Sol

by Apolonia Ambrosius

  ‘Who said that?’

  ‘Take a guess,’ he retort, though by now he most certainly believed Sol knew the right answer. But just to be completely sure, he spilled the name out. ‘Hell, of course.’

  Hell. The name echoed in her head for a split second, before she switched the position of her crossed legs, trying to appear as much indifferent as it was possible.

  ‘Do you still hang out?’ she asked, taking a first taste of ordered beer.

  ‘We do. But he is currently not in town. You see he really is a weird kid. The bikes got him and now he wont come home by the end of the august.’ He thought this trough one more time then added, ‘yeah, in about three weeks.’

  ‘And you? How’s it been?’ asked Sol, sincerely curious as to what his life was turning into.

  ‘What can I say. I work, sleep, eat... I’m living I guess,’ Lion once again laughed aloud, maybe to the silly way he said the answer or maybe because life really was full of irony. As much as his knowledge got him believing into leading a different life, than the rest of the population, he could say nothing more original than, ‘nothing special.’

  ‘What about the band? Are you still together?’

  ‘Sometimes when I go back home, we meet and play. But as a group, we pretty much fall apart,’ he sigh, ran his fingers trough his voluminous hair, then continued, ‘just like everyone else. Once you enter an adult life you can’t back out. Well, except for some special people.’ He offered Sol a warm smile, firmly believing that she was one of those special ones.

  Sol smiled back, never once feeling a hint of awkwardness or embarrassment. However, another unexplored theme popped in her and before she thought the question over, her mouth spoke, like it was having its own brain.

  ‘What about Min? How is she?’

  ‘Huh, she’s good in her own way. Thought I rarely see her, to be honest. She’s done some bad stuff and I understand that. But her new boyfriend or whatever he is,’ Lion sighed again, perhaps in disapproval of the asked question. Sol couldn't tell. ‘I don't like him at all. I know their father died and maybe she needs a father figure, but she could still choose some guy closer to her age. He is a creep.’

  After Sol heard the reply she couldn't keep her face still any longer. The long forgotten pain in the chest returned, heart started to beat faster. ‘Their father died?’

  ‘Didn't you hear? Oh yeah. I’m sorry, for saying it so casually, but yes, he committed a suicide. Jumped under the train.’

  Sol was devoid of any proper or improper reaction. There was nothing she could do except to accept the fact that even her palms got sweaty, while waiting for an explanation to unravel.

  The memory of a time spent on a hill with Min’s brother flashed back, revealing his prediction in uncanny way. The boy might just be a hidden prophet after all.

  ‘After it happened, Min pretty much became numb. They didn't have a healthy relationship to begin with, but she still obviously suffered. Hell, on the other hand, became complete opposite. He often said they are finally free to fly. I don't know what he meant exactly, but each time I heard him say that, I felt sad for them. They really have a sad life.’

  ‘I don't know what to say,’ was the best response Sol could offer, even though internally something else took place. The sharp pain entered the center of her lungs so forcefully she had to take a few rather deep breaths to stabilize her unexpected body reaction.

  ‘There’s nothing much to say except for the fact that in all of it, they never once forgotten about you,’ his words brought Sol back to the present moment but it also brought a hurtful emotion of abandonment. Perhaps he sensed unease in her, or perhaps it was because of the nature of his work, but Lion surely knew how to handle people well. ‘How about you? What are you up to now?’

  Sol barely pulled herself away from trembling, by drinking a few big sips of beer, reversing the unusual dryness of her throat.

  In short summary, Lion learned a little bit about her sculpturing occupation, and had been given an invitation to visit at any time basically. This brought a large smile on his face, as he thought that at least one person amongst all of them is doing something good, something of value.

  ‘Got to go back to work, but I promise I’ll come around,’ he at last said, as he got up, straightening his wrinkled trousers with his bare hands. ‘What’s the gallery called again?’

  ‘Seeds.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  NO ROOM FOR YOUNG GIRLS

  In the early morning, when the summer heat still hadn’t made its comeback, Sol opened her eyes, half of the face buried into the pillow. As she connected back to reality, she felt her right arm had fallen asleep under her head – all the blood drained out, becoming lifeless. She dragged it from under her head, presumably giving her a good resting support during the night, when she come to realize something other than numbness latched onto her arm.

  Inside of her palm rested Min’s gift that oddly enough, appeared to belong exactly there. It was no strange occurrence for Sol to share her bed with the knife under the pillow. However, every night until now, it stayed there, under her head and behind her mind. Guarding her or even frightening her. Either way, this became a habit of hers, implementing it on the first night spent here, in a much too large apartment for one person. And while other girls her age probably slept with a boyfriend or at least with another pillow, Sol slept with a knife, giving her the same comfort a parent would give to their beloved child.

  She flipped the knife out in the open, exposing the merciless blades to sunlight. It was as if they yearned to be used, but she knew that the service they could provide would most likely never take place.

  At around 10AM the everyday routine started to take place. Sol left her spacious apartment – most of it empty and unused – to take on a twenty minute walk down the streets, where across the Seeds gallery, her workplace stood.

