If

by Nina G. Jones

  “Oh stop,” I said, waving my hands in front of me like I was calling off Jordan. “Too soon.” But my heart sang at those words.

  “Are you blind? It’s always the pretty, charming girls who act all dumb when someone is right in their face, worshipping the ground they walk on.”

  “Sure, which is why he avoided me at all costs. Makes complete sense.”

  “But then he always showed up at your door, didn’t he?”

  That shut me up.

  “I know this seems obvious, but I have to ask. Did you two?” He made a circle with one hand and poked his index finger of the other into it.

  I bit my lips together to keep a huge smile from bursting across my face and nodded.

  “You little ho’!” he said. We both laughed. But I watched as his face changed. I knew it would be coming: the lecture.

  “Bird, I’m not going to lecture you. You’re not a fool. I know you know what you know. And I know you are making your decisions knowing the risks. But, what’s his deal?”

  I sighed. “I don’t know it all yet. But I know he has a good heart, and I know he has an old soul and that there’s pain in there. And I know he risked his life to save mine,” I reminded Jordan. I think sometimes he forgot that.

  He nodded. “I just think you deserve the world. And I know I am only a few years older than you and you hate when I get protective, but affection, love, attraction, they build something beautiful. And maybe this is just a thing that will come and go”—those words made my heart ache—“but we don’t live in a movie. What’s he going to do with his life? Does he have plans to get off the street?”

  The reality of the situation stung. It wasn’t that I didn’t know it, but I was high on us, and like any idealistic twenty-one year-old, I wanted to believe that our special magic could fix anything.

  “He’s a genius. He has so much potential.”

  “I know. But genius doesn’t pay the bills and geniuses can be tortured.”

  “I’m going to help him find his way,” I said.

  “I hope so, Birdie.” Jordan replied.

  BIRD

  I SHOULD HAVE been tired, what with the early wake up and eight hours on my feet, but my nerves were buzzing as I settled into my apartment. There was the intense anticipation of seeing Ash again tonight, something that neither logic nor reasoning could dampen. Then there was the whole thinking side of me, wondering about what would come next, and what were we, and what was I thinking?

  I decided that I would play it cool for a while. I didn’t want to become all whiny and all what is this with Ash so early on. I already started making those mental calculations one makes early in these kinds of things. Should I call him? Should I wait for him to call me?

  It was almost ten when I walked through my door.

  Not too long after, there was a knock. It was Jordan, who I was always happy to see, but he was no Ash. “We’re knocking now, huh?” I asked.

  “After yesterday, yes,” he said, lightly strumming his guitar. Sometimes, he would just come over and mess around with it while we talked. “Lesson learned.”

  I went to the bathroom to freshen up and called out to him over the running faucet. “What’s up?”

  “I just got off the phone with Roché’s assistant. I have a meeting scheduled with her on Wednesday.”

  “Oh my god, that’s great!” I answered with a mouth full of toothbrush and paste.

  Another knock.

  “I’ve got it!” Jordan called out.

  I took my time coming back out to the living room, I didn’t want to leap out. I had to give it a minute and pretend I wasn’t gushing with excitement that he had come.

  When I stepped out into the living room, I was shocked at the sight. Ash was covered in every paint color he owned, his complexion was tanned, his cheeks flushed.

  “Whoa.”

  “Apparently, Ash has been painting all day,” Jordan offered.

  “Hey,” Ash said, pulling out all the art equipment to put it back in its proper spot.

  I walked up to him. “Where’s all the stuff you’ve been working on?”

  “Can’t say yet,” he winked.

  He was shiny, like a person who had labored in the sun all day.

  “Have you eaten?” I asked, noticing that the jacket pocket where I shoved the food was still bulging.

  “Not hungry.”

  Jordan started to head for the door.

  “You play the guitar?” Ash asked, without looking at him as he continued to unpack.

  Jordan spun around. “I dabble.”

