by Danika Stone
“You ever meet someone you were sure you’d known before?”
He frowned as he talked, staring down at the frosty ground. Ava smirked, glancing at him for a moment before digging her fingers deeper into her pockets.
“You sound like my father,” she said with a laugh, turning her face up to the sky; the leaden clouds were just starting to let go of the first large white flakes of snow. They looked like daubs of gesso on a dark canvas.
Cole stepped closer, his arm brushing hers. She peaked back over at him. He wasn’t laughing; there was a line of worry between his eyebrows. It was that intensity she’d noticed before. She swallowed hard, wondering what it would be like to have the entire focus of that attention on her alone. She had a feeling that she was going to find out.
“No, I’m serious,” he insisted, matching her pace perfectly. “Someone you’ve never met before… but it seems like you have.”
Ava slowed slightly and he followed without dropping her eyes.
“Like you...” Ava answered.
She intended for it to be a question, but it came out as a statement instead, because this was part of what unsettled her about Cole Thomas. The feeling that she knew him somehow, or had known him at some point… and that there was something more to it.
Something deeper.
“Yeah,” he said, “exactly,” not bothering to hedge his answer in vagaries. “I felt that the first time I talked to you. It hasn’t happened since...” He turned, letting his voice disappear, and his face clouded over like the dark sky. She wasn’t sure why, but it was like a blind had dropped down in front of him, and that bothered her.
“Since...?”
“Nothing,” he said quietly, eyes scuttling along the ground. Somewhere or sometime else. After a second, he looked back over, smiling gently at her. Hesitant now. “But I feel like that with you,” Cole admitted. “Like I can talk about anything… and it would be all right.”
“Maybe you’re an old soul,” Ava said, expecting the wisecracks that that sort of thing always elicited. She’d heard it enough times in her life, but Cole just watched her, the groove between his brows growing deeper.
“What d’you mean?”
Ava laughed lightly and shrugged.
“My dad is a bit of a hippie. Let’s just say that reincarnation was a supper table conversation growing up.” She turned toward him, grinning. She was wondering how far she could push before he decided to run. Some part of her liked the idea. Another part was terrified. “You know,” Ava said, tipping her head, “the whole karma – what goes around comes around – thing. Past lives and all that.” She laughed again, turning away and walking a little faster. Nervous now. “You probably think that sounds ape-shit crazy, huh?”
Cole shook his head, reaching out and pulling her gently to a stop.
“No, actually, I don’t.” His voice was quiet in the empty street. Awed. Ava fought the urge to step away from him again. He was looking at her like a man who had been denied water for days and had only just discovered a well.
“You don’t...?” she whispered.
He smiled, the worry softening.
“I just don’t go around telling everyone about it because they’d think—”
“You’re crazy too!” she answered, her face giddy, and she began to laugh. Cole joined her, and Ava linked her arm through his, the space between them disappearing with the easy gesture.
“C’mon,” she said, pulling him forward. “I’m cold and I want to get home.”
And then they half-ran, half-skipped the last eight blocks to her apartment, their bodies connected by their crossed arms. Half a block away, their combined shadow looked like the wings of a single sea bird, wheeling in a bright sky. Two blocks further, and they looked like two boats, alone on an endless ocean. One block from that, and their joined bodies merged into a symbol of infinity.
Chapter 4: Black and White Photographs
Cole couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so hard… though exactly what they were laughing about now eluded him. Ava’s arm, looped through his, seemed like the most important thing in the world at this moment. That and the fact that she understood what he had been feeling. She hadn’t laughed at him or blown him off.
Or run.
No, Ava Brooks was different. She was on his arm, running beside him as they made it to a large cement apartment complex three blocks from campus. It was a formal, modernist structure from the 1960’s, a take-off of an Arthur Erickson design now fallen into middle-aged disrepair. Cole slowed as they approached. As a sculptor, he appreciated the straight lines that thrust out sideways, the use of industrial cement in the building rather than stucco, and the glittering expanse of glass. It felt like Ava much more than the student housing with beige walls and fake wood trim felt like him.
