The Artist and Me

by Kay, Hannah;

  I exhaled sharply, finishing the last few of the papers and following her tracks to his door. I bit my bottom lip at my own urgency, but knocked swiftly against the white wood. There was no response for about a minute then she slid the door open, eyes lighting up with some emotion I couldn’t identify and a smile stretching across her face. “Lucas.” It was almost a whisper as she stepped back from the door so I could step inside.

  I smiled at her. “Hey, Julie,” I greeted, before turning to her dad who was sitting behind his desk, hands folded, watching us. I extended my arm and he took the papers. “There you go, Mr. Swift. Your original is on top.”

  He nodded thoughtfully, nestling the stack of papers on the corner of his desk. “Thank you, Mr. Grant.” As I was backing from the room, watching Julie’s eyes follow my actions, I heard him chuckle. “Mr. Grant, that’s all I’ll be needing you for today. You’re free to go.”

  I felt my smile growing involuntarily and Julie’s lips pulled together in playful grin, but it was possibly the most adorable thing I’d ever seen. She walked over, slipping her fingers through mine, and I smiled at the feeling. “Thanks, Mr. Swift.”

  He chuckled again, a low grumble in his chest. “You kids have fun.”

  We ended up at the beach. Her black ballet flats dangled from her left hand and her right hand was nuzzled into mine. She was wearing a blissful smile, but if I looked at her too long, I was able to see it falter. Something was bothering her. “Is something wrong?”

  Her smile brightened. “Why would you say that?” she asked, dropping my hand then her shoes. She ran into the surf, letting the salt water swell up halfway to her knees before she looked over her shoulder at me. It was a fleeting look, one of indecision and confusion and happiness and sadness. I wasn’t sure how that could be, either.

  “You looked sad,” I answered, following after her to step into the surf a few feet away from her so that the water only lapped across my toes.

  She laughed quietly. “I’m not,” she replied, slowly walking toward me and slipping her arms around my waist. “Stop worrying so much.”

  I breathed quietly, leaning forward to brush my lips against hers. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled against her kiss but she shook her head, sliding her arms up and around my neck.

  “Shh,” she whispered, kissing me again slowly. “Stop worrying,” she uttered again, gently kneading my lips with hers. I melted into her arms, surrendering myself to her hands and forgetting my worries against her. She obviously didn’t want to talk about whatever was bothering her. I’d have to worry about that another time. For now I was completely content to hold her as our toes became one with the sand without a trouble in the world.

  * * * *

  We walked into the Diner holding hands and received one or two strange looks. I tried not to dwell on the town’s surprise at the relationship, but Krista’s reaction was the most extreme. “Lucet!” She stood up, lips quirking together as she quickly popped up to one-arm hug us. Her huge blue eyes smiled as she led us to the table.

  “Lucet?” I inquired when she pulled back to sit down beside Mike again. I followed suit, sliding across the booth to sit across from the sneering Mike.

  She laughed. “Lucas and Juliet, duh! Lucet.” She laughed her signature cheerleader laugh and I knew she was joking. Krista only laughed like that when mocking popular culture. That was the fun thing about Krista. She knew how idiotic her cheerleaders on her squad were. She still loved them, though. Or rather she loved the act of cheering. Maybe it was a little bit of both.

  Julie laughed, sliding in beside me but flashing a grin toward Krista. “I love you, Krista, but never call us that again.” Julie knew she was joking, I could tell, but just wanted to confirm.

  I chuckled, jostling her shoulder playfully. “What? You don’t want to have a celebrity dating name with me?”

  She shook her head, turning to grin at me. “I’m sorry, but no.”

  “Looks like we’ve added another to your trio,” Randy observed, walking up to our table with a coffee pot and three cups. He set them on the table in front of us, filling them to the brim.

  “See, Randy, we are capable of making new friends,” Mike teased, grinning widely at the old man.

  Randy chuckled. “The regular?”

