The Sun, The Moon and The Ocean

chapter two

● above is the infamous Noah, taken by his friend after an early morning surf●

ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS a month was a lot more than I had originally thought. So when I received my bill in my mailbox, I was stressed beyond belief. Waitressing at Shrimp Shack wasn't going to be enough, I had to get more money coming in. 

So I worked my butt off for the next few days, serving up my best smile, taking soft and slow steps, and cleaned my tables after I was done waiting. But my tip count after a couple days was only twelve dollars and five cents and Scarlett didn't seem impressed with me. But, to be fair, I'd only been working for her only two weeks so I guess I couldn't get a raise just yet.

But I was still frustrated that I couldn't make more. I considered taking on another job but that would result in five hours a sleep a night and my body can't handle that.

Feeling discouraged, I decided to go to the beach after work to calm myself down. It was a Wednesday evening, so not too many people crowded the sand and sidewalks. I slipped off my vans and socks and took a stroll along the shore. The warm grime eased through my toes and the soft breeze blew through my hair. I glanced at my surroundings. There were little kids building sand castles and giggling away, university girls lounged upon their bright beach towels and soaked up the last sun rays of the day, and surfers were catching waves.

On the sidewalk next to the sand, there were pop up tents and small carts. They served tacos, grilled shrimp kabobs, some served ice cream and smoothies, others dippy dogs. Most of the pop up tents gave goodies such as hand sewn bags or sweaters, henna tattoos, family photo shoots and some sold beautiful photos of the beach and city.

Then it hit me, I could sell my paintings and even offer portraits in my very own pop up tent. 

I went straight home and organized my completed paintings and unfinished works into two separate piles, then into pieces I was willing to sell and ones I was not. I scrubbed my brushes clean, leaving a pool of purple in the bowl of my kitchen sink. I set five blank canvases by the door and labeled the ones I was going to sell with appropriate prices; I'd start cheap then work my way up. 

I was excited.

I was going to do what I loved and even earn some cold hard cash in the process. This was the dream. Stroking my brush onto a blank canvas, next to the beautiful ocean. 

I went to sleep, but it was hard to fall into REM. I was ecstatic and nervous at the same time. I just hoped that I would make enough to pay this month's rent. 

☼

2pm marked the end of my shift the next day and I jolted out the glass door as soon as the hour hand hit the two. I was ready to paint. 

I hurried home, my legs started to walk quicker and the next thing I knew my feet were jogging a little bit. I wasn't aware that my soul had craved this experience so badly until this moment. I skipped the elevator when I arrived at the complex, it was going to be far too slow for me. I sped up the five flights of stairs surprisingly with almost no struggle at all. My keys jiggled in my fingers as I tried to get my home key out and into the loop.

Finally, I cracked open the door. I tore my work clothes off and carelessly threw them onto the floor of my bed room then put on some baggy blue jeans and a white tee shirt. I slipped my feet into old flip-flops, scooped up all my supplies I had laid out the night before and opened the door. 

The adrenaline was pulsing through me. Painting, well art, was my passion; why I lived! And I was on my way to create works of art, to paint a world within a 18x24 canvas, to give the sun, the moon and the ocean a world of color- and make money off it. This was the greatest day ever, there was no way anything was going to ruin it.