by Mia Garcia
“Okay, everyone.” Candace clapped, getting everyone’s attention. Ryan wondered what the prompt would be today. “We’re doing portraits today. I know, exciting.”
Across from him Blake, who was taking the same summer course, arched a brow, drawing a smile from Ryan. He’d been trying his best not to treat Blake differently after the museum, but every now and then he’d notice the curve of Blake’s jaw or the flakes of clay that stuck to his skin. And his skin would flush and he’d forget what he was about to say. Then there were moments when remembering their kiss made Ryan think of Jason, which was infuriating and ridiculous.
There were a few moments where Ryan was sure Blake was going to bring up the kiss and ask what was going on between them, but he always made sure to keep their conversations to painting. Ryan was a mess that didn’t know who he was or what he wanted. Blake didn’t deserve that. But he didn’t feel like talking about it yet.
“You’re probably already thinking about doing one of your mom or that super-cute barista you’ve been meaning to ask out. Well, tough luck. We’re doing self-portraits.”
She might as well fail him now. A self-portrait? He hadn’t attempted a self-portrait in years. The last one he’d done he’d hated within months of finishing it. Why was it so much easier to capture someone else on canvas? At least in a regular portrait assignment he could try and get his grandmother that second painting she’d wanted.
Or even . . . a portrait of Jason? They’d texted earlier today, catching him up on Ryan’s grandmother. They’d talked until Ryan forgot they’d even broken up and Jason had to run to his internship. They made no plans to meet up—Ryan hadn’t been strong enough to fail again.
He was imagining the palette he’d use for Jason’s portrait when Candace broke into his thoughts again. “I know. I’m a monster. How could I assign a self-portrait? Isn’t there a bowl of fruit or meadow somewhere that needs painting? I’m sure there is, but I want to see you. Not the you that I see every day, because to be honest, I don’t know you. So I want you to take that good ol’ blank canvas and show me yourself. And I don’t just mean here’s a face, I mean you. If you is your dog or your favorite shirt or, heck, a pretty meadow, then do that. But you better make me feel it. Use whatever you want. You’ve got the whole week for this one.” She smiled. “So take your time.”
Could he ask for a year’s extension?
Candace came around, so he leaned in like he was studying the canvas instead of wishing for its untimely death. He pursed his lips, blowing out a breath. He ran a hand through his hair, long enough to tuck behind his ears now. Jason had loved his hair; he’d close his eyes and run his hands through it before pulling Ryan’s mouth down to his.
He would draw Jason straight on like a classic portrait, eyes boring into him, so blue they hurt.
Another time, apparently. He filtered through the piles of oils, searching for inspiration in tones of blues, greens, titanium white, before realizing that he was picking out the colors of Jason’s eyes.
Stop thinking about Jason. You are more than Jason.
In response his mind reminded him of the green just at the corner of Jason’s eyes and the soft plush of his lips.
Who are you?
He looked down at his hands, specks of paint stuck to his skin. Last year around this time his arms had been clean, untouched by paint, too busy traveling up shirts and pulling Jason’s body closer or holding his hand in the dark of a theater they’d snuck into.
This is unhelpful.
How would his grandmother see him?
Ryan smiled, remembering the framed portrait he’d made when he was just thirteen. It hung proudly in her living room, the perfect location to show it off. What would that Ryan paint? He’d do a straight-on portrait no doubt—a confident Ryan with a smile on his face. But that Ryan was gone.
Which Ryan was left?
“Okay, time’s up for today,” Candace announced. “See you all Thursday. You can leave your canvases here or take them home if you want, just please clean up your stations.” Ryan stared at his blank canvas. He’d be back here tomorrow to help at the studio, so he could technically just leave the canvas here, but he decided against it. Maybe tonight he’d feel inspired and work on it at home.
THE COFFEE SHOP was packed, but Ryan and Blake managed to snag a wobbly table. “In a way the blank canvas IS me.” Ryan turned the canvas around so he wouldn’t have to look at it anymore. “So technically I have completed my assignment.”
