WE ARE ONE: Volume Two

by Jewel, Bella

  Fixated on the ash teetering on the end of her cigarette, I wondered when it was going to drop to the threadbare carpet. I also imagined the path of the smoke as it entered her lungs and stole an unknown fraction of her life expectancy. Did I care? When the ash dropped, it refocused my attention on her words, and I was unable to miss the end of today’s lecture.

  “You’re wasting your time with your silly drawings and ridiculous dreams of getting out of this shithole,” she said, sneering.

  Grabbing my bag, I bolted out the door and headed into town. I knew of only one place I wanted to be and one person I wanted to be with.

  Mereki was sitting on a swing chair on his family’s front verandah, scribbling in his notebook.

  “What are you writing?” I asked, standing at the bottom of the steps.

  His eyes snapped to mine, and a broad smile lit up his handsome face. “Emerson.” He said my name reverently, making my heart flutter around in my chest. This boy cared about me, and I believed he always would. “What are you doing here? I thought you had to study.”

  Shaking my head, I started walking backwards. “Come to the river with me?”

  My best friend in the whole world jumped up and trotted down the steps to me. “Like you have to ask.”

  When we arrived at our special place, we sat side by side on the riverbank. A few birds squawked angrily in the overhanging trees, but it was otherwise completely serene.

  Mereki nudged me. “Have I ever told you the story about Aberforth, the boy who turned into a fish to save his town?”

  Shaking my head, I let it fall on his shoulder. “Tell me everything there is to know.” Closing my eyes, I felt a deep sense of peace and gratitude for this boy who seemed to know exactly what I needed.

  “He was cursed by the river god, Riopelle.”

  “How do you come up with this stuff?” I ask, unable to resist interrupting his story.

  “I don’t come up with it,” he replied. “I simply listen to the river and it tells me stories. I write them down in my notebook to remember all the details.”

  “That is totally crazy, but I kinda love it.” I linked my arm through his. “Tell me the rest of the story please.”

  Before long, I feel the movement of the river. Its power pulses through me, guiding my hand until it completely consumes me. The driftwood bobs and dips in my current, grazing my submerged rocks. I watch its progress as both a spectator and participant, never wanting it to stop. The water feels cold and unforgiving. It apologises to no one for its relentless force. The driftwood is just out of my reach, but I’m not scared. I don’t need it. I’m not treading water. I am the water.

  “Wow, Emerson.” Brooke’s voice sounds right beside me. I jump. “That is phenomenal,” she continues. “Where did you learn to draw like that?”

  My body tingles with awareness that Josh is near, and when I look at him, he is standing so close, completely fixated on my drawing. Realising I haven’t followed Josh’s instructions, I make the snap decision to rip off the page, scrunch it into a ball and drop it to the floor.

  “What did you do that for?” Brooke cries. “It was so beautiful.”

  I shrug, but my hands shake. Josh leans down and retrieves my discarded drawing.

  “Okay. Next exercise,” he says in a loud voice to the entire class. “Take your object out of your bag and hold it in your non-dominant hand.” I sit there frozen, unwilling to participate. “This is going to sound a bit strange, but I want you to pretend you’re an ant exploring your object. In any way you see fit, show your journey over your object on paper. Perhaps it will be one long line or maybe a series of small markings. It really doesn’t matter, but you’ll have your eyes closed and one hand on your object while you work.”

  When everyone closes their eyes and starts their journeys, Josh waves me over as he heads for the door. I stand up quietly and follow him outside.

  “Talk to me,” he says, gesturing to the ball of paper in his hand.

  I chew on my bottom lip, staring straight ahead. “I didn’t mean to draw that,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.”

  “There was a lot of pain in that drawing, but what also came through was strength and resolve,” he says, softly. His voice is full of encouragement and warmth. “You’re able to express a wide range of emotions through your drawings, Emerson. I see talent in your work that I’ve rarely seen before. One minute you’re drawing detailed feathers for your wings showing light and hope, and the next, the light goes out and a darkness creeps in.”

