Jaded

Twelve

TWELVE

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I laid down the paintbrush, starting at the picture before me. I felt a real smile spread across my lips as I took it all in. It was perfect—exactly how I imagined it. I rinsed my brush in water as my eyes continued running over the brightly colored chaos. When I had started this painting out it was meant to be beautiful in its simplicity but somewhere along the way it had transformed into something entirely different. It was erratic and all over the place, but at the same time it managed to be balanced. The birds still existed, drawing the viewer’s eyes immediately but then you were pulled a million different directions at me.

But yet at the same time I was dissatisfied, or maybe unconfident would be a better word. I may labor over a particular piece for weeks to the point of utter perfection but then in the end I will still doubt myself. Maybe it was the curse of an artist to always hate their pieces in the end. At least I always felt that way. No artist was ever happy with something they had done, where that be art or music. I stood up, moving towards the sink. I ran my hands under the water, rinsing the paint off. It was then that I heard the ding of the door opening.

“Is all good?” called Parker.

“I’d say it is. I just finished.”

I finished washing the paint off, shutting the water off as I did. I quickly dried my hands as I heard the clatter of something and then Parker emerge from around the corner. His hair was even messier today than it had been the last time I saw him. Today he was clad in his classic torn jeans and a red shirt. He looked better every time I saw him. He smiled at me, revealing a dimple. His smile was so disarming. “Look at that! It looks good,” he said with a wink. He ran a hand through his hand before he closed some of the distance between us.

As he closed in I became acutely aware of just how close he was. I could smell his cologne—like turpentine and something different, musky. It was intoxicating. I needed to snap out of it. I was acting ridiculous. He leaned down, peering into my face. “You look different,” he proclaimed suddenly. I bit my lip, nervous. I wondered if he could smell it on me? I smoked before I had come in today. “Did you change your hair? That must be it.”

“My hair is the same.”

“Oh, well something else then.”

He climbed up onto the counter, letting his legs dangle off the side. He clapped his hands together as if he had just thought of something. “I know! You did something with your makeup,” he insisted. He looked as if he had really figured it out this time. I sighed, feeling a smile form on my lips. I shook my head. “I give up. How about you help me with the kiln. Eleri wanted to get it unloaded and firing tonight. It’s a lot of work to undertake alone. I’ll even make it fun for you.” He widened his eyes, attempting to make himself look pleading.

“Fine, but it better be worth it.”

“You will not regret it,” he said.

He jumped down off the counter, crossing the floor to the back room. He gestured for me to follow him and I did. I wiped my hands on my shorts. I didn’t want the paint spreading on any of the pieces. I came up behind him, leaning against the counter. I watched as he opened the kiln, preparing to get the pieces out of the it. He began pulling the pieces off the shelves. He glanced over his shoulder at me that wicked smile of his flashing. “Want to play catch?” he asked.

My eyes widened and mouth fell open. He wouldn’t! “No, no, no!” I said hastily. I could see an accident waiting to happen and I wanted no part in it. I pushed away from the counter, trying to back my way out of the room. Either he didn’t listen or he didn’t care because the small pot he had in his hands went flying through the air towards me. I scrambled, throwing my hands out to catch it. I braced it against my chest then carefully sitting it in the cabinet. I turned a murderous look on him. “Are you insane? You could have broken that!”