by Seven Steps
Accusations and tears and lies.
I closed my eyes, focusing on my cat cuddled next to me, willing myself to be calm.
To find some sort of peace.
But no peace came. The same riot that’d been going on when I entered the house followed me into my room and sat heavy on my chest.
I sat up and rubbed at the center of my chest, trying to massage the tension away, but it didn’t help.
So I did the only thing I could do. I went to the place that always brought me peace.
My sanctuary.
I walked into my art studio, turned my stereo on full blast, and scrolled through my playlist until I found the perfect song. A second later, the heavy, rhythmic thump of African drumming filled the studio.
I’d never been to Africa, but for some reason, African drumming brought out my creative side. My favorite drummer was Olatunji. His beats infused my muscles, making them spasm and pulse and rock.
I lay on the floor in front of the canvas and then let the music ride my soul hard. It drifted through my fingers and ran up my elbows and up my shoulders. It stretched my neck and flowed through my nose before reaching my mind in bursts of colors.
Blood Red.
Fire Orange.
Blazing Yellow.
The deepest black.
I stood and pushed aside my brushes. I wouldn’t be needing them today.
I dipped my fingers into the cool paint and slathered a trail of red across the white canvas.
Next was yellow. I plunged my entire hand in the yellow paint and made golden fingerprints.
Then, I picked up the orange paint and threw it by the handfuls until it pooled beneath the canvas. I liked the way it ran.
Finally, the black. Black like the darkness that slinked and slithered within me. The deepest part of myself I kept hidden. I coated both hands with the dark color and filled in the places that were still white.
As the music vibrated the floor, my soul vibrated with colors. I felt clean. Purged of the toxic air I was forced to inhale.
My parents’ arguments.
Ollie.
The mural.
Andrew.
I filled my canvas with it. But it wasn’t enough.
The music grew louder as I smeared the walls with my fury. I screamed at the paint. I screamed at the air. I screamed at the canvas that was too small to hold me.
I covered every surface with my anguish until I was drained and light and empty and free. Then, I lay on the floor, not caring that paint covered every part of me just as it had covered every inch of this studio. My breath was quick now. My heart pounding in rhythm to the music.
Suddenly, I was tired.
So very tired.
But I was free now. So free and so high that nothing could touch me.
I lay on my side, not bothering to turn the music down, and watched the clock on the wall tick the seconds away.
33
I waited for my new nighttime companions in the mouth of the alleyway.
I’d dressed warmer tonight. Two pairs of heavy socks, fur lined boots, heavy waterproof parka, and matching thick hat and gloves.
I was ready for the cold weather. But I was even more ready to paint. And, I hated to admit to myself, ready to see Ollie.
I’d left him too suddenly in the hallway today, and Andrew had been kind of a jerk to him. I wanted to make sure he was okay. We’d been developing a sort of friendship these last few days. Ever since he helped me off the overpass sign, things had changed. The monster that had once dragged me down was changing into a man of flesh and bone. Someone that made me laugh.
I liked laughing.
Maybe this project would work out well for both of us. I would have proof of my talent, and, hopefully, five better than before paintings, and Ollie would change from the school’s resident juvenile delinquent to the resident Monet. He’d be remembered for his talent instead of his fist. Maybe this whole thing would turn his life around.
I liked the idea of Ollie’s life changing for the better.
Maybe in ten years we’d run into each other at an art show. I’d be living in London, he’d be living in New York. We’d laugh and drink coffee and talk about the good old days in high school when we’d painted a mural and tagged buildings. He’d be single and me…
Would I be married to Andrew?
Or someone else?
The thought of Andrew made me uncomfortable, and I pushed it aside. They would only make me remember how he’d laughed when I told him I wanted to be a painter. He thought my dreams were just a big joke. No, Andrew didn’t have a place in this fantasy, because he would never allow anyone he was with to be some bohemian painter in London. He’d want someone practical, like a doctor, or a banker, or the CEO of a pharmaceutical company. A boy like Andrew Johnson would definitely not approve of my nighttime activities, or, judging by his display this afternoon, my new associates.
The RATZ van pulled up five minutes after ten, early compared to last night, and the door roared open, revealing everyone in their usual spaces.
Ollie and Jeff in the front seats. Jean in the middle, and Able crammed into the back.
They all looked at me with semi friendly smiles. Well, everyone except Ollie, who kept his eyes on the road.
“Finally.” I climbed into my seat next to Jean and blew into my chilly hands. Foggy breath curled through the frigid air. It smelled better tonight. Less like body odor and more like icicles.
Jean jerked her chin at me. “Hey.”
She looked different than when I’d seen her earlier. Her pale skin looked darker. More shadowed. No, not all of her. Just the skin around her eye.
Jean had a black eye? When did Jean get a black eye and, more importantly, who gave it to her?
“Are you okay?” I asked, gesturing to the puffy navy-blue skin.
She smiled silently. “This thing?” She shrugged. “I’ve gotten worse.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Nah. Just a scratch, really. Fortunately for me, Ursula doesn’t know how to throw a hook as good as she thinks she does.”
