Isn't That What Love Is? (Chapter Four)
Finally! Chapter Four!
Oh and the picture isn't them in the present day, it's more like the idea of them when they were teenagers. So think of them as teenagers when you look at the photo.
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As we pulled up in front of my building, I turned off the engine. We both stepped out of the car, the pavement now shiny from the rain. Cam took his blazer from the head rest before closing the door, shaking every drop of water out of it.
"So..." I walked around the car, finally standing in front of him. "This is my stop, I live up there." I pointed to the fifth floor, which didn't look appealing at all, but heck, the building altogether looked like shit too. I would have been embarrassed, but by this time, I felt comfortable around him. "Are you gonna grab a taxi from here?"
"Yeah, just gotta let this dry as much as possible before I leave." He said, still shaking it. "It's okay, you don't have to wait out for me."
I walked away a little, "You sure?"
"Mhm," he nodded, not looking away from his blazer.
"Okay..." I walked away, almost to the door when I stopped myself. He sees the good in people, Ava. He STILL sees the good in people. He won't judge, he won't judge, he won't judge! Just invite him up so he can wait there for his clothes to dry. He won't judge the fact that your place is bum central-
"OKAY!" I whispered low, trying to shut the voice in my head up. I turned around, fiddling with my keys.
"Hey, Cam?" I walked back to where he was standing. "Do you want to come up with me so you can wait for your clothes to dry? I have a blow dryer and even an iron, if it helps."
"Well..." He thought about it for a moment. "If it's okay with you. I really need to dry these."
"It's okay, you can come up. We'll blow dry it." I walked off as he followed me inside.
We walked up the stairs, silently praying inside my head that he would not look down on me the moment he saw how I lived. We got to the fifth floor, walking down the hallway before I inserted the key and pushed the door open.
"You'll have to excuse me," I hurriedly grabbed all the dirty dishes and dropped them in the sink. I took my overalls, which were hanging on my chair, and tossed it in the hamper. "Just make yourself at home."
He didn't say anything as he looked around, a hand on his hip as he rubbed his chin.
"It's not exactly luxurious or five-star quality or anything." I said, standing next to him and looking around. "But it's home."
"You know what?" He looked at me. "You never cease to impress me. You followed your dreams and you stuck to your plan. Yeah, you live in a studio but that's what aspiring artists do. Heck, I would've been living in a studio myself if I had followed my dreams."
"Yeah, well, it's not all that it's cracked up to be. I have to work non-stop to pay the bills."
He took his blazer and hung it on the back of my chair. "Still not taking money from your folks? I take it you still don't get along with them?"
I sighed and shrugged, walking over to the kitchen. "I'll never live to see the day that we do. Do you want anything to drink? I would offer you wine but I believe that Mr. McGreggor doesn't do boxed wine. I don't have Pinot Noir or anything-"
"Whatever you have is fine, trust me." Cam pulled up the chair and sat down. "Loraline is always having me try these different types of expensive, imported wine. My taste buds are going out of whack."
He continued to look around, his eyes falling over my latest painting, the one not hidden underneath the white sheet along with all my other pieces. I saw him, my eyes bugging out as his eyes squinted.
"Hey, is that a painting of a neck?"
"Uh," I practically ran to it, shuffling it inside the white sheet to hide it completely. "It's nothing... I was just holding it for a friend. She paints too."
I walked back to the kitchen, hoping he wouldn't pry. There was nothing worth showing him, none of my artwork, at least. I pulled out two wine glasses, pouring them half-way with three thieves bandit. I took them in my hands and walked over to the kitchen table, sitting opposite from Cam. He took his glass, taking a sip from it. I did the same, hoping his face wouldn't scrunch up, trying to hide the fact that it tasted cheap to him. I really didn't know him anymore, even if some things had not changed. But he kept on drinking, his face relaxed as he looked around the studio. He could've been just trying to be polite.
"You know," he said after a moment. "I wonder sometimes, what would it have been like... if I came back here years ago and went with you to art school? I wonder how I would have been living."
"I wonder too." I couldn't help but say, looking out of the window with him. Wondering always led me to disappointment as I would never know the answer.
"I think I would have loved it. No matter how broke I would become." He laughed, downing the last of his wine. "I mean, I even gave up on weed. But only because I couldn't get a hold of it. Plus, being a businessman who smokes weed is like, the most un-classy thing, right? I mean, come on." He shrugged, joking around as I laughed at this.