She glanced over at him, winking.
“This is my stop,” she said breathlessly, not letting go of his arm. There was a stretched-out silence and then she seemed to read his mind. “Want to come in and look around...?”
There was an unspoken invitation of more in the way she said it, her tongue coming out to wet her lips, and Cole could hardly control himself from pushing her up against the frost-covered building and kissing her hard right then. As it was, they only made it to the elevator before the slow-growing smoulder flared into more. As the elevator door closed, Ava twisted toward him, her hands running up his shirt, an inviting smile on her lips. With that, Cole’s control was broken. In half a second, he had her pinned against the wall, his mouth moving against hers with abandon.
If he’d thought the handshake was something to consider, he hadn’t thought enough about what else that kind of connection would translate into… The kiss was a roar of primal need, leaving him shaking with desire.
She moaned against him and Cole’s hands moved to the small of her back and into her hair, holding her steady as he leaned in. His lips moved against hers; the kiss growing impatient in between the main floor and the third. He flicked his tongue along the fold of her lips and she opened for him. Suddenly he was invading her mouth, tasting her, sweet and burning like alcohol. Her tongue brushed against his - just as the electronic ping announced their arrival. Cole’s knees were weak and trembling, his body throbbing, an intense heat now focused at his groin.
His body was on fire with the need to be with her.
The doors opened, causing them to break apart. She stared up at him as he pulled back, her eyes wide and dark. That was when the nervous flicker of wariness came back to Ava’s expression, as if she was suddenly reconsidering something. Seeing it, Cole stepped back, realizing belatedly that his body rushed headlong into things he should have been playing out more slowly. He realized that he couldn’t control himself around her… and that thought worried him a bit.
And yet...
Her expression shifted subtly and suddenly the yearning was there again. She reached out, dragging him along the hallway with her. Her hand was tight in his, warm and strong and Cole couldn’t help but grin. God, but he wanted her!
She dug through her purse – a small backpack, he absently realized – as he watched her, noting the sharp movements and impatience, so perfectly Ava. She fought with the keys before fitting one into the lock. He put his hand on her lower back, thinking of how naturally it fit there. How good and right this all felt to be standing here next to her. She pushed open the door, leading him into a small, recessed foyer next to a coat rack and closet. From there, several wooden risers led up to the main space. Looking over at Cole, she grinned.
“Go ahead,” she said, “it’s a little cramped here at the bottom.”
Cole nodded, stepping inside as she flicked on the light.
“Wow...” he said, eyes widening, “this is really nice...”
It definitely wasn’t like his university apartment, with the second-hand clapboard furniture and fading posters. Cole walked slowly up to the main floor, trying to absorb all of the details that made up Ava. The leather
couch. The plants sitting in yogurt containers on the windowsill. The unframed paintings on the walls. He was reading her the way you could tell what kind of grader a prof was going to be, based on the books and prints and clutter (or lack thereof) you found in his office. Cole wanted to know everything about her.
Behind him, she chattered as his feet found their way.
“...I share the place with my Dad when he’s around. He pays half the rent for me, though he won’t let me paint in here...” She laughed for a moment; the sound was poignant, though happy. “I have to rent my own studio for that, just like he does. We’ve been here for the last four years, though Dad’s been on tour most of the time now that I’m at university… I’m pretty much on my own...”
Cole was only half-listening as he gathered details to dissect later. There were photographs on the wide expanse of wall beside him. They were all black and white pictures of Ava at various ages. She looked sadder in the younger ones – and had an expression he recognized in several – the concern he caught every so often in her eyes. But in most of them she was grinning, her face wide and open. There was a man with her in many. He shared her light eyes and easy smile, though his colouring was slightly darker, brown hair instead of blond. The two of them sat side by side in the velvet-covered seats of an old theatre in one; the man – her father, Cole assumed – was wearing a tux, his chin stubbled. Ava was perched next to him, grinning in a white dress. Her father had a violin laid across his knees, his eyes were on his daughter. In another, Ava was rolling her eyes in an expression of teen rebellion and the man was hugging her from behind, his arms pinning hers down to her sides so she couldn’t get away, a goofy grin on his face. Behind them was a beach and surf.
