Addiction in August | Completed

Chapter 20: Art

Art

      The sunlight is bouncing off of the surface of the greenish blue lake from in between the trees where the sun itself is hiding. A cool breeze comes periodically, sweeping up warm air and replacing it with cold. It cycles over and over up into the trees, creating a lukewarm film that mingles amongst the many campers and crackling grill fires. There's light conversation that blends into birdsong like a hum, soft and soothing. At site 42, the tent is left unattended and the warm grill is steaming.

Max sits with his back against a tree trunk and his legs sprawled out over the grass. His jacket, lighter than the one he usually wears around the city, is navy blue and partially zipped. There's no beanie hiding his buzzed hair that is probably an inch long on his head, but there are sunglasses obscuring his blue eyes. A canvas is propped against his jean-clad legs with one stretched out in front of him and the other bent to hold up the canvas. He's looking back and forth between it and the lake in front of him, with pencils on the ground by his side and a paintbrush in his hand.

I look away from him to shade the skin under his eyes and do a double-take when I see his position has changed. Instead of looking forward, he's facing his phone at me and grinning behind its screen. I mimic his smile as I rotate the canvas in my hands to face him. The screen flickers multiple times that's reflected on the lens of his sunglasses before he lowers his phone.

"Can I change positions now?" He asks, his voice loud in the quiet forest.

Laughing, I gather my things and get to my feet. We'd been sitting like this for probably an hour or so, and I could've told him to move a long time ago but I didn't. It's amazing talking to Max and being with him, but painting him is a whole different experience that is way more relaxing than I initially thought it'd be. He's a surprisingly good muse.

"How's your painting looking?" I ask as I jog over, having stuffed my pencils and brushes and paint tubes into the pockets of my coat.

Max quickly sweeps things aside to make room for me on the grass beside him. He doesn't respond, but faces his canvas toward me when I sit. He's got the lake painted and the grass partially done, but the trees and background are still in pencil. The proportions are slightly off, but the colors he's used on the water are somehow stunningly realistic. My face does nothing to hide my surprise.

He laughs when he looks at me. He asks, "Is it that bad?"

"No! It's great. The lake," I motion toward it. "You did a good job here, honestly."

"You don't have to flatter me, I already like you."

I blush.

Max continues as though he didn't just say that, "Yours is amazing, though. I look like a model."

My blush fades and my eyes roll.

"Max, that's because you actually could be one," I tell him incredulously. "Why do you sound so surprised?"

"You think I could be a model?" He asks with a curious head tilt, although he's smirking deviously.

"I think I need to change the proportions on your head, because it just got bigger..."

I pretend to reach for a pencil in my pocket and he laughs.

"In all seriousness: you're not gonna sell that, are you?" He asks.

Coyly, I reply, "Maybe. Why?"

"My mom would love it."

My face lights up and I look down at the canvas on my lap. I exclaim, "That's a great idea!"