"Oh yeah, Mr. Millionaire. Wouldn't want to damage the reputation." I smiled, taking our empty glasses to the sink. "I, on the other hand, don't have a reputation to uphold. So the weed for me, stays."
I mean, it's not like I was married to weed. It just kept me company during times in which I was close to dying. Times where I had needed it the most, and believe me, in my lifetime, I had needed it for a good number of situations. Cam was the same way back in high school, but let's not forget that we were talking about a changed man here. Yes, I still had the connections to the guy who had been selling it to me ever since I was 15. I invite him over for tea sometimes, believe it or not. I stared at Cam now, who bore a deadpan, but horrified expression, as if he had just seen a ghost.
"What?" I could feel my face breaking out into a puzzled expression.
"You mean you..." He pointed at me with a rather trembling finger. "You have some with you? I haven't seen weed in years, I used to go crazy because I missed it!"
I laughed at this, watching a 27-year-old man whine about his deprivation of weed. "Okay, okay, calm down. Would you..."
His eyes lit up. I was loving this. "Like to smoke a bowl with me? Well, I lost my bowl, so I'm using my old bong."
"What, Lady Bug?" He asked. I had to contain myself from getting excited and jumping around the kitchen like an idiot.
"You remember her?!" My face lit up like a thousand candles.
"We took her everywhere, are you kidding?!" Now he seemed just as giddy as I was.
Lady Bug was my beloved, bubble glass bong with lean back that a friend had given me for my 15th birthday. You can go ahead and judge the fact that I started smoking young. But when you're young, you're stupid. Yes, I admit it. However, I don't engage myself in weed as much as I did during those days. Never in my life did I get so high that I had done something stupid out of it. I never abused the cannabis, I just saw it as a stress reliever. The first time Cam and I smoked behind the tree at school, we had christened the bong as 'Lady Bug' as the bubble on the bottom of the bong was painted into a fat, red lady bug. The stem, all the way to the mouth of the bong was colored yellow and green, the whole thing in rasta colors. I had kept the bong with me while certain possessions I had come and went over the years. My Lady Bug has been, and will always be a keeper. I only take her out when I really need her, though.
I looked at the closet next to my bedroom, where I hid Lady Bug and back at Cam. "Come on."
He got up and followed me, his composure telling me that he was either nervous or excited. I opened the door to the closet and stepped inside. Yanking the chain dangling from the ceiling, the tiny space filled up with light, exposing boxes and old untouched jackets and that never found their way into my bedroom closet. I shoved some shoes that I had outgrown into a dark corner and made some room for us to sit. He looked at me hesitantly. Even I could see that his suit was not made for crouching down in a cramped space.
"You could sit," I gestured to the empty space right next to me. "Tell Loraline you had to jump in front of a cab to save someone... I don't know... or a dog. Something like that."
"You noticed. This suit is like an armor, even my movements have to be dead-pan." With this, he loosened his tie and carefully crouched down beside me. It was like a bolt of energy surged through me as the fabric of his polo brushed against my arm. The weight of his space was intense against the narrow sliver of distance that separated us.
After setting up the bong, smoke filled the closet within minutes. As we took turns inhaling in the toxic fumes, I could feel the prick of sensing something familiar on my skin, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. We sat inside the closet and we were teenagers again. Better hair and 15 pounds lighter, but my old habits were still ingrained in me and this moment itself. A stronger frame and a whole foot taller, but here he was, still smitten with the fact that he had been reunited with cannabis. But it felt like any Wednesday, when he would disappear behind the tree, waiting for me to get out of English.
It was as if he would pick up on where he left off ten years ago, the decade that went by non-existent, and just start talking about his Dad again and how it was stressing him out that he constantly called about some problems at home. I guess it's safe to assume now that it was probably about his Mother, and that she was falling ill. He wouldn't elaborate too much about it then and I didn't dare to ask because I knew Cam was a person who dwelt in his thoughts alone. Mostly, he didn't like sharing them, and second, all he needed was someone there to keep him company and never leave him. That's what I did. And he loved it.
He didn't know that I knew that about him, he didn't know that I was beginning to learn every part of him, inside and out. I'd still stay, no questions asked, just there to share space with him until the falling part took its place. And when we did fall, nothing had changed, but the feelings were much more intense, more raw and real. Looking at him now, it felt as if he could easily reach out and put the loose strand of hair in front of my face back in its place. That was the thing about being alone with him, it was that it didn't matter which time and place, or how old we were. It naturally and almost effortlessly felt the same as it did behind that tree so many years ago. We would be us again, just two teenagers trying to find peace of mind in each other inside a fucked up world.
