Five Directions

Chapter 1: Happy Incident

Six Years Later

Zayn:

The chill of the November air seemed to creep under my skin and slowly benumb every one of my bones. I always hated the winter time in London. My home back in Bradford wasn't any better, but it was always easier to stay warm in a heated home with multiple blankets than it was in a chilly flat where I could hardly afford such luxuries.

The studio that I worked in was just as chilly...and much to my dismay, not private. If I had the money I would have left months ago. I paid for my eleven feet by eleven feet space. It was hardly enough room for me to work on my sculptures and sketches, but I hoped that one day I could upgrade.

The people here were nice enough. Tyler Fletcher, who I considered my best and only friend, worked right next to me. He was a painter who was fluent in sarcasm, came in hungover every monday morning, and usually always had a pack of vanilla flavored cigars in his back pocket. He drank diet pepsi fairly often, wore a beanie every day even if it wasn't cold, and he rolled around the studio on his skateboard when he lacked the inspiration for a painting.

The rest of the artists sharing the cramped quarters with us were different. They were about the same age as Tyler and I, but they were fresh out of art school and going somewhere. Ty and I didn't have urgent appointments or companies to impress. No, we were just there. We weren't happy but we most certainly didn't do anything to change our circumstances. The others came and eventually went within a few months.

To make money, Ty sold his paintings online and on the streets. I worked at a coffee shop just two blocks from the studio and my apartment. Unless someone showed an interest in my work, which was very rare, I usually didn't sell anything. I got by, but barely. I still had a few student loans to pay off.

I had about four hours in the studio before I had to head out to my real job. I usually always wandered back here after dark and worked some more, but for now I was on a bit of a tight schedule. My mother had decided that I needed a little TLC when she saw how skinny I had gotten, so she decided she would come for a visit in the next few days. My pack-a-day habits did not help, but I wasn't about to admit to my mother that I could only afford two meals per day. She would have hit me over the head with the only frying pan I owned.

As I rubbed my hands together in a pitiful attempt to keep them warm, I stared at the lifeless chunk of clay before my eyes. The clay had hardened overnight and would be a pain in the ass to knead.

"Any ideas?" I muttered, rolling up my sleeves.

"What's your mood?" Ty asked, looking up from his skateboard. He was attempting to flip, but nearly landed on his back. I shook my head and laughed.

"I'm feeling content...for once, I guess," I shrugged, tossing the clay up in the air. "But almost spirited and cheerful, like something good and exciting has happened...despite the fact that nothing has. Does that make any sense?"

"Well, I'm feeling inspired by this weather," Ty pointed out. "It's been absolutely frigid these days and I think you should sculpt a fireball. But don't make it wimpy. Make it larger than life."

I tossed the idea around in my head before responding. "And where do you propose I make it?"

"You can move your desk out here in the breezeway since nobody comes to this corner except you and I," Ty suggested, taking a swig of pepsi. "And take that rubbish home, for Pete's sake."

My sculpture collection had grown tremendously in the past year. A massive green sculpture of Gromit the dog, a bust of Simon Cowell (don't ask why I made that, I am positive that I was drunk at the time), a load of little figurines, multiple abstract sculptures, and a bird statue were somehow crammed into my space.

"Guess I'm going to need more clay," I smiled. "And your help moving these back to my flat."

The two minute walk from the studio to my apartment seemed to take forever when we moved Gromit. I was so worried that something would fall from the sky and shatter it. Call me paranoid, but that was my favorite work of art that I had created so far.

We rolled him into the elevator and upon reaching the fourteenth floor, I sighed with relief when I knew Gromit was secure. On the second trip back with the remainder of the sculptures, a happy incident occured. A woman who looked in her early fifties and dressed similar to that of a milionaire, demanded to know where I had bought my abstract sculptures.

"Er- I made them," I remarked, slightly happy that someone had taken notice.

"Oh my God, I must have some just like them!" she clapped her hands in excitement. "How much?"

"How much?"

"Yes, name your price!" she flashed a blindingly white smile and proceeded to pull out her checkbook and pen.

"They're not for- OW!" I was interrupted by a sharp jab from Ty. He gave me the look before turning to the lady and saying, "The question is, how much are you willing to pay for them?"

"Five thousand for each of them?" she pondered. "Does that seem a bit low?"

There were four of them.

I did the math in my head.

Twenty thousand pounds.

"Where do you want them shipped?" I grinned, speaking up since Ty's mouth was too preoccupied with dangling open to respond.

"Oh, perfect!" she exclaimed. "My car is just this way!"

"That seriously...that, that...did that just happen?" Ty asked about an hour later while we walked to the bank. The check for twenty thousand pounds was about to be cashed. I felt so vulnerable walking around with it and I couldn't believe my luck. It had been so long since I'd actually had money. "I've been selling on the streets for two and a half bloody years and the first time you walk outside with one of your masterpieces, you get more for the lot than I've made in the year. Jealous."

When the cash had been put away in my savings account, I handed Ty twenty-five pounds. "Cheers mate. Thanks for the inspiration."

"You know when you become famous, I want a good word!" He yelled after me when I had begun to walk back to the studio. He pocketed the money and no doubt he was on the way to the nearest pub.

My mind, too busy thinking about my recent fortunes, could not stay focused on the fireball. I put the art supplies away before walking down to the coffee shop. It was almost as if the entire day passed by in an apathetic stupor after my encounter with my first customer. I didn't know what to feel.

I took orders, made coffees, and wiped tables for the next seven hours before I began to clean up for closing. I must admit, it wasn't the funnest day at work, but my mind seemed to wander back to earlier that day and thus kept my thoughts fairly preoccupied.

She has to be an angel.

I scoured the dirty and scuffed up floor with a hard-bristled brush and hot soapy water.

Why would God do this to me?

The stupid black marks all over the checkered floor refused to come up and my hands were raw from the gruesome task.

What was I supposed to do with the money?

"You can go now," sighed my boss Lily, interrupting my thoughts. "I'm rather tired of watching you scrub floors. Go home and you can finish tomorrow morning."

I dropped the brush, grabbed my rucksack, and jogged home. My mother would probably not arrive until morning which meant I desperately needed to clean. If I didn't, I had a feeling that she would call the health department on me.

At the end of a two hour cleaning session, the flat was squeaky clean, my laundry washed and put away, and my dinner was non-existent. It didn't take me long to decide on going out. I hadn't dined out in nearly two years and tonight would be the perfect treat for the end of a long (but slightly bearable) day.

Afterall, I had money to blow.