  The atelier was a loft apartment existing solely for three girls to craft their work in, which would in turn guarantee them a position in a gallery across the street.

  This little world belonged to Sol, India and Haru, all of whose talents didn't seem to come to an end by entering their early adult life. No, they would in fact become even greater, more influential within the art community as the time progressed. And this was something they were most praised on, sometimes becoming the center of their art. Everyone tried to predict their fall – which would most certainly happen at some point, as it is the case with every great artist – however, inspecting each and every new piece these three youths displayed, there wasn't a single indicator that their work has lost its originality, its essence. And it didn't need to pass much of sand in an hourglass, before they were known as the three musketeers.

  The leading figure among them was of course Sol. However other two girls didn't stay that much behind, to some they were even greater, but that was obviously a complete lie even to the novice.

  One of the girls, to whom Sol showed greater respect and gratitude, was no other than India. It was due to India’s coincidental stumbling upon Sol’s online sculpture presentation, that she was granted a chance of making it in the art industry. That, and of course India’s father influence which was greater than most galleries have in the metropolis. There was practically only one, at most two, other big names beside Seeds than even had a possibility of bearing the name competition. Seeds, was a big deal, that spread not only domestically but also branched into other global cities. So India, after all, represented the key that automatically opened doors to so many other avenues in art business and in this case, Sol was most likely to become another starving artist if it wasn't for the miraculous discovery.

  India, who ironically also drew origins from India, was a special girl. The exotic looks she was graced with, made her standout no matter how hard she practiced sunken posture, or how much she wanted to hide even in the privacy of her own home.

  Big almond shaped eyes in evenly spread hazel color on her dark skin tone, together wit
h plump lips and straight nose, were nicely framed by black locks, reaching all the way to the very end of her back. She was of different beauty than the desired standard majority elevated in this capital. And this fact – though superficial – was something that Sol reminded of Min. Of the girl, who rebelled against the whole world by simply following her own made principles.

  Sol always thought that her exotic friend kept achieving unreachable goals, all due to her advantage of being born beautiful. But even if she came into the world with unfortunate features her future stood strong, unwavering, like the path her father crafted for their whole generation to come.

  The art she specialized in was watercolor painting. And even when many others found this medium to be unrefined or even poor, her talent proved time and again how much one can actually achieve by persistence, as she created such splendid paintings, Sol at first thought they actually were made in oil. The various hyper realistic landscapes decorated many homes, and there was no one that could decline in having one of her watercolors placed on their walls.

  Haru, the other girl, to whom Sol could lean onto when in time of doubt, was also a child endowed with great blessings. One of them was her Japanese lineage spreading all the way to the 18th century, with each artist in their respective generation craving an even deeper path of history. Haru’s motto was to remain true to ones roots, so she never abandoned the artistic style many before her struggled to develop, or to preserve. She was true in that sense and this made for a remarkable talent on the market whose family reputation was as clean as the first December’s snow.

  She was soft spoken, graceful and even a little bit shy when confronted with unpleasant questions. All qualities opposite to India that was quite bold, loud and sometimes obnoxious. But the harmony between them worked extremely well, and they easily balanced when working together, each behind their individual desk crafting next never-before seen art piece.

  In comparison to her other two comrades, Haru was the least attractive, appearance wise, as virtually everything on her face was small. The eyes, nose and lips, but even so, her strength lied in inner beauty that came to life while dealing with people. If Haru and India stood together it was rather funny how everyone first came to Haru, as her energy was more inviting, pleasing.

  Her embracing nature easily captured Sol’s heart since their first meeting in atelier, and it wasn't long after that they conversed much deeper topics than just anything involving art.

  This girl painted daily lives of modern people on medium sized wooden panels. However her peculiarity was that she stayed loyal to her ancestors, as she always used a washed out palette of colors, Asian style brushes and an almost see-trough appearance of her main characters.

  The reliable artwork of modern times, which could be potentially showed to someone from the past, was her goal, and she succeeded in it long ago. Maybe at times, Haru exhibited too much of keen interest to distant history – this being a negative trait in Sol’s eyes. But only, because trough seeing such affection for past brought unease into Sol’s heart.

  So the fact that Sol could compete, and even win against these two outstanding individuals with her sheer talent, was much more than outstanding. It was unheard of.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ asked Haru in a worried tone, pressing her hand on Sol’s shoulder.

  ‘You’ve been staring at this sculpture for the past hour.’

  Sol had woken up from a daydream, drawing nothing out of it. No inspiration, no idea for what her next piece would be. The sculpture in front of her was already vaguely shaped to be that of a person sleeping, but whose face could possibly be crafted in the remaining clay, she had no clue.

  ‘I have no idea, who could that be,’ she replied honestly.

  ‘Maybe you can sculpt me again,’ loudly interrupted India, who looked at them under her brow, focusing on her watercolor in progress.

  ‘She can’t make the same people again. That's not the point,’ retort Haru, siding with Sol, full of understanding and compassion. ‘You can’t rush these things. I’m sure it will come to you.’