I giggled a little bit, watching him look so concentrated as he took a hit.
"What?" He looked up at me, his lips not leaving the bong.
"Nothing," I shook my head. "It's just... I can tell you haven't had this in a while."
"You know, for a while, I thought I had quit and given it up altogether." He passed it to me and I took it. "But now, I realize that it's because I've had too many distractions during the past few years to keep my mind away from it."
"Yeah me neither, I don't think the CEO's and other important people you work with would find it acceptable either." I shook my head saying this as a smile crept up his face.
"Thank God I keep my personal life private. I even put up an act during golf sessions and dinner parties with them." He rubbed the stubble on his chin and shrugged. "Hey, whatever gets the job done."
We kept quiet for a while, the effects of it all not sinking in yet. I looked up, letting the light from the bulb hanging from the ceiling burn a hole through my vision due to how surreal the moment was. I pulled my legs into me and hugged my knees. I looked down slowly at him as he took another hit, the smoke smoothly emerging from his pursued lips. He looked at me, his gaze intense and unwavering. After a few more seconds of silence, I spoke.
"You know..." I looked down and smiled as I observed him. "You've changed. I mean, duh, it's been 10 years. But, before... you were definitely just... you."
"Elaborate please," he sat up, suddenly amused.
"I don't know," I shrugged, slightly regretting what I had stirred up. "I mean, the person you were back then... I wouldn't have thought that he could turn out like you now. You were pretty strong-minded and you never let anyone mold you into anything you didn't like."
He was silent as he listened intently, only my voice cutting the smoke infested air.
"But, to me, it seems like... years of putting others before you kind of softened the edges that you used to have. Those edges were reckless, but nonetheless unique... and, and... lovable. So unique that when someone comes in contact with you, they can't seem to figure you out." I looked up at him, his eyes glassy, penetrating through me. "All my life... I thought it was easy figuring people out... and then you had come along and it was like you were this ridiculous maze, tangled up and very complex. But I didn't find myself trying to even figure you out... I kind of went with it, secretly loving that about you. I liked it. I liked that you were complex."
He looked down, almost sadly this time. And for a moment, just a quick moment, I saw a glint of regret in his eyes.
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By the time Cam had left, the sky was already pink, the sun dipping into the horizon. Loraline had called and asked where he was. Although our actions were innocent, I still couldn't help feeling guilty as I gave Cam the permission to lie and say that he got hung up at work. 'But this is the only time', I kept having to tell myself. It all ended with a short goodbye and no hidden meanings or arrangements to meet up again. That was it. That was that. And that's all it ever will be.
I sat on the couch that night, a little bit dazed. Words we exchanged were still ringing in my head. Somehow, the little details embedded themselves into my memory, the softness of his polo, the glinting of his eyes, and the scent of his frankincense blending in with the smell of cannabis. Sometime, through it all, I think I was sleeping. Asleep in a dream where we had one secret moment to catch up on our lives, but the circumstances limiting it to just that. Still, I would have slept forever, I did not want to wake up.
But I did, and now I had to get a grip. So I slowly got up from the couch, walking over to my boring neck painting, mindlessly hauling it on top of a canvas stand. I turned on the T.V. as I always did when painting, my studio always awfully quiet. I picked up my brush as I found it difficult to start a new layer, not knowing what to add to liven it up. I sighed and put down my brush, staring at the bland painting with every ounce of frustration I had. A proactive commercial went on, as it always did, and along with my frustration and the fact that I was fed up of these commercials, I grabbed the remote and started viciously flipping through the channels.
"I bust my ass and struggle just to pay for cable when I know it would be smart to focus on the necessities and I get nothing but proactive crap?" I muttered under my breath. I consecutively pressed the button on the remote, images of channels blurring before me. Suddenly, my thumb stopped moving, my eyes squinting at the screen for a while. I stayed on QVC, slowly sitting down on the couch to focus on some woman's neck as she showcased a silver chain around it, a plump ruby pendant dangling from it.
"Huh," I observed it, an idea piecing itself in my head. I got up suddenly from the couch and briskly walked into my bedroom. I stood in front of the dresser where my jewelry box sat and opened it, scanning through the mess of tangled chains and rings and earrings that bore no pair. I tried looking for a unique chain, one that would stand out against my painting.