  “Stick around, I want to see it.” Sometimes he did that, he would say he wanted to see music, and I knew he meant that literally. Ash turned to me. “Do you mind if I shower?”

  “Please.” I winked.

  Ash looked at me wantonly and stealthily slapped my behind on his way to the shower. I jumped and spun around to make sure Jordan didn’t see it. Lucky for me, he was looking down at his guitar.

  “I saw that you little ho,” Jordan said once Ash was out of earshot, not taking his eyes off the guitar strings as he fiddled with him.

  I sucked my teeth at him. “I guess that’s a compliment from the biggest ho I know,” I retorted as I strutted over to the microwave to heat some food I brought from work for Ash. I didn’t know where he got his meals, and I wanted to make sure he had something, though he seemed like he wasn’t much of an eater.

  “So how is it?”

  “How is. . . . ?”

  “Girl, you know what I mean. How’s the D?”

  I massaged my neck nervously as I peeked towards the bathroom. I would be mortified if Ash overheard us.

  “Ummm . . .”

  “Oh shit. You’re sprung.”

  “Stop it.”

  “You aaaaare. You can’t even stop smiling. He must have laid the pipe all over your ass.”

  “I don’t even understand that expression. He doesn’t lay anything, he inserts it. It would be weird if. . . .” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “It would be weird if a guy laid his peen on you.”

  “Stop being literal and trying to divert the conversation.”

  “What do you want to know?” I whispered.

  “Big O? Yay or nay?”

  I held in a smile as I looked down and nodded.

  “Damn girl! He does lay the pipe.”

  I brought my finger up to my lips and shushed him. Then, I leaned in as if closing the large distance between us would make a difference. “This morning. It was . . . wow.”

  “Lay it on me.”

  “He’s just . . . well for one, his body.”

  Jordan raised his eyebrows and nodded in approval.

  “But he just—I don’t have a ton of experience—but I can tell he knows what he’s doing. I mean, he just makes me feel so . . . hot and wanted.”

  “Well, seeing as he just came in looking like he was attacked by a rainbow and it was a draw, I can tell he’s got something wild about him. He’s weird, and I mean that in the whole interesting mysterious artist way.”

  “Yeah . . . I dig that he’s different.” I shrugged as I turned to pull the food out of the microwave and smiled secretly to myself. I liked that Ash was hard to figure out. It made me feel special being the only person he had even remotely let in.

  “So. How big is his—”

  Just then, Ash walked out of the bathroom wearing his boxers and one of his white tees. He looked fresh and his tan made his sage eyes pop. I caught myself staring at Ash a few more beats than I should have as someone who was trying to play it cool. He was just so easy on the eyes.

  Jordan and I pretended to be engaged in our separate activities. When I glanced his way, Jordan gave me a knowing smirk.

  “I brought you some food,” I said to Ash.

  “Thank you,” he mouthed like it was our secret, and then he took one bite and left the rest of the food on the plate.

  “Alright Jordan, show me what ya got,” Ash said.

&nbs
p; “Let me think.” Jordan strummed a few times. Then he started playing Smashing Pumpkin’s “1979,” complete with vocals. Jordan was no Billy Corgan, but he could hold a note just fine.

  “Niiiiice,” Ash said. This side of him was so fun. He was engaging and affable and energized. I loved that he could be either pensive or outgoing depending on his mood.

  Ash pulled me over, spinning me, making me squeal with laughter. He drew me in close, so that I collapsed onto his chest, and whispered in my ear. “Let’s add to our tree.”

  He carelessly squeezed some red and yellow on the palette and agitated them with the brush. Just like the last time, he guided my hand from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. I laughed as he dotted the paper with orange leaves through my hands. His chin rested on the side away from Jordan and he snuck in faint kisses on my neck that tickled and made me giggle as he swayed his hips from side to side with me. It was like he was drunk on us, and I was comforted in not being alone in that. The music and the painting flowed and I forgot for a second Jordan was there, but not in an exclusionary way. In fact, Jordan was seamlessly part of the scene, his music floating in the air around us.