“Congratulations. I’m sure they’ll hang it at MoMA.” Blake sipped his iced coffee, a smile flashing on his face.
Ryan shot him a look. “We are no longer friends.” He swirled his own iced coffee until he was certain all the caramel syrup was evenly distributed.
“How’s yours coming along?”
Blake had left his piece in the classroom since he’d be going back tomorrow for another class on sculpting. He’d gotten so good over the spring and the teacher had encouraged him to continue into the summer. “I have some ideas, just trying to figure out if they’re physically possible.”
“What do you mean?”
Blake pulled out his phone. “I have this idea about using painting like a sculpture on the canvas.” He slid Ryan his phone with a series of photos to slide through of other painters who used paint like clay.
“That looks amazing.” Ryan slid the phone back. He couldn’t help but feel a little jealous that Blake didn’t seem to be struggling with his portrait.
“Why don’t you make a list?”
“List?”
“Of things you like, things that are important to you, your family, your friends. It might be silly, but it could lead to something.” He took another sip of his coffee. “You have to find your heart and paint it all over the canvas.”
“Can you find your heart if it’s broken?”
“Is it?” Blake said. “Make the list. Doesn’t hurt to try.”
FAMILY.
He wrote on the paper as he started his list. A safe place to start.
Ryan was his family. He was his mom and dad. He was Katie. He was his grandmother. He was his Taiwanese and Puerto Rican heritage equally, regardless of any backhanded comments. He was his lu rou fan with a side of tostones. He was gay. He’d been in love.
He was still in love. . . .
He was broken.
He was a heart that still tugged to the past, tethered to a boy who didn’t think about him like that anymore.
Or did he? Should he ask . . . ?
He went back to the list, trying to push away each thought of Jason that popped up even as they kept coming.
He was heartache.
He was empty.
He was insecure. A hand that still paused before it reached for pencil or brush; that still second-guessed and chided.
He was skin that missed Jason’s touch and a mind that quickly obliged with memories of him.
Who are you without him?
He was a boy who did not know.
“What are you doing?”
Katie bounced in, oblivious to the goings-on in Ryan’s mind. As she hopped over a pile of dirty laundry, her long braid swung back and forth in an exaggerated way.
“Knock.”
“Door was open.” She pointed to the list. “What does that say?”
“Just a list. Did you do your language homework?”
“Yes.” She rolled her eyes. “A list of what?”
“Me?” When she scrunched her face he tried explaining further. “I have to draw a portrait of myself and I’m not sure where to start, so Blake told me to make a list of who I thought I was.”
“Did it work?”
“Not yet.”
“You can draw me instead if you want?” Ama taught her well. Katie swung her braid to the front, tugging at the strands. She was already so tall for her age, just like Ryan had been.
“It’s kind of an assignment so I can’t get out of it.”
“Okay . . . ,” she gru
mbled. “Want to draw a dinosaur?”
“What?”
“Let me show you.”
She bounced out of the room coming back with a dinosaur coloring book. The kind you bought in line at the grocery store or pharmacy. It came with a three pack of waxy crayons that glided cheaply over the paper. Katie also brought her favorite box of crayons as well. “See, you connect the dots to make a dinosaur and then you color.”
“I see. That’s pretty good.”
“It has puzzles too, in the back. Do you want to color?”
“I’m . . .”
“You said the list isn’t working, so maybe you need a break. My teacher said breaks are good when you are having a hard day.”
He was having a hard day. Katie pushed the box of crayons on his lap placing the coloring book between them. “You can rip out the pages, see? So we can color at the same time. You want to do a T. rex or the bronto . . . brontosaurus?”
Ryan smiled, putting the list away. Maybe a break was just what he needed, or a different assignment. “Which one do you want?”
“The T. rex. I want to make him purple.”
He carefully ripped the page and handed it to Katie. “That leaves longneck for me.”
