The Mason List (19 page)

Chapter 27

When
I was nineteen…
 

It
finally happened.  My diary sat exposed to an entire room of snarky critics. 
My eyes moved from one image to the next, seeing my gray drawings on the wall
of the gallery.  They all served as a reminder that my soul was charcoal, which
came in the form of a pencil I used to sketch the details.

Looking
across the room, I stopped on the smile of my blue-eyed boy.  Tonight was
essentially Jess's grand idea; one that caused a deep inner struggle.  I had
five drawings in Gallery 51’s spring exhibition because he insisted that I
enter the competition.  I was the only freshman who made the cut.

Over the
last year, I lived the typical college life, at least the one of an honor
student.  I juggled classes, attended the occasional party, and crammed for
tests over boxes of late night pizza.  Sadie joined the campus debate team and
convinced me to dabble in an assortment of other groups.  With the help of my
new roommate, my life morphed into a new one outside of Arlis, with one
exception.

My
friendship with Jess intrigued Sadie.  She didn’t believe in the concept of
having a male best friend.  Every time she brought it up, I swore Jess and I
had known each other for so long, our relationship was far past anything
romantic.  I never convinced those hazel eyes it was true.  Despite her
persistent questions, she liked Jess and found him
quite charming
.

On most
days, I actually enjoyed having Sadie as a roommate.  She added a motivational
drive to the atmosphere in the room.  Her presence alone, pushed me in
directions I didn’t think possible.  I shared Sadie’s outlook of hard work and
determination, and easily adapted to her purpose driven goals for the future. 

In the
light of my new life, I never told Sadie the details about my past in Arlis.  I
enjoyed being free of the baggage.  Sadie was too intelligent to believe I
presented the full picture.  She probed with questions, but at this point in
the friendship, she never tried to dig deep into an unwanted pit.  Regardless,
I knew how she operated.  Sadie was buying her time, waiting for the kill.

Jess got
deeply involved with his fraternity.  Even with our new lives and different
schedules, we squeezed in an occasional dinner and random cups of coffee every
few days. 

On a cold
afternoon in January, Jess brought an artsy flyer to wave in my face.  Gallery
51 was reviewing pieces for the spring artist exhibition.  The show was geared
toward the indie college crowd, but it was still an actual competition at the
upscale bar turned retro art house.  He had pestered and harassed until I
submitted my entries.  I had expected to be declined by the snooty judges.  To
my surprise, I made the cut for the spring show.  Ten artists had received the
green light; each submitting five separate pieces, making fifty entries for the
showcase award tonight. 

Walking
over to Jess, I stood beside him as he looked at my work.  He smiled like a kid
in a candy store, who just found a package of Skittles the size of a garbage
bag.  It was the same grin I captured in my drawing of him, fishing next to a
pond at Sprayberry.  The gallery required each entry be available for
purchase.  A sale seemed outside the realm of plausible outcomes for my
artwork.  Nonetheless,
Flecks of Blue
had a price tag on it. 

“Is it
weird to think someone might have a picture of you hanging up in their house?”

His eyes
absently sweep down my body, looking at my party outfit put together by Sadie. 
“I don’t mind, it’s more of a landscape anyway.” 

“I guess
so.”

“Besides,
I have the original.  Who cares if they get that one.”

“The
original?”

“The
first one you tried by the pond, remember?” 

“That
awful thing?”  I laughed, thinking about my first attempt when I was twelve. 
“You still have it?”

“Are you
kiddin'?  How could I get rid of somethin' like that?  Perfect blackmail,” he
smirked.

“You
would.”

“Actually…” 
He leaned in close to my ear, his lips touching my hair as he whispered.  “I
have all of your originals, even the ones on the napkins.”

“What? 
How…did you.”  The words stumbled in confusion.  My heart beat a little faster,
seeing flashes of all the times he cleared the table at Jeeter's.  I assumed
the napkin doodles went in the trash with the ketchup packets.  My skin got
warm thinking of Jess saving something so trivial.  The thoughts made me want
to wrap my arms around his shoulders, squeezing tight.  Instead, I absently bit
my lip, trying to focus on something else.