  Jordan closed out the song, and Ash pulled away.

  “Do you mind?” Ash asked him.

  “Not if you don’t mind me cutting in with the lady.”

  “As long as she doesn’t mind,” Ash replied playfully.

  I instantly recognized the first few notes. I didn’t even know Ash could play the guitar. And how could he know I loved that song? He couldn’t have known that. It’s just that we both liked a lot of the same things.

  Jordan stuck out his hand, and I accepted with a curtsey. He playfully guided me in a simple two step, as Ash sang the song, but replaced “Layla” with “Birdie.”

  As if Ash couldn’t be more brooding and hot, now he’s singing me a song.

  Like Jordan, Ash was no Eric Clapton, but his voice was smooth. Ash could play the guitar surprisingly well. I remembered him telling me once that he could see different colors and shapes corresponding with notes and chords and I wondered if that helped him learn to play.

  Jordan chimed in on the chorus along with Ash. I had these two wonderful guys singing to me that I had them on their knees and I was filled to the brim with love and light. Jordan led me in dance so that I felt like I was gliding, barely touching the ground. When they sang my name I giggled. I could feel my cheeks changing color from being the center of their attention. Every time Jordan sang the chorus, he would crouch a little bit so we were eye to eye and pretended to beg me pitifully as he sang.

  We spent the next few hours lazily sprinkling leaves on the tree, dancing and singing.

  I didn’t have much, but at that moment, I felt like this was as good as life got. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

  That night was magic.

  BIRD

  “PSSST . . . PSSST.” I woke up to Ash brushing my hair out of my face.

  I startled a bit. “Is everything okay?” I asked, groggily.

  “Yeah, yeah. I just wanted to show you something.”

  “Uh . . . okay . . .” I answered, feeling around for my phone to check the time. It was just past three in the morning.

  “This better be good Ash,” I said, playfully. I didn’t have an early wakeup the next day, but I did just have a long day at work. I sat up, expecting him to present something to me.

  I turned on a lamp and watched Ash head over to the kitchen area, shirtless and barefoot in just a pair of jeans. His auburn hair was wild and despite showering, a few strands had some dried bright green paint on them. The cuts of his abdominals seemed more prominent and his waist and hips narrower, as if he had lost some weight just within this past week.

  “Do you have a flashlight?” he asked. Luckily I learned shortly after moving to LA and experiencing a rolling blackout, that a flashlight was important.

  “Yeah, in the cabinet by the window.” I gestured over lazily. “Wait, why do we need a flashlight?”

  “You’ll see,” he said with a smile. Despite being woken up in the middle of the night, his enthusiasm excited me. In fact, since we first hooked up, Ash had opened up. He became energetic and inspired. He spent all day painting, though he said the work was a surprise and he wanted to wait to show me. I had no idea where he was storing it, but I assumed at his brother’s. He seemed to be caught in some vortex of artistic inspiration. He wasn’t eating much, and these past two nights, he hadn’t slept much either. In fact, I caught him coming back from a walk right before dawn just yesterday. I asked what was wrong, he said he just needed air, that he had a lot of ideas and liked to walk to collect his thoughts. Despite all that, he still had so much energy and passion during the daylight hours. That included sex. He made me feel desired and sexy, like he couldn’t get enough of me. Sometimes Ash was patient and slow and intimate. Other times, it was almost animalistic.

  Ash had spent the last few nights at my place. I knew it was fast, but I just couldn’t send him back out on the street. Ash argued with me, saying he didn’t need to sleep and he didn’t want to impose, but he wasn’t an imposition. We’d end up in my bed at the end of the night anyway. What was a few more hours of lying in it before I went to work and he spent the day where ever he was going for his secret project?

  He glanced up and down at me. “You might want to throw on some pants.”

  “Are we going out?”

  “Sort of. You don’t need to get dressed up, just don’t be naked.”