Cole finally took the last step up to the main floor, his eyes on one final picture. In this one, neither Ava nor her father was looking at the camera. Someone else – a nameless photographer – had snapped the shutter while the two of them were deep in conversation. Ava’s hands were lifted, fluttering like birds in flight, eyebrows raised, mouth open in an ‘o’, and her father was watching her with rapt attention. A small smile – almost sad – was playing at the corners of his mouth, entranced in what she was saying. In that final picture, the connection between the two of them shone.
“You really love your dad,” Cole said quietly, interrupting her. He turned toward her, and that cautious expression flickered across her features once more, then disappeared.
“Yeah...” she admitted. “I really do.”
Cole smiled, reaching out and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She turned into the gesture, her eyes half-closing, seeking out the heat of his palm. The tension was back, rising like a tide. This time she was the one who stepped forward into his space. Cole stumbled as Ava looped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him tight and hard against her. They were so close he didn’t think a gust of air existed between the two of them. She was kissing him this time and he could hardly breathe for wanting her.
They headed roughly for the couch, Ava dancing backwards, tugging Cole forward step by step, while his mouth slanted across hers, moving in ever-rougher motions. His hands had found the edge of her untucked blouse and they moved underneath, thumbs brushing along the curve of her breast, feeling her hardening nipples under the lacy fabric. Ava gasped and Cole moved to her throat, pulling her against him, his tongue running down her neck where he started to suck.
The phone beside them rang.
Cole ignored it, but Ava leaned sideways to see the call display. He was too busy with the narrow column of her neck and the soft skin of her collarbone, and everything below that. He wanted to see her unclothed. Now. Some part of his mind was wondering how far she was going to let him get tonight.
“Shit,” Ava hissed, pulling away from him. “It’s my Dad,” she muttered, reaching for the handset. “He’s calling from Sydney.”
Cole stood, body quaking, while she picked up the phone.
“Hey Dad,” she said, straightening her clothing as if he could see her through the phone. “Yeah – no… sorry, I just forgot you were calling tonight. No. Sorry!” She paused, squeezing her eyes closed, her hand coming up to her forehead, face anxious. “Sorry,” she repeated again. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
Her voice was concerned. It was obvious her father had called more than once. She glanced up at Cole who was moving back toward the stairs. ‘Wait!’ she mouthed angrily, hand pressed over the receiver. He grinned. Her face was flushed and furious. It made him want her all the more, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her if he stayed.
“Yeah. Just got in,” Ava muttered, her eyes still on him. “Uh-huh, Chim was there too… Just walked in the door…. Sorry, Dad… I just forgot…”
Cole started back up the stairs, glancing at the pictures as he did. There was one where Ava was laughing, her arms crossed on her chest. She had a knapsack slung low on one shoulder, a graffitied wall behind her, her eyes on someone or something else just beyond the camera’s range. She was beautiful. He paused for a second looking at the image and then frowned, suddenly seeing something he’d missed. Something not there with the others.
There were no pictures of her mother.
“…Dad, can you just give me a sec… Yeah, hold on…”
Cole turned as she bounded toward the stairs where he stood. Her hands rose to his shoulders, eyebrows pulled together in worry.
“Just wait, okay? Stay a minute,” she said earnestly. She glanced back over her shoulder, as if checking the distance to the phone. When she looked back, her eyes were narrowed mischievously. “I’m not finished with you,” she growled.
He looked down at her, his grey eyes serious and dark, bearing into her like he wanted to touch her soul. Reaching out, he cupped her cheek, feeling things settling atop both of them. ‘Things just feel right,’ Cole thought. Another thought intruded: ‘…this time.’ He didn’t know quite what to make of that part. But Ava was waiting, so he leaned closer to her.
