Poesy

Jude or food

In a small storage space behind the bar, lives many of my childhood treasures. I have fought my way here, beyond the sea of cobwebs, to find the most valued of all. At least, it used to be. When the light from behind me catches the flaking yellow paint, I swear I hear harps playing. Complete with a nifty basket, a banana seat and handlebar tassels, I present to you, Beatrix. And in case you haven't realized yet, Beatrix is my bike, which, by the way, is a lot smaller than I recall.

In fact, as I yank it out of the over-packed den, I'm not even sure if I'll be able to ride this thing. I dust the seat off with the sleeve of my hoodie and take it for a spin around the parking lot. My knees smack the handlebars with each pedal. I'm sure I look like a complete boob. But whatever, according to the navigation, the address Jude gave me is only a ten-minute bike ride. I can do this.

I imagine this would ordinarily be somewhat sentimental, riding your childhood bike through the same neighborhood that you grew up in. However, the fact that my mother bought it for me and we used to ride together and given the fact that that is still a sore subject for me; I decide to focus on other things. Like how good tacos sound right about now. I hope Jude has food.

I make a mental note to let Jude know how cool it is that his name rhymes with food.

After a while, I stop to check the navigation, thinking that I may have taken a wrong turn somewhere, considering I am approaching an industrial area. There aren't many houses here and no houses means no food. But, the navigation seems to think that I am going in the right direction, in fact, I'm only like a minute away. I send him a text to let him know that I'm almost there.

After traveling through a few alleyways and swerving around some semi trucks, I arrive at a parking lot where Jude's white car is parked alongside a few others. I glance up at the ten-story brick building and wonder if this is the moment in the story where I die.

Then Jude pokes his head out of the windows about half way up, his brown curls falling forward and shading his bright smile.

"Hey," he shouts. "I'll be right down."

"Where am I?" I shout back, but he's gone before he can answer.

I park my bike against the wall near his car and wrap myself into a tight hug.  I'm watching a duck and her ducklings splash through a nearby puddle and I try to remember when it rained. I cringe, thinking that its possible that the puddle isn't from rain at all.

A large black door squeaks open behind me and Jude leans out.

"Come on," he says.

I follow him, up, panting as we reach the sixth set of stairs. My legs burn as I struggle to lift them one after another.

"Oh my glob," I whine. "Why couldn't we use the crate elevator?"

"Sorry, we're almost there," he assures me.

My mind begins to race again as he unlocks and pulls open another large black door.

"Are you bringing me here to kill me?" I ask him.

"Yeah, come on." He gestures for me to walk inside as he holds the door open with a humored expression and I do so cautiously.

My eyes go wide at the sight. Makeshift walls, painted in an array of intricate murals, partition off rooms and common areas. A blonde girl walks past us, offering us a tight-lipped smile and stopping at a communal sink to rinse off some paint brushes. Jude looks at my expression and I beam at him.

"What is this place?"

"Art studios," he replies. "My landlord bought this whole place with his trust fund, renovated it and rents it out to starving artists at affordable prices."

"Wow."

I follow him down the hall until he stops at one room and opens the door for me. His studio is small, with two giant windows on an exposed brick wall. A big island is built in the middle of it, a heap of clay in the center with various tools sprawled out around it. When I look to my left, there is a mattress and box-spring stacked with a few blankets and pillows on it. I cock my head at Jude, a puzzled expression on my face.

"Do you live here, Judey?"

He laughs at me and walks around to the other side of the island. He grips the edge and leans forward.

"No, Poesy, I don't live here. But, if I'm working on a project late or trying to meet a deadline, then sometimes, I'll crash here."

"Oh," I say, nibbling on my thumbnail. "Your parents don't care?"

"No. They trust me. Anyway, I'm eighteen, remember?"

I am quiet then, I take my time walking around the small room, observing the various paintings and things he has hung on the walls. I stop at a small table that was hidden behind the island at first. A few of the clay pigeons are sitting on it, including one with a broken head. I pick up the broken head and swivel around to him. He's watching me.

"Is this the same..." I trail off.

"Yea," he says and I wonder why he hasn't tried to fix it.

I shake my head and smile. "Why clay pigeons?"

He exhales and sits down on the bed. "Its kind of hard to explain... I guess, the best way I can describe it is... humans have a habit of making things just to break them. Like clay pigeons."

"and promises," I add. My stomach lurches as my mind flashes to Annika and then to my mother.

"Yeah," he agrees.

Things are feeling a bit heavy, which is not a feeling I like to stay in for too long. So I decide to change the subject.

"Did you realize that Jude rhymes with food?"

He laughs at me again, although, I keep my expression serious.

"You're so weird, Poe," he says in a raspier-than-usual voice and suddenly I notice how attractive it is when he calls me weird.

Turning away so he doesn't catch my reaction, I place the pigeon head back on the table. I'm so dumb sometimes. I came here with the intention of going over the plan for Saturday and to talk about how things are going with Annika. Yet, here I am, blushing like an idiot.

"I actually came here for a reason, but now I'm hungry," I admit. "I want Jude... I mean food. I want food."

Jeez, Poe. You dimwit.

I hear him stifle a laugh again so I turn around and raise an eyebrow at him. He puts his hands up as if to call a truce and raises from the bed.

"You know," he says. "For such a small girl, you sure do eat a lot. Do you like seafood?"

I eye him suspiciously. "Seafood?"

"Yeah, like crab and shrimp."