My Kind of Woman

19. The Most Normal Things

I started to mix my paints for her skin tone, settling myself into a comfier position on the kitchen stool. The backs of my thighs were aching against the wooden structure, and my ass was stiff. With the black paint I had out ready, I started with thickening outlines that needed definition - I did her robe, her eyelashes and brows, her hair. Watching her come together on the paper made my heart throb. It was her, on those nights where she waited for me.

After a few hours, I heard the tweeting and chatter of morning birds. I leaned over the sink and pushed the blinds up, seeing the sun wobbling on the horizon. My eyelids were heavy, my wrist ached, but the picture was done. Every edge and corner was smooth, there were no mistakes or odd splodges of paint. I'd worked hard for hours on end, just for half of an A4 paper of an image. In the bottom corner I scrawled,

"You, to me."

I then folded the image, set an alarm for three in the afternoon and trudged back upstairs to sleep the day away. Before sleeping, I'd slipped it inside a simple Christmas card I'd bought for her, leaving it in the pile of other gifts I had to deliver.

It was Jackie calling me that woke me, instead of the alarm I'd set. I scrambled up in bed, fumbling about for my phone. It had slipped while vibrating under a pile of laundry, forcing me to fully leave my bed to answer it.

"Yes? Jackie, hello," I said, wiping the sleep out of my eyes.

She laughed. "I'm at the end of your path. It's cold."

I went to the window and shifted the curtain to look out across my front yard. Down the dirt path that connected my property to the road, Jackie stood, wrapped in a tartan scarf, parka and snow boots. It had snowed further from the night before, and then it had risen halfway up the yard gate. The sun was already setting; it was almost dark.

"Christ, what time is it?" I asked.

"It's five to five, come on."

For the next ten minutes, I hurried around my room, hopping into clothes, gathering all the presents together and tossing them into my bag. My dad had already left for his shift, and had left me to lock up the house before I left.

Jackie greeted me with arms outstretched and a little box in her hands, smiling toothily.

"Gifts already?" I smiled.

"Of course, I've been dying to get it off my hands," she said.

I was reminded of how eager Jackie got with presents. She just couldn't hold onto them. I thought of my birthday and the book I kept hidden under my bed. Both of us were so easy to please, I think that was how we were such good friends. I was sure that if I had met Jackie earlier in my life, we would've been just as strong. Sometimes it felt as if we'd known each other longer, but really it had only been a year or so.

"Am I supposed to open it now?" I asked.

"Of course," Jackie said, grinning, "go ahead."

As we started walking out onto the road, I struggled with the heavily sellotaped wrapping paper, digging my nails under the plastic. Jackie was looking smug, gloveless hands pushed deep into her parka pockets. Under the paper were two CDs with hand-drawn covers, depicting Jackie and I lay on the bed listening to music. I flipped the first over and smiled at the tracklists. They were the songs we really rinsed whilst we were together, but ones that held a lot of memorable sentiment.

"Jacks, this is lovely." I looked up from the CDs to her face.

She was smiling with red cheeks like a little cherub, hands still in her pockets. "Yeah, I know, I know. I have genius ideas - do I get to open mine now?"