Summary: Jay encouraged and helped Talia on an art assignment that she was struggling with. In turn, as show of gratitude, Talia invited Jay for dinner.
I took a deep breath as I put down the hemp tote that I was carrying on the floor, entering the tree house. It had been a nice day. The weather was agreeable and I had the whole afternoon all to myself.
I pulled out all the items from the bag and set to work, trying my best to clear my head and focus on what I had to do. Mia was with Mom at the bakery and I was home alone. I did not want to be inside our house on my own. I remembered those words that I once read saying that an idle mind was a devil's workshop or something. Well, an empty house was the sort of the same. It was the devil's practice area, or its dummy test.
I kept thinking about Celia and the fact that she seemed to be not mad but a bit miffed at me after that Sam incident last weekend. She hardly said a word to me at breakfast.
I kept thinking about all these changes that were happening. First, Dad moved away. Even when my parents separated years ago, Dad was still around. He was still close by. Now, he was not that accessible. Sure, I could call him on the phone easily but I was more used to his physical presence. Hearing my dad's voice without seeing his face was something that I had to acclimate to. Even when we have video call, it still never was the same as before. Also, Mom was getting married in a few months. It made me wonder what would come next and if I could handle it. I was struggling as it is. I carried these thoughts and worries on my own, not sharing them to anyone. Not Celia. Not Avis. Not Jay. Not because of fear of being misunderstood or judged, but mainly because my dilemma may not be as serious and significant as other people's and the society's problems. Just the other day, Avis and I passed by a young girl with a baby on its arm begging for coins to spare. Others might be consoled when a glaring reminder of how lucky they were that they were not in such sordid state flaunted itself from out of the blue. As for me, nothing is comforting when you start comparing your life to the maladies of the world. Somehow, I felt worse and helpless.
Change was good. Essentially. I believed in that. But change took time and sometimes, change meant heartbreak and pain.
After about an hour or more, I made small progress. I was trying to finish a small painting, a self-portrait to be exact. I was using cosmetics as a material. I was not complaining because the other types of media assigned by our teacher were much less pliable. One of my classmates, Mimi, got juice from fruits. Imagine the mess of that one. Aptly, Avis got feathers and leaves. Valerie got tissue paper. Other medium included chocolate syrup, wood chips and shavings and even glue. I definitely lucked out when I drew the shortest matchstick and got makeup as my material.
I positioned a handheld mirror against the wall and studied my face. I gazed at my morena skin speckled with a few dark spots of recent hormonal acne on my chin. I took note of my nose, the shape of my lips, the width of my forehead and my thick and dark eyebrows. I refuse to pluck them. Celia referred to them as the virgin eyebrows. She was not mocking them, but she had been wanting to trim them for years. I did not mind that my eyebrows looked a bit bushy and unkempt. Next to the mirror was a medium-sized photograph of Mia and I that I initially wanted to use as a guide but somehow, the mirror was doing more wonders.
"Tell me you did not succumb to the persuasive nature of vanity that is slowly poisoning our generation."
I smiled. I turned around and there was Jay. There were two juice bottles in his right hand and a bag of popcorn on the other. "Tell me you did not yield to the trend of people taking pictures of their own reflection with their buffed tummies exposed."
"That's not happening," he said with a snort-laugh. "I can't stomach that. Actually, my stomach can't stomach that."
I smiled at his play of words. "How did you know that I'm here?" I looked at the two bottles that he was holding with interest. His mom always buys these fresh, naturally-sweetened mango juice from a friend of hers who owned a small green grocery.
He sat next to me. "I could hear your frustrated sighs from our house." His eyes were sparkling in jest. "I told my mom that it could either be you or a pregnant tree squirrel giving birth. I assumed it was you and I was right. Although, a litter of squirrel is okay too, I guess."
"It's for a school project," I answered as I added a thin layer of what I deemed to be as my eyebrow using an, ironically, an eyebrow pencil. I was almost done. I only have to draw the eyebrows and color the lips.
Jay's eyebrows rose slightly and he said, "You're using makeup?" He peered at my work without saying a word.
I nodded as he handed me my juice bottle.
"Cool." He put the bag of popcorn on my lap and I took a few kernels out. "How's it going?"
It was not easy. "It's a bit of a challenge. These kits are too thick and creamy so I added water to make them more viscous." I showed him the eye shadow and blush palette. In retrospect, I was glad that I added a few pots and tubes of face paint. They were much easier to work with.
He scrutinized my work and said, "It's good. What did you use for the face?"
I giggled and said, "The foundation, what else? What kind of question is that?"
He threw a few popcorn pieces at me. "You give a whole new meaning to art imitating life."
"I know." I said. "It was like being a real makeup artist, except that the face was not made of skin but of canvas." I stopped and said, "Tell me the truth, does it look like me or not?"
He looked at the painting and then at me. "Is that the goal? To have it look like you?"
I stared at my half-finished work with a frown. "I could have been more imaginative, I guess."
"Hey, stop. I am not questioning your art. Just asking about your intent. I'm sorry if I'm being too candid. Force of habit. That's how our teachers critique our work at school. You don't need to be always abstract and ambiguous, you know. Sometimes, being explicit is nice."
"You're saying I don't have to turn one side of my painted face into that of a rhinoceros, an elf or a combination of both?"
"You don't have to. But now, you absolutely awaken my curiosity."
I laughed out loud and picked up a sponge that I was using to blur out some edges. Jay was still hanging by my shoulder, squinting at my work.