  I puffed out a small laugh. “The suspense is really killing me.”

  “We’re not going far. You don’t need to bring anything.” Ash snatched the afghan from my futon. “Except this. It’s cool tonight.”

  I slid on some flip flops and he grabbed my hand and practically dragged me out of my apartment to the stairwell.

  “Where in the world are you taking me?” I asked, as we ascended the stairs.

  We climbed flight after flight until we could go no further and reached a metal door: the door to the roof. I had never been up here before. There was never any reason to. Ash gave the heavy door a hearty heave with his shoulder and it creaked loudly as it jarred open. Whatever we were doing, it felt mischievous, and I kind of liked it.

  He pulled me around the small brick housing for the door. The tar underfoot had some give to it and I wondered if roofs like this are designed to hold people’s weight. Before I could ask that out loud, I saw it: an entire section covered in squares of color. So many of them. Even in the darkness they were bright.

  Ash flipped the flashlight and swept it over the roof. “This is what I have been working on. There’s a theme, but I don’t want to tell you what it is until I am done. I just couldn’t hold it in any longer.”

  “You’ve been up here all that time?”

  Ash nodded proudly.

  “Can I?” I asked, motioning for the flashlight. He placed it in my hand. I swept the beam of light over the ground trying to absorb the abstract pieces. They seemed to be in no particular order, but I could tell based on shapes and color scheme, they shared a theme. And then I caught a glimpse of the tar underneath. The roof itself had become some sort of accidental work of art as bright paint colors littered the tar, the same colors Ash had come to my place covered in these past few days. And now I understood why he was so tanned and sweaty, working up on this hot roof.

  “Wow . . . there are so many.” Dozens and dozens of beautiful squares of color. I wanted to know more, but I knew he was saving the surprise, so I didn’t ask. “I can’t wait until you tell me what it’s all about. What are you going to do when you’re done? Maybe we can find a gallery to hold a show or something.”

  “There’s something else I want to show you,” he said. “Come on.”

  I followed him to another spot on the roof, with perfect views of downtown LA and even the shadows of the hills and valleys that extended past.

  “I thought you might like this,” he said. On the grou
nd was a bottle of juice, crackers and cheese. No, it wasn’t a ton of money spent, but knowing his situation, it was a priceless gesture. “There’s nothing like the quiet of twilight,” he said. “The world is asleep, and you get to have it all to yourself.”

  That’s what this felt like—two kids sneaking away to a secret treehouse. This was our private place and time. Sure, I could have cared about the landlord finding out, or lack of sleep, but these were the things about Ash that made him unique and uniquely mine. The magic between us always felt like a secret no one else could possibly comprehend.

  We sat down next to the little picnic. I placed the flashlight facing up, like it was our candlelight, and I shivered a bit as I sat.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  “A little bit.”

  “Come here,” Ash offered, unfolding the afghan and draping it over his shoulders. He spread his legs wide and I nestled between his knees as he cloaked us with the blanket.

  “I’ve never had a picnic in the middle of the night.”

  “It’s the best time.” I heard his smirk in the tone of his voice.

  I poured us each a SOLO cup of juice and we sipped in silence.

  “I want to hear the story of you coming out to LA. You told me a little bit about it, but I sense there’s more to the story. When exactly did you move out here, Annalise?” He always called me Bird and using my real name made me feel like he was trying to give the question weight.

  “Well, Asher . . . a little over a year and a half ago. I was in school, but I knew what I really wanted to do. I just had to build up the guts to do it.”

  “You were scared?”

  “Not so much about coming out here, but of how my parents would react. They were strict. They had very specific expectations and pursuing dance was not one of them.”

  “But I assume they paid for you to do years of dance classes. It’s obvious you’re well trained.”

  “Why, thank you,” I said in a terrible British accent. “And they did, but it was part of sculpting the perfect daughter. And that was just one part. I think they mainly did it to help me build confidence because of my face.”