Under the Blue Lights // Jake Kiszka

Under the blue lights

"Can I paint you?" Cassie looks up at me, confused. She's on my bed, back against the light grey headboard. The white sheets barely covers her waist and she's wearing a white bralette, a rolled joint is placed between her fingers, the smoke causing a slight blur, her silhouette is barely stamped on the white wall, just a light shadow. It's all very light and clear except for her long, dark hair. It's a beautiful scene and she looks very sexy. Coming back from the bathroom, I had to stop by the doorway to watch her.

"Paint me? I didn't know you painted."

"Really? I thought I'd mentioned it." I reply, sitting at the edge of the mattress by her side and taking the joint between my own fingers.

"You haven't. I know close to nothing about you, Lizzy." She doesn't mean it to sound bitter, but that's how her words taste. I look down to my lap, hiding the pink on my cheeks. I don't like talking about my life, it brings back some memories I'd rather forget, but I've been going out with Cassie for nearly a month, she should know a lot more about me than she actually does and I know that.

"I'm not much of a talker." I say.

"That much I know." Cassie takes back the joint and places it between her lips, her eyes intense as if they're challenging me to say something.

"You can ask me stuff, you know." I say. "I won't simply start talking, because that is not who I am, but if you ask, I'll tell."

Cassie nods and takes a drag of the joint, her features contorting in concentration, like she's thinking about what to ask. "Since when do you paint?"

"I don't even know. I've been doodling pretty much since I can remember, but like oil painting I think since I was 13, maybe."

"Can I see some of your work?"

Cassie watches the canvases intently, running her fingers along the lines and textures, making comments about the colors and asking about the ideas behind the paintings and the techniques. She doesn't seem to know a lot about art, but she makes some good points and seems pretty impressed by my work.

A particular one calls her attention especially, one of the many portraits of Jake. He's playing in this one, his long hair is stuck to his face, his expression is one of pure concentration, his back is arched as his fingers hold the body of his red guitar. He's shirtless, there's sweat running down his chest, his low waisted pants are tight on his thighs, where the canvas ends.

"Does he really play the guitar?" Cassie asks, her fingers tracing Jake's painted torso.

"Yeah, he does and he's actually really good. He used to have a band back in high school called Greta Van Fleet. I'd always thought that was what he was gonna do, but then they broke up." I look at the painting in Cassie's hand more intently and it kind of seems like a time machine, sucking me into it, taking me back in time to when it was painted.

One deep breath and I inhale the musty smell of the Kiszkas' basement, I can hear Jake's raw and beautiful riffs, echoing loud and proud throughout the whole house. I had watched every Greta Van Fleet's rehearsal for years, but that was the first time I had my art supplies with me; Jake had called my attention the night before to the fact I had never painted him playing. It was weird realizing that, since for me there was nothing more dazzling than Jake playing.

He is very passionate about music, always has been; being a rock star was his biggest dream back then. Sometimes I think it still is. He doesn't talk about it, but when he plays his guitar for me, it's like I can see it in his eyes, that same sparkle from when he told me he had formed a band with his brothers and a friend.

When painting him and his guitar for the first and only time, I made sure to make his basement look like somewhere else. Some colorful lights and it looked like he was on a stage, where he belonged. I remember Jake cried looking at it for the first time and made sure to give it a very special place in his room. I would smile every time I saw it hanging from his wall, amongst the posters of his favorite bands. "One day," I used to say, "someone will have a poster of your band up on their wall."