"I see the resemblance. Would you let me add a few minor details?"
"Sure. Make sure to make me prettier though, okay?" I was kidding. I knew that I was nowhere near stunning or remarkable in the lens of the society and I was okay with that. When I say that I'm on the average level of the beauty standards scale, it's not an indication of self-loathing in any way. Rather, it'a a testimony of self-awareness and self-love. Celia once said that we all have unpretty parts. Parts that others don't like about us, parts that we don't like about ourselves. I always thought that when you embrace these parts, it makes you more human. But being human is not the the same as being liked. I positioned myself by the window. Even if nothing strenuous happened that day, I felt exhausted. The emotional rolllercoaster was taking its toll.
"You're already on the superlative form." He took a few pencils and a brush. "Don't move," he instructed.
Jay was a contemplative artist, only giving a few intense sideway glance and a quick look every now and then. On the other hand, his hands were fast, like lightning-fast. I could not keep up with what he was using. I was right in his view but I was not sure what he was doing. After a few minutes, he was finished.
I looked at the painting and saw that he did not change it much. The lips were still bare and there was still one undrawn eyebrow but he added some smudging and highlights on my cheeks, making them more vibrant. And the eyes, my eyes. It was like he painted a glow in them, making them alive. They looked almost unreal to the point of being scary because they popped right out of the canvas.
"Wow," I breathed. "How did you do that?"
He grinned and said, "It's just a little trick that I learned."
"From your art professors?"
"Nah. From June." June was a girl that Jay dated shortly at the end of high school senior year before he met Lauren. They never went beyond two dates because they did not have much in common other than the fact that they both have creative pursuits. June was a makeup maven who had a lifestyle and wellness YouTube channel.
"What did you use? A primer? An eye shadow? Spill."
"No, I used this. It's a tiny thing but it's a great tool for enhancement," he replied as he put in my hand a white-colored eye pencil.
"Thank you, by the way," I said as I looked at him. "I guess having an artist for a best friend has its perks too." I picked up a lip liner and began to outline the outer lips. Then I slowly filled it with a nude color. After, I diverted my attention to the other eyebrow, exerting great effort and patience to copy the other one as much as I could.
"What subject is this for anyway?" Jay was done eating and hovering and was untangling a long string of golden-yellow fairy lights. I wanted to put the lights by the tree house' window but I failed to realize that there was no outlet in the tree house and it slipped my mind to buy batteries for it so it stayed unused and forgotten by the floor, along with all the junk that Jay and I brought and accumulated over the years, like that deck of cards the size of a spiral notebook that someone gave me for Monito Monita in high school, my framed button collection and that dog sculpture that Jay made out of scrapped copper wire and recycled metal.
"Art Appreciation," I answered.
After a while, I was satisfied with my work. Jay came by my side and examined the painting. "Nicely done," he said.
I gave him a smile. "Can I interest you with a cup of celebratory salted caramel ice cream?"
His dimple deepened as he smiled and said, "Hell, yes."
Mom and Mia arrived soon after. With Mom's permission, I invited Jay to stay for dinner and he accepted without hesitation. Celia came home from school just as we were about to sit down and eat.
We had tomato and salted egg salad, grilled chicken with buttered tiny potatoes and for dessert, a batch of freshly-baked calamansi squares that Mom brought home from her store. I stayed quiet, just listened in on the conversations around me. Celia shared a funny story. Mom asked Jay about his recent painting and art school. Mia proudly showed off the five golden stars that she received at school. When I came back to the table after getting the dessert from the kitchen, Jay reached for my hand under the table without looking at me and without saying a word and squeezed my hand gently while answering Celia's question about Darth Sidious and Darth Vader.
I gave him a small smile as I passed the calamansi bars to him and with that, he pulled his hand away and resumed his discussion with Celia.
After dinner, I walked with Jay outside. He was rubbing his tummy because he ate too much and I thought it was hilarious. Mia tagged along with us and we enjoyed the crisp, evening air. Rainy season was here and tomorrow's weather forecast had been saying that there might be a typhoon coming in a day or two.
"Thank you," I told Jay, as I watched my sister skipped along the pavement, dancing to her own tune.
He was staring at the ground, turning a stone that he picked up. "No problem."
"I was kind of hoping that you'll cheer me up by doing that dance that you did before. Remember?"
Jay's face was serious in the light of the nearby street lamp. But there was a smile on the corner of his face. "I don't know what you're talking about. What dance?"
My eyebrows rose and wiggled, provoking him but not getting any further reaction.
After a while, I told Jay that it was getting late and it was time for Mia's bedtime. We did not say much, only grateful for the kind of friendship that we have. I know I am. Before we went on our separate ways, Jay loudly called by name and when I turned to his direction, he did the dance as he walked to the front door— started with a hip-hop move using his arms and legs then he transitioned to a shimmy with exaggerated gestures, and then he jutted his butt out and twerked provocatively and finished off with an energetic dance popularized by a boy band in the 90s.
I was laughing hard when Mia asked, "What is Jedi Jay doing?" She was confused yet fascinated.
Jay, by no means, was skilled or particularly good at dancing. But he made up for his lack of fluidity by being spirited. Then he bowed at us, sent air kisses and waved goodbye. We clapped at his spontaneous performance and I could hear him laughing.
I ushered Mia inside and closed the door behind us.
Image Source: My Modern Met
"Self-Portrait with Bandaged Ear" by Vincent van Gogh