Kiss Me Slowly

Chapter 33: The Painting Numbers 2, 3, and 4

Chapter 33: The Painting Numbers 2, 3, and 4

Back home, Kenny left to his studio with my painting, leaving me alone. I did my homework, made a small dinner, ate, cleaned up, and showered, but he still didn't come in. I looked out the window to the yard. The light was on, but there was no movement. I sighed, made a small plate for Kenny, and walked to the studio.

"Hey, Kenny." The place was flooded with the smell of paint, so I propped the door open and walked toward Kenny. The usual maze was half cleaned up and scooted to the sides of the room.

He was a mess. He stood in front of three easels with a paint-covered hand on his jaw as he studied the canvases. His shirt had paint splatters and his hair had a trail of color.

"Um, I brought you dinner." I said, carefully approaching him.

"Stop." He pointed to my feet. I froze and looked down. There wasn't anything there.

"What?"

"Hold still." He picked up his brush and stroked the middle painting.

"Why?" I asked, still holding the plate.

"Because." He bit his lips on concentrated on his work in front of him for another five minutes. "There." He set the brush down and stepped back. I walked around to his side and stared at the paintings.

"What is with you painting me?" I asked. All three paintings had me in it. The first was of Denny and I, and the third was Kenny and I. Both first and third had me and the other man looking at each other lovingly. Denny's and Kenny's hand was around my waist and I was looking up at them, cupping their cheek and inches away from their lips.

The middle one was different. It was of me on the bed asleep. The angle was from the floor, and there was a white sheet covering my rear. A hand that belonged to someone unknown was draped over my waist. I looked peaceful.

"What is with you painting me?" He countered, gesturing to my painting of him.

"Touché." I said, studying his paintings again. "But what's up with these?"

He looked over them and sighed. "I don't know. These two—" He pointed to the end ones, "—they're just...I like the idea of us—both you and I, and you and Denny." He paused and turned to the middle one. "And this one...You're just much more peaceful sleeping. It's like all the bad things in your head disappear, and you look happy." He studied them again, and placed an arm around my shoulders. "I wish you looked like that all the time."

I wished I could look like that, too. I wished I could be peaceful, and happy, and not worry about anything. Not about what people think about me, not about people like Carter—and father—, not about my own thoughts and flaws.

I looked at the painting again. The sleeping man was a stranger. With the relaxed expression and posture, and the small smile on his lips, he looked content. He looked like nothing could disturb him—not his sleep, and not his life.

I wished I could be that man. Happy and seemingly carefree.

Kenny seemed to notice the way I was looking at it and breathed in deeply before asking, "What'd you make for dinner?" I looked at him, then at the plate in my hands.

"Um, it's just grilled cheese." I said.

"Just grilled cheese?" He gasped. He grabbed a half and ripped some off. "This is heavenly!" He moaned through his mouthful. I chuckled and shook my head. I sat on the ground and pulled on a string on my jeans.

The room filled with the sounds of Kenny's chewing, the crickets outside, and our breathing. I glanced around to the other paintings.

"Hey, whatcha thinking about?" He asked. I shrugged.