We kept
our physical interactions to a minimum.  On my part at least, it was
intentional.  He had kept his word and never tried to kiss me again.  Tonight
was hard.  Even though he wasn’t touching me, Jess didn’t bother to hide his
true feelings.  They were as clear as his blue eyes.  It was all very confusing
because my heart wanted to thank him for always believing in me. 

“You look
pretty tonight,” he whispered next to my cheek. 

“Thank
you.  Sadie made me wear her clothes.  The dress is too short.”

“I kind
of like it that way,” he grinned and my face got hot.  Stepping back to his own
personal space, he pointed at my last entry.  “Does Uncle Frank know 'bout that
one?” 

“Um, no,”
I shook my head.  I’m sure Frank would spit fire on the ground from both my
drawing and the retro hipster attendees at Gallery 51.  I could hear his
Marlboro voice muttering,
nothin’ but a bunch of damn hippies standin’
around while there’s work to be done
. 

With his
question, I reflected back across the showcase entries. 
Flecks of Red
featured Jeeter's with only the outline of the neon sign and tail lights in
crimson. 
Flecks of Green
displayed an entire wooded landscape with a
single green tree.  
Flecks of Blue
showcased a teenage boy fishing by a
pond. 
Flecks of Orange
highlighted a faded sunset over the old
farmhouse and a lone, orange kitten on the porch.

Flecks
of Yellow
was
the one in question by Jess.  It featured a cowboy on a horse, standing in the
yellow meadow grass.  I captured Frank's rugged face, complete with cigarette
dangling from his lips, and his yellow tinted hat and handkerchief tucked into
his pocket.

“I think
you got a shot with the one of Frank.”

“Maybe.”

“I took a
picture of it on my cell phone.  I’m plannin’ to show it to him.  I can’t wait
to see his reaction when I make him look at it on my
devil box
.”

“That’s
just great.  You’re going to torment Frank with my drawing of him.” I smiled,
shaking my head.   “But really, you think I could actually win?”

“Yeah, I
do and I’m not just sayin’ that.”

“Thanks…I
mean it.  I would have never done this without you.”

“You’re
beautiful and smart and insanely talented, Al.”  He pushed a piece of my hair
back behind my ear.  “I just wish you saw yourself the way I see you.” 

I froze. 
My heart beat a little faster, hearing his soft words and seeing his eyes get a
little dark on the edges.  The feeling happened again.  I wanted to hold him
tight against me.  Looking away, I searched the gallery for my father,
Caroline, and the Masons.  They were alone somewhere in a sea of men in skinny
jeans.

“We
um…should probably go find the rest of them,” I suggested.

“I
guess.”  He let out a deep breath and smiled.  “Mother is probably ready to
shit some bricks.”

“Pearlized
ones,” I laughed faintly.

“Are you
Alexandra?”  I turned around to find an older man in a suit with curly spirals
of hair clipped close to his skull.  He stood about six inches shorter than my
accelerated height.

“Yes?”

“I’m
Professor Lynch.  I work in the university’s art department.  Mind if we visit?”

“Hey Al,
I’ll go find ‘em,” Jess excused himself.

I shifted
nervously in front of the professor, wishing Sadie had not insisted I wear
these damn heels for the show.  They hurt and I bobbled around like an anxious
giraffe.

“Alexandra,
I haven’t seen you enrolled in any of the department classes.”

“I’m a
business major.”  I’d seen plenty of art teachers with eccentric quirts. 
Pascal Frasier, my old teacher in Fort Worth, was beyond strange.  However,
Professor Lynch wore a jacket and glasses and seemed relatively normal.

“But
nothing in the art department?” 

“I guess
I never thought about it.  I’m in the honors program.”