  “I think you’re overthinking this,” I say, deflecting.

  “Do you ever feel like you’re drowning?” he asks.

  I shake my head, unsure if I’m lying or not. “I was thinking about a sad story a friend told me a long time ago. That’s all.”

  He places his hand on the small of my back and holds the door open for me. “You’re a beautiful artist, Emerson.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper, smiling as I turn back. “That means a lot.”

  “That’s all we have time for this evening,” Josh says. “Thanks for coming.” His gaze zeroes in on me. “And, for those of you coming on Saturday, I’ll see you at the Cat and Mouse Café next to the Tourist Information Centre.” I drop my eyes to the flyer he left on each of our tables with the address. “It’s not far from my place, and we’ll convoy from there around nine-thirty.”

  I take my time packing up my things and am the last to leave.

  “Come on Saturday,” Josh says, opening the door for me. “I think it’ll do you good.”

  I nod. “It’s a definite maybe.”

  Chapter 19

  Tears stream down my face. I know I should be getting in the car now, but I can’t bring myself to leave the house. I’m safe here, and I don’t have to pretend to be okay. Out there, I’m completely vulnerable, especially with Josh.

  I want to call Mereki. I want to tell him to come back to me. I want him to hold me in his arms and tell me that the last five years have just been a rough patch to end all rough patches and that we are going to be okay. Is that too much to ask?

  I pick up my phone and drop it again like it’s on fire. I can’t call him. He won’t answer. The bastard won’t pick up the fucking phone. Anger rises in my belly, and I scoop up the phone again, tossing it across the room. To my irritation, it doesn’t make contact with anything hard and just slides across the carpet and bumps limply into the couch.

  Returning to the bedroom, I catch sight of myself in the full-length mirrored doors of the built-in wardrobe and sigh. I am a mess. Puffy, red eyes, a blotchy face, slumped shoulders. I am dishevelled in my melancholy. Perhaps I can call Josh and tell him I can’t make it today. Then what? I mope around the house all weekend, missing Mereki? I’m so pathetic. It’s all I ever seem to do. It’s a good thing he keeps going away for short work stints, I tell myself.

  “I can’t do this,” I say out loud to my reflection in the mirror. I hate the sound of those defeatist words, and I hate the person I see staring back at me. I barely recognise her anymore from the strong, resilient survivor I was as a child. I’m now just a breathing shell of a person shuffling my way through a miserable existence. “Something has to change.” I narrow my eyes. “You.” I point at myself in the mirror. “Need to sort out your shit, and you need to sort it out quickly.”

  I’m dancing on dangerous territory here, and I have no idea how I feel about it. One thing I do know is that nothing changes if you keep doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result. That’s the definition of insanity, and I know I’m walking a fine line.

  With that pep talk spurring me on, I pick up my bag, leaving my home and my comfort zone in my wake.

  It takes me an hour and fifteen minutes to arrive at the Cat and Mouse. Despite leaving later than I planned, the traffic was light, and I arrive just after nine. I might even be the first of the group to arrive, so I take the opportunity to get a coffee and use the facilities. Holding my takeaway coffee cup, I wa
nder out onto the back deck.

  “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” Josh asks.

  I hadn’t even realised he had joined me; I was so entranced by the forest surrounding me. I meet his gaze and smile, nodding, before taking another sip of coffee. “How long have you lived here?”

  “Ten years give or take,” he replies. “The land has been in our family forever, and my father would bring us here for camping weekends when we were kids.”

  “And you like it here more than the city.”

  He nods, then sips his coffee and says nothing further. I peek up at him over my coffee cup and stare at his profile. He appears lost in thought, and it gives me a moment to appreciate his strong jawline. There is something incredibly calm about him. He appears so self-assured and at peace with his life. I could be making wild assumptions. I, of all people, know how to put on a happy face, but I can’t shake the feeling that this man is content in his own skin.

