There were days where I just couldn't stand to stay in the house, even if I left and did absolutely nothing all day, it was better than sitting at home. Especially in my neighborhood.
I could spend hours in the cafe, drinking coffee after coffee. With a good playlist and sketchbook, hours seemed to go by like minutes. I landed a spot on the booth right beside the window in the corner. Settling with my earphones in, coffee sweetened, my pens and fresh paper on the table, I got straight to doodling, and from there, passer byers, noises and everything under the sun was completely shut out from my bubble.
Even after my shuffled playlist had lapped for the third time, I still had an itch I needed to scratch with every new sketch I started. I looked up only for inspiration, seeing someone enveloped in conversation, nose in book, or laptop, a plant or even someone outside smoking. I jotted quickly and messily, trying to catch and finish before they moved, returning and refining later. There were countless beginnings of doodles, unfinished because my model decided to move. As an artist, when sketching in public, even when whoever you're drawing doesn't know that their being drawn, them moving is criminal. Like you couldn't just hold for one more second!
Eventually, having drawn everyone and everything inside and out, I resorted to just drawing from memory. Circles and lines making up horses and cats, running, rolling, standing, jumping, until the pages were covered corner to corner with red, black and blue ink. By the time I'd flipped the page to begin again, my playlist started over a fourth time.
I had been so in the zone while drawing, I hadn't noticed the entire cafe had mostly emptied, leaving me alone in the corner. Even the staff was different by this time.
I sat now arched over the table and book, having picked my favorite model horse and began redrawing it anew, focusing on only the head, shading and refining the lines till it looked like it was jumping out at me. Being so pleased with how it was coming along, I didn't even realize the shadow that had come over me, until a steaming mug was placed on the table by a large hand. My heart sunk and I flew back, hitting the wall and ripping my earphones out, scrambling to grab my books and belongings. My gaze flew upwards, confused by who it could be just deciding to steal my table. My heart fully stopped when I met a pair of dark eyes that immediately sent me spiraling.
"Don't tell me you're heading off now," his low raspy voice cooed, a smiling tugging at one side of his mouth.
I gawked upwards, breathing heavily. He laughed. My hand fell on my chest and I sighed.
"Lincoln, you startled me," I breathed.
"I swear I wasn't trying to." He pulled out the chair and looked down at me, directly in my eyes. "This seat taken?"
I shook my head, hand on heart, trying to calm myself.
"Sorry love, didn't realize how in the zone you were," he pleaded guiltily. He sat across, pulling his chair up. "What were you working on?"
"Oh," I said, finding my sketchbook in my lap. I looked down at it, horse portrait side down, deciding what to say. "Just doodling."
"Could I peak?"
I blushed. It had been years since I'd shown anyone my art. I used to doodle in class back in grade school, but whenever someone passed me I'd hide it, not wanting to reveal the works to my classmates.
"Um, sure," I finally mumbled, fiddling with the page before picking it back up and sliding it across the table. "It's not done, but..."
Without touching he leaned over looking down at the page, tilting his head. He looked up at me, stunned. "You just drew this?"
I nodded.
"This is savage," he exclaimed softly, looking back down. He picked up the book, holding it carefully. It kind of reminded of the way he treated me. I blushed. He scanned over it, eyes flitting from side to side. "Can I see the rest?"