“Ursula Meyers did that?”
Ursula Meyers was one of the most popular girls in school, and best friends with Dana Rich, the most popular girl in school. She was known for being a mean bully. I’d seen her and Jean arguing in the lunchroom a few times, but I never thought they would come to blows.
Jean raised an eyebrow. “Yup. Ursula Freaking Meyers.”
“But, why would she hit you?”
Jeff chuckled from the front seat. “Because Jean messed with her man.” He jabbed Ollie in the bicep with one sharp elbow, but Ollie didn’t make any move to acknowledge it.
Jean laughed from next to me. “Whatever. I can take a hit.”
I tried to imagine myself with a black eye like Jean’s and cringed.
“That’s nothing,” Able said. “Remember that crazy dude who ran up on Ollie by the guardhouse? He grabbed you—”
“Hey!” Ollie shouted. “Enough.”
Able’s mouth shut with an audible click, and the van grew painfully silent.
I didn’t understand this dynamic. Yes, Ollie was the leader of the RATZ, but did that mean he controlled the conversation too? If it did, then I was about to break that rule. I was tired of being controlled.
“I wanted to hear the story,” I said.
Able hissed in a breath behind me.
“Sorry, Princess. Storytime is done,” Ollie replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Little did he know, I was a master at making room.
“But I didn’t hear the end of it.”
“I’m alive. The end. Now drop it.”
I began to speak up again, when Able covered my shoulder with his gigantic hand. The boy really was huge.
“I’ll tell you later,” he whispered.
I frowned.
Was this how this gang worked? When Ollie said jump everyone asked, ‘How high?’ If so, I wouldn’t last long.
/> A silent thirty minutes later, we climbed out of the car and power walked through the cold parking lot. When we entered the building, excitement replaced the tension that had been building in my chest.
What would we do tonight? Tag another building? Do another initiation stunt? Would Ollie and I sit next to each other in the booth like we had before? I tried not to think about how that moment had made my heart race, or how it’d crept into my daydreams.
I pulled off my gloves, waiting for Ollie to say something, but he didn’t. He just leaned over the table, picked up his felt pen, and started drawing.
Did he plan on working on the virtual tag all night? That meant no tagging any walls. And no portrait work. I was slightly disappointed at that. I’d only done a small tag twice, but I liked it. There’s a sort of freedom in being bad. A high. I could see why the RATZ were addicted to it.
I pulled off my outside clothes and draped them over a chair.
What did he expect me to do? I wasn’t part of the virtual tag, we weren’t tagging buildings, and he wasn’t escorting me into the booth. Was I just supposed to awkwardly stand around and wait for them all night?
Plus, Ollie hadn’t looked at me since I climbed into the van. What was with him? Was he angry at me for leaving him to hang out with Andrew? If so, ignoring me wasn’t the way to solve the problem. We had to talk about it. We were together too often to let things fester between us.
I walked up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked.
“You can hang out in the booth if you want.” Ollie never turned around or looked at me. What was going on with him?
“Are you coming?” I asked.
“No. You need to practice your portraits. I’ll check in on you later.”
I sucked in a breath.
“Aren’t you supposed to be teaching me?”
“I am teaching you.”
My entire body clenched in frustration. He still hadn’t looked at me, and now he was banishing me? I would not allow him to push me aside so easily.
“This is not how you teach someone. That’s not what we did yesterday.”
“Well, this is today. I’m trying a new approach.” His voice was low and controlled. Like he was holding something back.
“You can’t just throw me in a corner and tell me to color. That’s not what we agreed upon.”
“New agreement.” His tone was clipped. Dismissive. I hated being dismissed.
“You can’t change the rules because you want to. That’s not how this works.”
“Well, that’s how I work!” he bellowed.
He’d finally stood up straight, but his comments were still flying over his shoulder, and he still refused to look at me.
Everyone else shrunk back, but if Ollie thought I was going to cower before him, he had another thing coming.
“That wasn’t our agreement!”
He scoffed. “Whatever. Ask Andrew to teach you how to paint. I’m done.”
My stomach twisted painfully. His voice had been low, but I’d heard it loud and clear.
“What did you say?” I demanded, knowing full well what he said.
He shook his head.
“Nothing.”
I stomped around the table, ready to face him head-on. “No. Repeat what you said.”
He finally turned to look at me. His stare was so cold and angry that I wanted to run. But I didn’t. I would not let Ollie intimidate me. Not now and not ever.
His voice dropped to a growl. “I said to let Andrew teach you. You two seem cozy together.”
“Is that what this is about? What happened this afternoon? Because that wasn’t my fault. I didn’t even know he was coming.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
I waved a finger in front of me. “Either you do what we agreed upon, or you can take me home.”
“How about you take yourself home, Princess.”
My anger engulfed my entire being.
“You’re being a jerk!”
“And you’re impossible!”
“Please, please.” Able stood between us, placing his hands in front of him defensively even though he was a good foot taller than me.