  Once he was gone, Julie smiled broadly across the circle. “I guess I’m a regular.”

  Mike smiled at her. “It only takes once.”

  * * * *

  Dinner was over and we were all laughing. I couldn’t recall about what, though, because now I was distracted by Julie’s laughing. Her head leaning back against the booth, eyes closed and smiling. Easily, all thought of whatever had brought this on had been wiped from my memory.

  However, when the Goodman brothers rounded the corner, I was startled and looked curiously over her shoulder as they approached. The twins were in the back, Frank leading them like a pop boy band—oddly in sync with each other in a distant and almost rehearsed manner.

  Mike was grinning. “Hey, boys. Ready to go?” he asked them when they dead ended at our table.

  My ears perked up, confusion waking me from my previous Julie-induced daze. “All ready, man,” Frank announced, looking down at Julie with the eyes of a panther. “Sure we can’t bring the chicks?” he asked, still eyeing her like a desperate piece of meat.

  Mike chuckled, shaking his head. “This is boys’ night, Frank. ‘Bringing the chicks’ would defeat the purpose.” He glanced at Julie, who was focusing on her coffee cup instead of Frank’s wandering eyes. “And stop making eyes at Lucas’ girl, man.”

  Julie’s eyes found mine. We hadn’t talked about it. She didn’t seem to mind and if I wasn’t mistaken—but it could be simply wishful thinking—there was a small smile dancing across her pink lips.

  Frank looked between us then over his shoulder at his brothers who shrugged in unison. “Right, then. Let’s get out of here,” he announced, clapping his hands together. I could tell he was trying to rein in his inner pig now. Even the Goodmans didn’t mess with another guy’s girl.

  Krista frowned, looking at Mike. “Mike, what’s going on?” she asked, blonde waves cascading against his shoulder when she turned to him.

  “It’s boys’ night, babe.” He smiled, kissing her cheek playfully.

  She bit her lip. “Mike—”

  He cut her off with a kiss and the Goodmans groaned, turning away. “We’ll meet you in the car.” Then they turned the corner and it was the four of us again.

  Mike pulled away from Krista, smiling. “Come on, baby, you and Julie can do something.”

  “But, Mike—”

  I stopped listening to their argument. I could only hope that this was one of those harmless fights. I hated when they broke up, because they battled over me and that never felt good. Always feeling like you’re letting one down. It’s kind of funny that I have grown to love Krista as much as I have. She really was just Mike’s girlfriend in the beginning, but now I think of her as a best friend, just as I do Mike. They’re kind of a package deal—something that while single is nothing short of depressing. Now with Julie in the picture, it seemed like a perfect situation. Nobody gets left the third wheel… That is until something throws them off balance and into the whirlpool of fighting again.

  “Lucas, come on,” Mike urged, jerking me from my thoughts, and I looked up to find that everyone else was standing. Mike had an arm around Krista’s waist and Julie watched me as I slid to join her. She took my hand and the four of us walked out into the parking lot. Mike pulled Krista off to the side, offering up his car keys for her to use his car since he’d driven her in the first place.

  I looked up at Julie. “I didn’t know about this,” I told her and she laughed, looking down at the chipping lines of the parking space beneath our feet.

  “I could tell. It’s fine. Krista and I are going to go be girly,” she announced, but I couldn’t tell if she was excited or not.

  I smiled, leaning down to graze my lips to her
s. “Have fun, then.”

  She laughed halfheartedly. “I’ll do my best.”

  I squeezed her hand, turning to Mike. “You ready?”

  Mike nodded, pecking Krista’s cheek. “Yeah, man, let’s go.”

  I waved to Krista and gave Julie one fleeting kiss before boarding Hendleson to look at Mike. He was buckling his seatbelt, grinning widely. “What is this, man? You didn’t tell me we were going anywhere.”

  He chuckled, patting Hendleson’s dashboard. “We’re initiating you into the dating game.”

  I looked at him. Was he joking?