“The two of us are nowhere near finished,” he said, pitching his voice below the range of the phone. “This’ll happen again… but I want to take my time.” She flushed at that statement. “You need to take your call.” He smiled. “Your dad’s worried. Go, Ava. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Later,” she repeated, eyes widening.
“It’ll be worth the wait,” he said, then kissed her hard, forcing all of his desire and frustration into the kiss. His fingers dug into her skin, his hands tight around her. He groaned as he pulled back, panting the next words. “I promise.”
She took a ragged breath, fingers absently coming up to touch kiss-swollen lips. She nodded, and Cole jogged down the last few stairs, closing the apartment door behind him. He was grinning as he walked back down the empty hallway.
Something had just clicked, and it felt right.
Chapter 5: In the Flow
Sunday, Ava slept in late, missing her alarm. After changing into her work clothes – paint-splattered jeans she’d had since high school, a faded black band shirt and her grey, shrunken hoodie – she glanced at the phone to see if there were any new messages. She wondered if Cole might’ve called while she was sleeping, then felt embarrassed for having had the thought. It had only been a couple hours, after all.
There weren’t any blinking numbers on the phone display, so she grabbed a glass of orange juice and a bagel and headed out the door. The dream she’d been having – the one she was trying to capture in this painting – had come back again last night and she wanted to dedicate it to canvas before the feeling disappeared.
It was full of motion and light with no sense of beginning or end. Her vision in the dream expanded as she pulled up and back. ‘Away… away… away...’ until, from above, she could see an expanse of ochre and green. There was an ‘s’ traced in cobalt along one side – (‘a snake...?’ her waking mind asked) – and then a scattering of yellow splotches brightening the patch around it. (‘Gold coins?’ she wondered.
) The whole dream surged with light and colours, her vision dancing. Ava didn’t know what or where it took place. She couldn’t understand what she was seeing, her eyes aching with so much beauty.
That’s where the dream always ended.
When she woke, the memory was sharper than ever, and Ava intended to record it before she forgot. Ava took her beat-up truck downtown, swearing at the irascible heater that left her shivering as she drove. By the time she arrived, Suzanne and Marcus were already working, sharp turpentine and warm linseed oil lacing through the air like incense. Heavy metal music blasted the windows, rattling the jars of brushes at Ava’s easel.
Chim was in his studio masking out new shapes on top of a beautifully rendered portrait of Malcolm X. It saddened Ava, this process of his. His portraits were amazing, and to see him painting and obscuring the original image with a collage of imagery always struck her as heartbreaking. She had mentioned it to him more than once, and today, as she watched him fiddle with the masking tape, his answer came back to her.
“It just seems wrong to me, Chim, to paint over your portraits.”
“Why? I want to layer over them.”
“Because no one even knows they’re there.”
“Ah, but I KNOW the faces are underneath, and THAT’S what matters.”
Ava thought of Marcus’s under-paintings as past lives of the final work. They affected what he was doing on top… but it still hurt her to see them disappear.
Lost.
In her own studio, Ava pulled out tubes of paints, spreading smears of them onto a makeshift palette formed from the top of a margarine container. She loaded a wide brush with colour, then stepped to the canvas, hand poised and ready, remembering the images and emotions from her dream: green and gold, a splash of blue, the feeling of flight.
The world fell away….
Hours later, Marcus and Suzanne were ready to head out for a late supper. Ava blinked in surprise, wondering where the time had gone. Her stomach ached with hunger and she glanced outside, amazed to see it was now dark. Cursing, she began cleaning her brushes in the faded sink, listening as the cast-iron pipes rattled and groaned, bringing rusty water. Twenty minutes later, she was in her truck, heading back. Her fingers tapped against the wheel in frustration as the truck trundled its way down the streets like an cantankerous old man. She’d meant to be around this afternoon, just in case… but she’d been too wrapped in painting and the time was gone.