  He meets my gaze and holds it for a few seconds until I’m forced to look away. He peeled back a layer of my defences with just one intense look, and I feel exposed despite the multitude remaining. “We better head back out the front in case others have arrived,” he says, a warm smile lighting his hypnotic eyes.

  I nod, turning on my heel and heading back through the cafe, tossing my half-empty coffee in the trash, and out onto the gravel verge to where my car is parked.

  Zoey, Brooke, Tennyson, Kaye, and Eric are all assembled out front standing by two cars. They must have shared, and I’m struck by how much of a loner I am. I would never have thought to arrange carpooling. I’ve become accustomed to doing everything on my own.

  “Emerson,” Brooke says, waving her whole arm excitedly. “You made it.”

  “I did.” I smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Okay,” Josh says, waving his arm over his head in a beckoning gesture. “I’m in the white Landcruiser, so just follow me. It’s only ten or fifteen minutes away, but the entrance is not easily spotted.”

  Returning to our respective cars, I fall in behind Josh, and we follow him along a winding road weaving through a forest. We pass the occasional driveway but not many, and it’s a far cry from the hustle and bustle of the city. After no more than fifteen minutes, Josh turns into a gravel driveway, and we follow. There is no gate, but we bump over a cattle grid to gain entry. He was right. There are no clear identifiers marking the property other than a small, black mailbox and, with no house visible from the road, it would be easy to miss the driveway altogether. It is so very private, and it feels like it’s a privilege to be here. We weave through tall trees before ascending a small incline.

  Josh’s Landcruiser disappears over the crest ahead of me, and I hit the accelerator a little harder to keep up. When I reach the top, the view that greets me is awe-inspiring.

  Chapter 20

  I park my car alongside Josh’s and stare through the front windscreen. “Wow,” I say to myself, my mouth agape.

  Josh stands in front of his car, leaning against the bumper. I watch, riveted as his shoulders rise and fall with his deep breaths. He lives here, but I can tell he never takes this beauty for granted. A dog I presume must be Leroy—the one he mentioned when he introduced himself at the first class—bounds up the hill to Josh, and my heart melts when he squats down to pat his head with obvious affection.

  I get out of the car and am immediately accosted by the big, brown dog, wagging his entire body, clearly thrilled by the company.

  “Sorry,” Josh says when I’m nearly bowled over by so much gorgeous exuberance. “Hey, Leroy.” He picks up a stick and throws it down the hill. “Fetch.” Leroy flies down the hill.

  “It’s absolutely fine,” I say. “I love dogs.”

  Neither of us says another word as we stare at each other for a beat before I break eye contact to glance at the surroundings. To our left, a wooden, cabin-style home has been built into the side of the hill, completely hidden from the road and with an uninterrupted view of the lush, green fields surrounding the water. Black cows drink at the water’s edge. There are a few other buildings I can see, which I presume are barns or maybe machinery sheds. I may have been brought up in the country, but I’ve never spent any time on a farm. I haven’t the first clue about farm animals or anything farm-related at all.

  “This is amazing,” Brooke exclaims, appearing in front of us, holding out her arms wide and spinning in a circle.

  Zoey, Eric, Kaye, and Tennyson have similar reactions. No wonder Josh loves it here so much.

  “Do you live out here all alone?” Brooke asks, and we all turn to face Josh. I hate that I want him to say yes.

  He shakes his head, and my heart drops. “Leroy keeps me company.” He reaches down and pats his dog, who has returned with the stick, proud as punch. The relief I feel at his answer is unsettling.

  “Is this where all your inspiration comes from?” Kaye stares into the distance.

  “Sometimes,” he replies. “Sometimes not. But my hope is that all of you find some today. In my experience, a change of scenery and surrounding yourself with like-minded people certainly can’t hurt creativity.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” Tennyson says.

  “The day is ultimately yours, so find somewhere you’re comfortable.” He waves his hand towards the house. “All the supplies are on the back deck, but you’re welcome to take them anywhere you like on the property.”