"My lack of interest for body bling is taking a toll on me." I sighed and snapped the box shut, the contents inside just pure rubbish. I scanned the things on top of my dresser, my eyes falling upon the clutch I used for Loraline and Cam's engagement party. It was open, its contents spilling out of it. Suddenly, something red glinted from inside the slit, almost as if it was glowing. My eyebrows crinkled as I reached inside and grabbed the red bulge. Attached to it was a silver chain, I held it up in front of me, wondering that it was. It was beautiful, its simplicity giving it an elegant touch. The stone was alluring, its glow growing intense with each turn I made when holding it up against the light.
"Whaaat..." I stared at it some more. "In the world is this? I don't remember ever buying this."
I thought back to the night I last used the clutch. I pieced it all together, Loraline's engagement party ringing a bell inside my head. The weird atmosphere, the fortune-teller, the wacky dancers, and the entertaining bartender, it was all fuzzy in my memory. I got the necklace from the fortune-teller. There. That had to be it. Along with some random stuff she started saying about the necklace. I can't exactly remember, just something about wearing it and never taking it off. What a bunch of hocus pocus.
I quickly slipped it on and grabbed the Polaroid camera inside my cabinet. I walked back to where the painting stood, the T.V. now showing off some pearl earrings that the woman kept saying was fresh from the seas of Hawaii. I stood in front of the painting before raising the camera to my neck and taking a snapshot. I fanned the picture, an image of my pale and skinny neck popping up along with the necklace with the pendant burning a deep, vivid shade of red.
"This necklace is so cool." I chuckled and touched the pendant, for some reason giving me goosebumps all over my body. "Weird."
I placed the Polaroid on top of the stand so I could easily look at it while I worked on the painting.
A couple of hours later and a hand laying limp from the constant stroking, the painting was done. It was finally finished. I stepped back, admiring my work. The feeling of paint on my cheek cracked as my face broke out into a smile. It was no longer a blank neck, a meaningless painting of a pale body part lacking purpose. It was now something much more. It was alive.
"No way can Nadine think this is a piece of shit, it's too gorgeous." I happily lifted the canvas from the stand and leaned it against my wall to dry. I admired it some more before yawning and looking at the clock, which read 2am. I took one last look at the painting, the redness of the pendant gleaming against the light just as the original on my neck did whenever I saw it. I stretched out my arms, the feeling of tiredness dawning over my whole body.
"Please dry quickly for me!" I said cheerfully at the painting as I switched off the lights and retreated to the bathroom to wash up.
I slowed down a bit as I passed the closet, the faint smell of weed still slightly reeking from inside. I smiled there in the dark and laid a hand on the knob of the closet door for a few seconds, dwelling in thought. After a moment, I came to terms with reality, my hand slowly falling off the knob as I walked on to the bathroom and closed the door behind me. I would wash my face and brush my teeth to cleanse myself of the day's dirt and grime, but I knew, the memory of today would not be cleansed along with it. Dreadfully knowing it, I knew it was going to stay with me for a very long time.
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I woke up the next morning feeling unusual. I woke up on the left side of my bed. I never wake up on the left side. It's almost innate that I roll over the right side. I ignored this as I got up, the sun testing my eyes and making me trip over a pair of boots next to the foot of my bed. Other than that, everything else was pretty much the same as I hauled myself to work.
By the time I got back from a day filled with non-stop calls and little kids who thought that the museum was their personal playground, I was beat and it was already almost 2 in the morning due to the hold-up at the museum. Some idiot thought it was funny to set the fire alarm on during closing as the last of the people filed out of the museum. You'd think that a top-notch museum could avoid situations like this, but security is still as loose as ever and once in a while, some hooligan will do something destructive to the observers and the artwork. So you can imagine a huge crowd of people including employees standing outside the building for about two hours as firetrucks and police officers came.
There was no helping the situation. It was embarrassing, really. Mr. Franklin Giles, the owner, probably had to pay a large sum of money to fix the problem, which still would not have laid a dent in his wallet whatsoever. I thought this day started out unusual but then came back up to normal and with this, the day sank back low into unusualness. So it was no surprise that when I came up the building just now, the hookers that usually lurk around the street in front of my studio at this late hour were all fully clothed and uninterested in every car that attempted to slow down. But still, I took the day for what it was. It was rather amusing.
Usually when I'd come home, I'd kick off my shoes to a nice glass of wine and a chat with Nadine on the phone. I would have done this, only for some reason, I didn't feel like it. And rather than kicking off my shoes and relaxing on the couch, I sort of just trudged inside and managed to make it to the couch before limply falling onto it face first with a thud. I was conscious for a moment, realizing that what was happening to me wasn't tiredness at all. And then, before I knew it, my vision became blurry. After that, everything went black.
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