  “Just drive, dude,” he answered, laughing, and I watched his eyes follow Krista’s blonde hair from the parking lot. He’d been joking. I knew that much. He wasn’t playing around with that girl.

  And I wasn’t going to play around with mine either.

  Chapter Twelve

  Julie

  The days grew longer, eclipsing between day and night in a blink of an eye, and yet, at the same time, stretching to reach the ends of the earth. It became a kaleidoscope of nights on the beach, sunlight splattered in the sunset and green grass. The feeling of Lucas’ fingers was burned into my skin, branding me for his own. At the same time, I was at war with myself. The kaleidoscope descended from bright yellow, green, oranges of summer to deep blue, reds, and purples of doubt. Doubt was the monster under my covers, waiting to overtake me at the climax of this…this…this…

  “Julie, please, just read it.” He was prodding, letting his fingers run through my hair. We were on the couch in my vacant house—Dad was working late at the paper—and my head was resting in his lap, his hands clutching an old, worn copy of Romeo and Juliet. The pages were dog-eared, folded and refolded, highlighted—something he said marked a well-loved copy, only after my slightly cynical question of its state. I’d merely inquired how a man of the word, such as himself, could bear to drag a pencil or highlighter across the precious pages.

  His goal was to show me that the written word could be just as inspiring, just as beautiful as the paintings I’d spent my entire life perusing, studying and creating myself. This was a battle he couldn’t win, though, and I told him so, yet he merely shoved the thin script into my hands, opening it to one of the many wrinkled pages and pointing to a highlighted passage. “Come on, Julie,” he pleaded, brown eyes wide against his pale face—despite our long days in the sun. “Please?”

  I groaned, thrusting the book back into his hands. “Okay, Lucas,” I answered, lifting my eyes to meet his. “Read it to me, then. Change my mind,” I answered almost silently. The very thought of the words he’d be uttering set my mind to flame once again, greedy monster bubbling in my stomach.

  He chuckled, opening the book to the page he’d held open to me and clearing his throat. “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east and Juliet is the sun! Arise, fair sun, and kill thy envious moon who is already sick and pale with grief.” He continued reading, Shakespeare’s riddles falling softly from his tongue like an innocent melody of first love. The fingers of his left hand still lingered in my hair, the touch velvet-soft in the penetrating silence. My gaze drifted over his features, slowly evolving before my eyes this summer from their kind, puppyish lines to angular pieces as an exhibit from a museum of perfect pieces of architecture—slowly calculated by worlds of work, years of patience, the ever-growing act of becoming the man he was destined to be, chiseled from his childhood.

  “She speaks! Oh, speak again, bright angel!”

  Conjured in my mind was a lovely image. It was glossed with an other-worldly white sheen and sprang to life with glittering fairy dust, pale in complexion and yet so sweet. Its music was that of the angels, gentle harp, slow strumming of the strings and wonder. This image, so true and vivid in my mind, was served on a silver platter, tied with a silver ribbon and signed by Shakespeare himself. It offered an oasis to the demons in my own soul, the monsters threatening to overtake me at any moment. It was an island in the desert, a Godsend, a beautiful mystery that I didn’t feel the need to decode like some. It was merely poetry, icing and frill atop a cake.

  His voice rose in pitch, hitching over his words just a bit at first, before settling into the new character. “Oh, Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name. Or if thou will not be but sworn my love and I’ll no longer be a Capulet!” He took all the appropriate pauses, voice falling into the role of Juliet simply, and I realized just how many times he’d recited the very words he was saying now.

  I pried the book from his fingertips, gingerly placing it on the coffee table across from us and sitting up slowly to look at him. He was staring at me now, trying to read my expression, but he wouldn’t be able to decode the slow swell squirming in my stomach. I slipped closer into his arms, pressing my forehead against his. “I see why you love it,” I whispered, tilting my lips to catch his. It was a long, slow kiss. One that took time to process, one that burned. The skin, the blood in my veins, it was all on fire.