  We follow Josh towards the large deck that spans the entire length of the house. Everyone else chooses supplies, then they return to the grassy hill. Josh and I are left alone and I’m glad. I shouldn’t be, but I am. There are several easels set up, and I notice a stunning painting that appears to be half-finished. Glancing back, I can see the others have either found a spot on the hill or are still walking around enjoying the scenery.

  “Looks like it’s just you and me,” Josh says, smiling.

  “Looks like it,” I reply, awkwardly.

  “What made you decide to come today?” Josh asks as I take a seat in front of one of the other easels. “I was a little surprised to see you.”

  I shrug. “I had nothing else to do.” It sounds lame and rude, but it’s the truth.

  Josh chuckles, clearly unoffended. “Well I’m glad. Perhaps this is going to be what you need to start creating again.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I obviously don’t know you very well, but I just get the feeling you’re looking for an exit strategy at all times.”

  Wow. I guess we’re not going to talk about the weather then. I chew on the inside of my cheek, rattled by his brutal honesty.

  “Hey.” He takes my arm gently and stops me, pushing me gently to face him. “I don’t mean to offend you. I’m just trying to work you out, I guess.”

  “There’s nothing to work out.” I pull back so his hand drops from my arm. “It takes me a while to warm up to people.” I scoop my hair over one shoulder and twirl it around my fingers.

  “When I met you last summer, you froze when Mum asked if you liked art. I’ll never forget that look on your face, and now more than ever I want to know why it seemed to pain you when it’s obviously something you love.”

  I look at him incredulously, unable to believe he’s broaching such an intensely personal topic, ripping me open within five minutes of our conversation. I open and close my mouth a few times before managing to come up with something to shut this down. “Art is something I did when I was a kid. It’s something I left behind for reasons I don’t really want to get into with you or anyone. So, if we can just leave it at that, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Okay,” Josh says, but sounds anything but content with my response. “But I’m not giving up on you, Emerson.”

  My body tenses. Mereki used to say the same thing to me.

  Pulling a paintbrush from behind his ear, Josh waves it between us. “Remember what this is?”

  “A paintbrush,” I deadpan.

  “It’s a lifeline.” He picks up
my hand and closes my fingers around it. “Drawing, painting, creating art—it’s your lifeline, and you need to embrace it.”

  I stare down at his large hand wrapped around mine, wrapped around the paintbrush. It’s a powerful connection, and I can’t decide if I should cry with joy or scream out in pain.

  “Close your eyes,” he urges.

  “Excuse me?” I ask, taken aback.

  “Just do it. Please.”

  Feeling defeated, I close my eyes, exhaling as I wait for further instructions. There is nothing but silence for at least a minute, maybe more.

  “Tell me what you can smell.”

  Strange, but I’m willing to humour him. I inhale deeply and smile. “Paint.”

  More silence, and then I’m aware of movement as I hear the creak of wood. I think he’s sitting down on his stool. My ears prick to the sound of swishing water and the tap of wood on glass. He’s rinsing his paintbrush.

  The next few minutes are a symphony of melodic sounds.

  “Brushstrokes,” I whisper, and my heart rate slows. I saw what he was working on earlier, and now I’m imagining him adding to the rural landscape.

  “What colour do you think I’m using?”

  Without hesitating, I answer, “Green.”

  “Why?” he asks, his voice stern and demanding.

  “The grasslands are crimson. You’ve only done the base layer and need to add the green.”

  “Open your eyes.”

  I open them, and he’s holding up his brush coated in dark green paint. “Why are you pushing me on this?” I ask. “I’m attending your classes, and I turned up today. What more do you want from me?”

  Josh drops his paintbrush back in the water jar, then runs his hands through his hair. “The short answer is I don’t know.” He stands and takes a step toward me. “I know it might seem crazy, but I feel like I’ve met you before, or maybe you remind me of someone.” He pauses, obviously struggling to verbalise what he’s thinking. “I want to help you but don’t know how because you’re hiding so much of yourself.” He smiles. “It’s very frustrating.”