Relative Fiction | ✓

17

Karma had a funny way of showing its face. For me, it showed up in the waves of inspiration for painting I had, and that inspiration took the form of the hormonal little shit teenager I was 10 years ago. Sometimes I listened, but sometimes I screamed and slammed doors and yelled at my mom "fuck off you're ruining my life."

That was how my morning was going, and this rough acrylic piece I was working on gave me a big fat middle finger, just like 15-year-old me after being told I couldn't pierce my tongue. I got up from my stool and dropped my paintbrush into the glass of water on my desk. I sort of just rolled out of bed and stalked out of my house to the art shed, still in sweatpants and bedhead. Overthinking was bad for painting, and I figured maybe in my half-awake state I'd be able to sit in front of a canvas and not want to rip my hair out.

When you were miserable, the world around you looked ugly. Colors were dull and faded, and a shadow of storm clouds hung over your head, even on the brightest, most perfect day. Up until last month, my daily life consisted of all rain and no sun.

But as I lit a cigarette and left the shed, I genuinely felt the warmth on my back and saw the rays of the morning sun poking through the dismal clouds of my life. Slowly but surely, I felt salvageable. I felt like maybe the storm would end.

"Hey you."

Suddenly the warmth of the sun felt like it had engulfed my body in flames as I turned to face the source of the voice I'd grown to know so well. I'd still know it was her even if I was underwater. AJ leaned against the side of our fenced in yard that faced the street, with headphones hanging around her neck and sweat glistening like diamonds as it trickled down her tan, freckled chest.

"H-hey," I sputtered out, suddenly very aware of my frazzled appearance.

"Little early for you, isn't it?" she said with a grin.

"Are you sure it's not just a little late for you?" I returned her grin, walking up to her and leaning on the other side of the fence. "You creeping on me now?"

It was only there for a moment, but I liked the redness in her cheeks. It was the little piece of hope I clung to that maybe, just maybe, I had the same effect on her that she did on me.

"I mean...I-I actually run by your house every morning. I just...slept in today." She tilted her head, the flush in her cheeks fading away. "You painting?"

"Uh...trying," I replied with a forced chuckle. She opened the gate, my entire body stiffening up as she brushed past me.

"Can I see?" she asked, her smile so innocent but so alluring, she could have asked me to rob a bank and I'd do it. I wasn't overly private about my artwork, but it was still personal. But AJ scratched at the surface of my soul, practically begging me to let her in.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded, leading her back to the shed. I was suddenly very aware of the smell of cigarettes and stale coffee and paint, and I shimmied past her into the shed before she could, stashing all my abstract sketches that may or may not have been her into a drawer in my desk.

"So what do you paint, exactly?" she brushed her hand over a stack of blank canvases by the door of the shed. "I mean like every painter has a...thing right?"

"Uh...landscape mostly, I guess. I use mostly acrylic paint, heavy strokes, not too much color..." I realized how badly I was just vomiting words at her and dropped into my stool with a sigh. "Sometimes I do...pictures of people, too...."

I would have kicked my own ass if I could.

"You mean like this?" She lifted a small, 8 by 8 inch canvas from a rack in the corner. "Is this supposed to be you?"