  His warm hand cupped my face, the other residing against my waist, holding me close to him even when his lips parted from mine. I let out a breath, moving to hug him without another word or allowing him the chance to make another move. The hand he’d used to hold my face fell to rub my back silently. His lips brushed my hair. “Julie, is something wrong?” He could tell something was wrong. He could sense the monster too. I wish I could tell him. I wish I could assure him that he’d been perfect. Tell him it wasn’t him, it was me, but that was the most over-used break-up line ever and that’s not what I wanted anyway. But how could I explain this feeling in the pit of my stomach without those very words?

  I pulled my eyes from the crook of his neck and offered him a gentle smile. “I’m good.” It wasn’t very convincing to my own ears and I doubted its convincingness to his well-trained ones, but he didn’t push it as I leaned forward to let my head rest against his shoulder, arms wrapped around his middle, and snuggled close. I flipped on the TV to drown out the grumbling monster.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Julie

  Time was irrelevant under the summer sun. Ocean spray became a lifestyle, Shakespeare—and other great poets—became language, pizza our every meal. It was an unreasonable time that passed without asking our permission or opinion and July was approaching rapidly.

  It was on one of these late June afternoons—for they all began running together—that I was in my room, painting, when the doorbell rang. The canvas before me was colorful, lines and shapes of foreign origin and without precision, but art wasn’t strict. It was lucid and alive and for that, I loved it. No rules, just individualized beauty. So, as I wiped my hands on the thin, gray towel on my work stool, I pondered Lucas’ Shakespeare, his writing and his theory that it was all the same. I guess I could see it somewhat. The lines of literature he insisted on reading to me… They all assured one thing—that life was a mystery. They did so with different styles and words and tactics, thus eliminating my theory of the boring and unfortunate side of writing. That wasn’t Lucas’ territory. That was Dad’s and there was no changing him, yet it was settling to know that all writers weren’t the same.

  I padded in my polka-dotted socks down the hallway, arms bent at the elbow to readjust the messy knot atop my head before pulling my thin black T-shirt and lime green short shorts back into place. By then, I’d made it to the front door and slid it open with a smile, expecting it to be Krista coming over as she did every day after cheer practice, but instead when I opened the door, I found Lucas standing in the doorway wearing jeans, a red and white button-down shirt and a broad smile. My eyes darted to the clock on the wall then back at him. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” I asked teasingly and he chuckled.

  “Closed up early today.” He leaned over to kiss my cheek. “Grab your coat and let’s go. Krista and Mike are waiting in the car.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest theatrically. “Where are we going?” I asked it jokingly, but he simply chuck
led.

  “Out to the Getaway House. Krista has a few days off of cheer and your dad doesn’t need me at the office, so we thought we’d head up there and spend a couple days,” he answered simply, poking my side. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

  I laughed, nodding. “All right. Give me five minutes?”

  “Okay.” He nodded, glancing over his shoulder at Krista’s car in the driveway before smirking. “But first…” He chuckled, stepping over the threshold and placing his hands on my waist. I laughed at him, but he didn’t care. He just leaned down and kissed me for a long moment, holding me steady as I stood on my tiptoes to kiss him back, fingers snaking around to curl into his dark locks.

  Laughing, I pulled back, pecked his cheek and turned away. “I’ll be back.”

  The radio was playing when I slid into the back of Krista’s car. Static and country music filled my ears and I shook my head, slinging my backpack onto the floorboard of the car. It was tan with blue floral print that unintentionally matched my jacket.

  In the driver’s seat, Mike rotated to grin widely at me. The collar of his white button-down shirt was sticking up to one side and his hair was askew like he’d just jumped from bed, but he wore his ever excited smile. “Hey, Jules. What’s shakin’, bacon?”

  Beside him, Krista shook her head, blonde hair teeming from under her floppy red hat. “I asked him not to say that,” she told me, smiling over at him anyway. She was wearing a gray tank top and jeans shorts that appeared to fray off around her mid-thigh.