Ollie threw his hands up and walked to the window. It took all I had within me not to try to shove him out of it.
Able put his hands on my shoulders, his presence calming me a little. His voice was deep, but soft, like a comfortable old mattress. It matched his big body.
“I know I’m no Oliver Santiago, but I do consider myself a very good artist. How about you allow me to give you a lesson tonight? We can go to the roof and paint the stars.”
My anger still simmered beneath my skin, but I managed to keep my voice even.
“Is it anything like painting heaven?” I asked.
He smiled and shook his head. “I can promise you that these are actual stars.”
I released a breath and frowned hard at Ollie’s back. He was still staring out of the window. A black cloud hung over him. I hoped the lightning hit him right in the heart. Maybe that would melt it.
I gave Able the sweetest smile I could and took his offered arm.
“Thank you, Able. I’d love a lesson.”
I threw a smirk over my shoulder and it gave me the greatest pleasure to see Ollie frowning back at me.
Able and I walked up two flights of crumbling stairs with no rails. Cold wind howled around me, coming from any of the thousand holes in the building’s structure. At the top of the landing, Able tucked two canvases under one arm and picked up two easels with the other hand. If I were by myself, I would have struggled just to pick up one easel, let alone two.
I felt useless, so I walked around him and held the door open. He smiled and stepped through.
The roof was at least twenty degrees colder than the ground, and a million degrees colder than inside. My cheeks stung and my lips instantly chapped. But I followed Able through the door, because I wasn’t just here for Ollie. I was here to learn how to be a better painter, and if Able was going to be the one to teach me, then so be it.
Able set up the easels and canvases along the right side of the roof, away from the gaping hole on the left side. I briefly wondered how sturdy this building was with half the roof rotting away, but I figured if it could hold Able’s weight, it could hold mine.
I hoped.
Another cold wind blew, and I wrapped my arms around myself.
“So, is Ollie always so rude?” I asked, walking to stand next to him.
Able shook his head. “Only when he doesn’t get what he wants.”
“He’s like a child.”
“Yes. Sometimes.”
He moved around the roof, pulling things from various spots. Two stools from beneath a metal stack. A box of spray paint from behind the door we’d walked in from, a knit hat from a small box next to some exposed beams.
“So why don’t you all stand up to him? Why do you allow him to talk to you guys that way?”
He shrugged and sat on the stool. “It’s the way it’s always been.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
His peaceful face took on a faraway expression, as if thinking of just the right thing to say.
“Ollie’s father used to say that everything has a purpose. The sun gives its rays. The water quenches the earth. The soil makes things grow, and the fire warms us.” He laughed a little, then turned to his painting, shaking up a spray can.
“And that means?” I asked, sliding onto my stood and winding my scarf tighter around my neck.
“It means we are all here for a very specific purpose.”
I wrinkled my nose.
“Where does that leave me?” I asked. “What’s my purpose?”
He got that faraway look again. The one that made him look like he was standing on a peaceful beach with the sun on his face instead of freezing on a roof in the middle of Brooklyn.
“The lioness doesn’t know w
ho she is, until it is time to hunt.”
Was he going to talk in riddles all night, because if so, it was going to be a long night.
“So…”
He laughed a little. “So, when you are ready to fulfill your purpose, you’ll know.”
I sighed and turned back to my blank canvas.
I thought taking art lessons with Ollie would be easier. So far, I’d almost died and now I was talking about my purpose in terms of lionesses, the sun, and the sky.
I pulled the cap off a can of spray paint and started to cover the canvas in deep blue. When I pulled out the white spray, Able gave another one of his little chuckles.
“If you are going to paint the sky, you’ll need more colors than that.”
“What? It’s blue.”
“Jasmine, the sky is not just one shade of blue. It’s a million shades of blue.”
“I can’t paint a million shades of blue.”
“Of course not. That's impossible. What you must do is make everyone feel like you painted in a million shades of blue.”
For the next hour, Able worked with me on color mixing. He managed to use every can of spray paint in the box, and, somehow, the end result looked like we’d carved out a piece of the sky and glued it onto the canvas. I didn’t know colors could do that.
I didn’t know I could do that.
I learned other things too that night. Little nuggets, like Able’s three favorite hobbies were yoga, meditation, and mixed martial arts. He told me he’d been there when Ollie was born, and that Ollie was just as loud now as he was back then. He told me he volunteered at the greenhouse on the roof of my apartment building and, by the end of the night, I found myself roped into volunteering up there on weekends.
“You should really go into sales,” I said, opening the roof door while he carried all our things inside. “You can convince anyone to do anything.”
“No. I just like to talk. A bad habit of mine.”
“Able, you are so passionate about everything. You have this thirst for life that’s infectious. I wish I were that enthusiastic about something.”
He put one hand on my shoulder.
“You are, Jasmine. I see it in the way you look at the canvas. You want to paint. That much is clear. You just have to work on letting it out. Let all the pretenses fall away and be who you want to be.”