered a job that I hadn’t even been in my wildest dreams. And before I knew it; I was the most well-known art interviewer in New York. Of course, you don’t hear about art interviews very often, but it was still big for me. I had never even dreamt that I would be this successful.

So, all of the plans that I had made for my life when I was thirteen had gone well, plus some things that were even better than my plans. But Gerard...well, he I hadn’t planned on meeting.

I had never planned on falling in love with an artist that I interviewed. I had never planned on falling in love in general, to be honest. I had never dreamed of having a big house with a beautiful wife and children. I always saw myself living alone in a small apartment, dying quietly alone in my bed one night. I didn’t even mind if that was what happened, surprisingly. As long as I was happy making my art. But, I did fall in love with an artist. And he was a man.

Now, I had known that art would be my life since I was thirteen. I never knew exactly what form of art was meant for me to do, though, and that’s what I’ve been waiting for. I’ve been waiting to get a sign, to find out that a certain kind of art is what I’m meant to be making for the rest of my life. I still wait for it to happen, and I’m twenty-six years old. I’ve been waiting for thirteen years. I guess it must be good, if I’m being forced to wait this long.

~

Gerard and I had been arguing a few minutes ago. I believed strongly that he was upset with me, that he wanted to leave and never see me again because of what he had learned about my past. I was highly  convinced that he saw me differently now, and that he didn’t want to be friends anymore. I had told myself, since I realized that I had feelings for him, that he would never like me back. That he would never want to be with me, because I was just not the right one for him. He didn’t like me, and we weren’t meant to be with each other. I always told myself that, and I had started to believe it.

He argued with me, saying that he wasn’t angry and that he didn’t want to leave. It took me awhile, but my mind decided to finally give in and just believe what he was saying. I still argued, though, because my mind and my mouth just never seemed to agree. And that’s when it happened.

I felt lips press against mine and, for the first time, it wasn’t some drunken, slutty girl at a party. It took me a second to realize it, but those were Gerard’s lips.

Kissing Gerard felt like art. Our lips perfectly molded together like clay. His hand fit perfectly at the back of my neck. Our bodies stayed a few inches apart, but I knew that once they connected, they would fit together like a puzzle. The second his lips touched mine, I got the same exact feeling I got when I made art. As I kissed Gerard, I was making art.

Chills ran up my spine, and then through every inch of my body. Finally, my mind and body were understanding each other and, in the same moment, they both realized the same thing. This was the form of art I was always meant to make.

Gerard was the art I had been waiting for.