They traded crayons, Ryan sticking to shades of green for his while Katie giggled, coloring hers shades of purple and orange. All the while he thought about the list and the question: Who are you?
Jess
HOW LONG COULD Jess watch the fan above her head, twisting in her sheets, rearranging herself until her body finally listened?
It wasn’t listening to her much lately. Jess shifted to her left, placing a pillow between her legs to lessen the ache she felt. No, ache was the wrong word. She knew ache, ache could be alleviated. Ache was familiar; this was new. This was skin that disliked the feel of fabric against itself that tightened sheets around her body. It was bones and muscles that felt restless even after a long run, like they could not get enough even as her heart begged her to stop.
Restless, yes, they were restless. She pressed her thighs into the pillow and shifted to her right, pulling her hair away from her neck, though it was already soaked. Every part of her wanted to run, even with how tired she was. Her legs pulsed, speaking of the paths they could go, the things she could forget if she just moved and never stopped moving. Jess closed her eyes. She read if you kept your eyes closed and body still for ten minutes you could fall asleep. She tried to keep her body still, and it hurt; her skin itched, and she could hear a mosquito buzzing by her ear. She flinched and started again. She just needed ten good minutes, just ten good minutes.
Her bones felt dull, like lead sinking into the bed. Not the sinking as you fell into sleep, not like that at all. Jess wrestled out of her sheets, pushing them to the bottom of her bed. She pulled her knees to her chest, feeling the muscles in her thighs stretch. She couldn’t run to appease them, but maybe this would help. She lifted one leg toward the ceiling, and flexed, then the other. The dullness was still there. Out of her bed she paced around the room, clearing space for the yoga mat that Nora gifted her. She placed the dozens of college books, library books, and notebooks in loose piles, taking a moment to note that her room had never been this messy before. The piles made it feel like hers again.
She unrolled the mat and sat cross-legged, and stared out to her room, breathing in and out like Nora taught her, her body taking her from pose to pose until she was flat on her back and the pain in her bones was soft enough to ignore. She wished Nora was there guiding her through, her voice a calm focal point as she corrected Jess’s form, then stepped back like a proud mama. Jess sat up and checked the clock: 1:05 a.m. Maybe someone would be awake right now. She reached for her phone on her nightstand, then set it back. She didn’t want to wake anyone if they weren’t already up.
She brought her laptop to her bed and logged into her chat. No Lee or Nora, but Ryan was idle so there was a possibility. She sent a message, testing the waters, and waited. No response. She drifted from site to site, not sure what she was looking for.
2:00 a.m.
This would bite her in the ass in the morning. She pulled her book from her nightstand, flicking on her lamp. Jess read until her eyes hurt and the words made no sense no matter how many times she read them. Plunged back into darkness, the burn in her eyes eased, and she pulled the sheets over her body again.
3:15 a.m.
Jess pressed her face into her pillow and pushed at the bed’s backboard, relishing the sound of the wood bending to her strength. There was an itch on her back, could she ignore it? How long would it take for that itch to make her body scream? Jess made her hands go limp, trying for the magical ten minutes again. Please, please, please.
3:49 a.m.
There was no burn in her eyes. The darkness only helped them feel refreshed. Great. She stared at the changing light outside her window—the sun not yet up but the occasional passing cars painted light across her walls. She bolted from her bed, attacking the itch on her back first, then the piles on her floor. Rolling the yoga mat, she flipped on a lamp and organized the piles.
She opened up her calendar schedule, staring at the color-coded masterpiece. Practice. Volunteering. Local college visits. All in there. Even the possible college course her mom was throwing around was in there—she’d be thankful to have those credits checked off once she was in college, after all.
The longer she stared at each task the more her head swam. People had a summer break, right? Some people at least. She’d even scheduled in hangout time now because everyone was so busy or tired or grumpy that they were barely seeing each other lately.
Weren’t the resolutions supposed to be bringing them closer?
