Page 20 of Portrait of A Lost Artist
I had never heard those words before, and perhaps if the sun hadn’t been shining so brilliantly overhead and I hadn’t felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for rediscovering my purpose, I might have been moved to tears by her heartfelt declaration. It had been ages since I last felt the spark of an artist within me, so why was it that her simple yet profound words reignited that sense of inspiration?
“Yeah, I guess you can call me that.”
My hoarse voice gets interrupted by the sound of her phone ringing, and she perks up at that moment, taking it out of her purse and bringing the device up to her ear.
“I’m on my way there! Sorry, I lost track of time.” The person on the phone keeps talking her ears off, so she can barely lift a hand in the air to wave it at me before she rushes away from the park. I have to chuckle at her antics, because she’s so...spontaneous, and all I’ve ever known are faux friendships and planned-out words.
She’s the change of pace I needed.
?CHAPTER EIGHT
VERONICA
“Everybody saw me sick and it felt like no one gave a shit. They criticized the things I did as an idiot kid.”- Lonely by Justin Bieber (ft. Benny Blanco).
EVERY CORNER OF CUBAHAS HISTORY, EACH SPOT TELLING ITS OWN COMPELLING STORY.The House of Lopez holds echoes of the past, just as Aseré does. Each location weaves a tapestry of experiences and cultural significance. Standard notice, it is, for people around our community to be aware of the most popular spots. For example, the Lopez brothers, who were once the biggest troublemakers in the entirety of Havana—whom Mom talks about endlessly, saying they are pests to our society—, had opened a tavern over twenty years ago, where people would go mingle in between clouds of cigarette smoke and booming music coming from small artists, unnoticed by the outside world.
The reason why Zeke frequented the place. I hoped, late at night, that he would get that record deal that he desperately had craved for, but time will tell and mend all the wounds that come with the feeling of failure. As the designated best friend, I should have been the one to plan out Alessia’s twenty-ninth birthday party, but hosting parties fit me as well as the expectations from my mom.
Just a hint—they don’t fit me at all.
Zeke took it upon himself to plan a Cuban night event in its best exposition and form. As I approach the tavern, I can't help but admire its quaint charm. The low ceiling is adorned with an eclectic display of flags from around the world, fluttering gently in the dim light. The floors are a striking pattern of squared black and white tiles, giving the space a classic feel, while the warm, weathered wooden walls exude a sense of history and comfort. To my surprise, I find Alessia already seated in this inviting atmosphere.
In accordance with our carefully crafted plan, Zeke and I were tasked with staying behind to meticulously arrange the final touches of the birthday party. We had everything mapped out—from decorating the vibrant balloons to setting the table with colorful plates and shimmering cutlery. We prepared for the moment when she would be picked up a few hours later by Adam and Olivia, ready to surprise her with all our efforts. However, they are both seated by the counter at the center, sipping from bottles of beer as they look at the scenery that is displayed in front of us.
“I could fucking choke you right now, Zeke!” Alessia screeches, pushing her long blonde hair off her shoulders to show the yellow strapless top she had matched with a maxi skirt in the same color.
“What? I am not the one who got it wrong!” Zeke defends himself. The curls in his hair bounce when he tries to get close to her, only to be pushed away by the extension of her palms.
“I said I’d choke you.”
“And you want me to say I’d like it, don’t you? I told Adam perfectly well that he’d pick you up at nine, not at seven. I’m sorry that the decorations are not up, but if you leave right now, then—”
“You’re kicking me out of my birthday party?!” Alessia screeches, dramatics heightened as the blush on her cheeks spread.
Now, this might not be rocket science or quantum physics, but I have always had the notion that Alessia and Zeke had somerendezvousthat had not gone unnoticed by me, but unspoken about. They were pleasant to each other when they met; Alessia chuckling at his trials and errors of trying to get the exact words to talk to her in English, for he did not practice it much. However, something changed along the way; a twist in the axis of what they once were, irritated by the mere existence of the other, and yet, incredibly worried for people who say that ‘they don’t like each other the slightest’.