  Sol thought this over for a few moments than added, ‘what if I can’t make another sculpture? What if that was all I could do and I’ve hit an end?’ She then looked Haru in the eyes, making the girl drop her palm off her shoulder.

  ‘These are just if’s which don't prove anything,’ India’s answer cutting trough their silenced workspace. ‘There are so many people in this world and with the pace you are making new work, I’m sure you wont run out of subjects until the day you die.’ This turned Haru to gaze her, giving a rare harsh look. However what the dark beauty told were hard facts, and Sol was immediately aware of it once she heard her voiced opinion resonate.

  ‘You’re right,’ said Sol blankly, rising up from the small wooden chair in deep red color. ‘Both of you are. I’m definitely going to find a face that fits this,’ her eyes pointing in the direction of sleeping figure, ‘but first, I’m going to take a brake.’

  She didn't know what this brake represented for her or what it actually meant to take one. Because as much as this line of work gave a certain aspect of freedom one had over time, she was never once truly liberated from it. Time also represented a rather headstrong enemy in her life, which she still struggled to let go of. In all these years living, what appeared to be her dream job, Sol didn't take a time off to properly recover her body or the overused mind.

  So the next week was filled with long walks trough the nearby parks in the early mornings, and when night announced its faithful return, the deep pondering became alive. Each day of the week was like a repeated circle filled with recycled thoughts, memories and observations. She wanted to lead an authentic life, to be proud of what it meant to breath the truth, but somewhere along the line Sol kept returning to one disturbing impulse.

  This really is the end. I can’t go any further and to be honest, I don't want to.

  These worrisome thoughts could indicate a plunge into depressed state of mind. But they could also be just a simple chain of doubts one is bound to experience while following their own path. However, Sol knew she was far from those mindsets.

  When the letters formed, one by one, completing each sentence, she felt a hard release escape her body. It was as if she was weighted down by the very wish to sculpt in the first place.

  The sculpting brought her so much more than what she could even conceive in her mind, but somehow she was also always left in the dark of what it meant to carry out this pounding wish, to make it a desired reality. And now – when her inner turbulent world of hell-like images floated out in the open, when they finally materialized, and the wish to create further evaporated – Sol understood how heavy it is to carry these types of wishes inside of oneself. How much endurance trough suffering, doubt and pain one needs to hold, just to execute a task of fulfilling a life long dream.

  Perhaps her dream stood on the verge of no return, but the meaning of her life wasn't lost. The meaning started to become more and more obvious with each inhale, when she finally grasped the elusive idea and decided, citing her discovery aloud, her voice echoing off the empty walls.

  ‘I am the meaning.’

  ***

  People slowly but surely, kept entering the main gate to witness the event of much anticipation. The event, that would deliver a surprising twist.

  By eight in the evening, most space in Seeds was occupied – each of the visitors, investors or potential costumers taking their spot, all lined to see final act of series called Revived.

  The large space, separated by many walls and corridors, all lead to Sol’s one art piece, on which she worked on for the past week. The hours were long, strenuous and at times thoroughly painful, but the sculpture at last took a breath of fresh air, bathing under the luminous red light – the only light of color in the entire exhibition.

  She distanced herself from the curious eyes, taking an observing angle by leaning on one of two entrances to another set of statues. As she watched
reactions, comments and gestures, a wave of certainty passed trough her. Sol was so very certain this was indeed her path to walk on. A path of no return, but nevertheless path of truth.

  India and Haru swiftly guided the guests, who were still unfamiliar with the whole exhibition by giving them a brief explanation to the theme they were about to throw themselves in. Occasionally, a person or two came to Sol, offering a congratulatory word. And even though she knew most of them probably didn't even understand the message behind her work, she replied in polite tone of voice. The only thing she most definitely looked forward to was the end of the night. However the clock needed to run trough a chain of circles before her final sleep came, stretching into infinity.

  The chatter, laughter and clicking of champagne flutes gradually blended into incoherent noise, making Sol quite sick of the pretentiousness which she created. This was one of the instances where she tried to reveal a side to her authentic self, yet everyone missed the key component, understanding. No one truly comprehended the meaning behind her work or in fact, behind any art ever being exhibited. Sure there were many artists who also played the game of chess, trying to hide their unoriginal, pathetic face under the facade of seeming genius. The ones who understood, however, easily spotted this type. They were the ones who didn't create art, but became art instead.

  For a while, Sol eyed the secret door in back that would separate her from the overwhelming response the exhibition gave her. And just as she was about to start her walk towards the exit, someone grabbed her by the forearm.

  The feeling of the unidentified skin touching her so forcefully brought a hint of long forgotten unease, from the depths of her being. She quickly analyzed the palms of India and Haru, only to be once more convinced it was neither of them. And then, before she could turn around, a voice was heard.

  ‘You’re leaving?’

  Where have I heard this voice before, thoughts jumping in search for the right person. Then suddenly something clicked, instinct telling her the name.