Further into the calendar was a bright-yellow spot. The party.
She couldn’t think about that now, but she marked a date in her calendar to start prepping for it. That done she started adjusting dates, the center had gone from two days a week to four—Jess was so helpful after all, could she find some time to come and help? Yes, yes, of course she could. At the beginning helping had felt good; she loved seeing her contributions come to life, but now there was so much. Her mind spun again. There were so many more notes in her calendar now: start thinking about this. Don’t forget to do that.
Figure out books for community center, she wrote in her calendar. It was getting harder and harder to find books because half of them had to be bilingual or fully in Spanish. Jess had cheated a bit by reading the same bilingual book at the end of each class to close out the read along, but parents would eventually notice.
She needed more time to do some research, which, contrary to what people thought, wasn’t what every teen wanted to do over the summer, even Jess. The class was scheduled for one hour but was more like three between the setup (who doesn’t love props? Turns out: Jess) and waiting for parents to drop off and pick up their kids, because for some reason parents equated story time with free babysitting.
When Jess had told her mom how tired she was after one week of story time, she’d smiled and pointed to Jess and David, saying, “Try it every day.”
“Touché, Mami,” Jess had replied, and pushed through it. She’d been doing that a lot lately, pushing through the day, not allowing herself to feel overwhelmed even as her heart quickened and she needed more and more moments alone, sometimes in a utility closet where she had to pretend she needed something when someone found her. No time to feel or breathe. Maybe she could schedule that in too?
College, she thought, peering at the stack of books by her desk. She was supposed to share them with David after she’d taken a look, but she kept pushing them farther and farther away like they were at the edge of a cliff. She wrote: “Finish list, set aside dates to visit top five. . . .” Her parents wanted her to apply to their alma maters, so make that top seven. Yay, resolutions.
She remembered another thing and cursed, the words echoing in her room: “look into more scholarships,” underlining it twice.
She’d me
ant to do it weeks ago—what was wrong with her? Jess wanted to fling the laptop across the room, her throat suddenly burning—this wasn’t like her, to forget something like that. Hadn’t her mom reminded her? She let out a breath and set an alarm on the event, declaring the research her priority for the week.
She glared at the dumb college books, her leg shooting out for a kick, watching them tumble to the floor. Then she picked them up again. She had a headache nestled between her eyes, and she rubbed the spot with her fingers, feeling the oil on her skin. Disgusted, she washed her face, scrubbing until her skin was raw.
4:30 a.m.
Her running schedule looked overwhelming, but it actually kept her sane. She broke down the hours in a day: hours to sleep. Hours to eat. How long do I take to shower? Time at the center, time studying, researching colleges, maybe she could give herself another day off? How many hours of sleep did she need? If she went by tonight, not many; her heart was speeding up by the second.
Finally she circled back to the party. It didn’t have to be super complicated, just drinks, snacks, loud music. . . . How bad could that be? She added a preparation schedule into the calendar in bright blocks of yellow when another thing popped into her head: the AP classes. She’d signed up for three. Why would anyone do that in their senior year? Oh yeah, Miss Anderson had thought she should pump up her course schedule the first semester, and Jess had said yes. And then came the class elections, how could she forget that? Push it aside, she told herself, push it aside, that’s months away.
The light started to bother her eyes, she’d never had a migraine, but maybe this was one.
“Focus, focus.”
She listed what she thought she needed for the party, making a mental note to show Ryan, Lee, and Nora. Later she hit the button that showed her a three-month period displaying rainbow colors. She pinched her nose as little whispers started.
You are drowning in a sea of your own making.
The colors started to bleed together.
I can do this, Jess told herself. She felt the tears welling up and blew her nose on the hem of her shirt as she sat up straight. Good luck, her thoughts echoed. “I don’t need luck. I don’t need luck.” She closed her eyes, goose bumps sprouting all over her skin as her mind ran over the tasks she’d prioritized for the week, finding that the repetition made her heart pick up the pace.