“You
still have the rough edges of a young amateur, but excellent potential.  I see
something in these.”  The professor looked at me closely.  “I’m not sure the
others see it.”

“I um,
don’t understand?”

“Take the
one with the tree.  Some would say it’s a simple landscape with an off-center
oak lit up like a pine on Christmas Day.  Instead, I see a lone sapling that
doesn't seem like it belongs with the shared dirt the tall tree was forced to
grow in.  The sprouting limbs seem to push out, keeping the surroundings at a
distance.”

My
stomach dropped a little as I tried to look away.  I bit down hard on my lip
and focused on the knot of his tie.   He seemed to pay no attention and
continued to the next one.

“And in
Flecks
of Red
, that’s an interesting choice of color to bring to the front.  I see
many facets of the rainbow in the building.  The letters of the store sign
itself are old yellow bulbs.  But you picked to highlight the red outline.  Red
usually means love and passion or sometimes anger and violence.”

I felt
sick.  I didn’t like this one bit.  Who was this person reading my pictures
like a deck of tarot cards?  I hoped he stayed clear of the blue highlights
surrounding the pond and the boy fishing.  My insides couldn't take a breakdown
of that image. 

“Do I
have your attention now?  There’s a unique style but you have something deeper
hidden beneath the simple sketches.  I see emotion and vulnerability.  That’s a
natural talent, which can’t be taught.  Here's my card.  Stop by and we can
discuss next semester.  Maybe you should look at doing both.”

“Ok, I'll
think about it.”  A pressing weight in my chest seemed to push the words out. 

“That's
fine.  Think about it.  Dream about it.  Whatever it takes for you to accept
it’s the right decision.  It would be a shame for your talent to go to waste.”

“Thank
you.”

I left in
search of the others feeling very confused.  I talked briefly to Sadie, who was
engrossed in a discussion with a shaggy-haired political science major, wearing
a white shirt, tie, skinny jeans, and tennis shoes.  Not an odd combination for
the room, but something out of the ordinary for Sadie.  Yet, she never passed up
a good conversation involving foreign policies.  This room was prime fodder for
Sadie to find a kindred spirit.

Making my
way through the crowd, I located the others.  Jess didn’t see me approaching,
but I heard the low words spoken in a heated exchange with Mrs. Mason.  Pin
pricks etched up my back at the implications of the conversation.  I wished I’d
never heard it. 

Brushing
past them, I made my way to the front for the showcase award.  I tasted the
nervous bile forming in my throat.  What if I won?  What if I didn’t?  The news
came with a bittersweet ending.  Maybe I wanted it more than I realized.  My
hopes were crushed by a portrait of used tissues, which featured painted tears
that symbolized dying Ethiopian children.

“I’m
sorry, Al.”  Jess wrapped an arm around my back for a side squeeze.  It felt
almost as good as the one I fought to give his body earlier in the evening.

“It’s
ok.”

“You’ll
get them next time, Pumpkin.”  My dad patted me on the shoulder, trying to
reassure me in his own way. 

“Thanks,
Dad.”  I noticed his hand was intertwined with Caroline’s.  The sight made me
feel happy.

“I always
knew you’d be a star.  I framed a few and put ‘em up by the register.  Can’t
wait for you to see ‘em.”

“You
didn’t have to do that, Caroline.  Thank you.”  I gave her a tight, sincere
hug.  She felt small beneath my arms, like I could crush her if I pressed too
tightly. 

“You have
nothing to be ashamed of tonight, Alexandra.”  I turned my full upright
attention to Mrs. Mason, who looked extremely out of place in her pale pink,
silk suit.  I held back a chuckle when I glanced at the pearl necklace wound
tight around her elegant throat.

“Thank
you, ma’am.”

“You are
doing an excellent job in school and your pictures captured the ranch
beautifully.”  The drawn out words stabbed me in the chest.  Every syllable
stressed dollar signs on my conscience in direct correlation to my school
performance.