Page 30 of Portrait of A Lost Artist
“Like what?”
“Like you’ll get an answer regardless of me mindfully giving it to you.” He says. “I don’t know if you know Benicio Gutierrez. He’s an old teacher who had a spare room and whom I met when I got here. I didn’t want to stay alone in a hotel, so...we started being roommates.”
“Of course, I know Benicio!” I say. Everyone in this town has, at least, some second-hand knowledge about the people living here. “Benicio had a partner. My mom tore him to shreds for years when she was in her most religious stance. I guess he must stay away from us because of that, but we have talked a bit in the past.”
Nathan’s eyes fill with empathy, trailing over my face. “He’s an amazing man. I...I didn’t know there were still some people who thought like that here.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I can’t change how my mom thinks, so I only shaped myself to not think like she does. Don’t believe that just because she’s this judgmental, ridiculously religious person, I am like that. I serve people at church because I believe there is a God and a greater good that we can give, but we’re not here in this world to pick who deserves that goodness or not.” I annunciate, resting my head on the edge of my hand, elbow propped on my thigh.
“Differentiating yourself from your parents, I believe, is the best thing about adulthood. It rids you of the expectation people may have of you.” Nathan adds, curt words escaping his lips. “I don’t talk to my parents enough. We never had that...bond of being all over each other’s lives. I know they care about me, but the more I got compared or expected to be like them, the more they got mentioned...the more I wanted to separate.”
With a thunderous roar, the waves surged against the shore, and a fine mist of seawater settled on my skin. “Look at me. I could’ve stayed in Texas, but I had to come back. As much as I hate how she is, she’s still my mother. I am not the best person to talk about the difficulty of parents’ and children’s relationships.” Soon after, I am changing the subject. “How are your drawings doing? People around the restaurant were talking about them.”
“Still as free as ever.”
“God, you really must be rich for you not to ask for the slightest bit of money.”
“You said we have to give good to people. I’m not religious, but I can, at least, bring some joy to people’s lives.” Nathan whispers. “It works as a distraction. I remember I used to do it for the same reason back in the day.”
“So, you’ve missed it.” My heart tugs at the weight of those words, because I can connect with what he is saying. Art has that effect.
“Of course.” He affirms. “So, I was kind of wondering...”
“Yes?”
“How good are you at swimming?”
“A fish out of the water, excuse you.” I joke around. A glint of pure mischief danced in his brown irises, and then he was on his feet. “Why? Need me to hoist you on my back and help you puppy-swim around the shore?”
His smile widens. Bigger and bigger, expanding muscles in my heart and soul that had felt constricted and exhausted the past few months. “Oh no, no.”
“Then?”
“Come swim with me.”
What I didn’t expect as I was getting ready to stand up was for Nathan to hoist me up himself. One arm curls under my knees, the other ending on my shoulders before he’s rushing to the shore. I screech, pressing a hand to his chest and feeling his heart hammer against his thorax. As the towering waves crashed against us, soaking us completely, he released me, the sudden rush of water blinding me momentarily before I surfaced.
“Nathan!”
I had never seen him laugh like he did at that moment. Head thrown back as if he was a kid, eyes squeezed shut. He has his hands on his chest while he says: “Sorry, I just really wanted to see your surprised face and it’s just as good as I imagined it to be.”
“Ha-ha.” I mock laughter before throwing water directly at his face and into his mouth. That caused his eyes to open, and his laughter to subside slightly. “Now my dress is all wet.”
“Oh, come on, we were going to swim, anyway.”
“I didn’t bring any change of clothes.”
He shushes me, throwing water at my face as well. “Live one day at a time; we’ll think about that later.” I repeat the motions he just did, only to hear him cackle. “Hey, I’m trying to talk to you. Don’t splash me!”
“You’re so fucking rude.” I laugh along, then propel myself towards him, pushing his shoulders to make him stumble. “Not so much of a superb swimmer, aren’t you?”
His fingers wrap around my wrist, tugging me closer. While the water droplets on his eyelashes were a captivating sight, the warmth of his body and the closeness we shared were abruptly forgotten when the rain began to pour.
His smile holds a dangerous allure, threatening to consume my attention entirely. He moves his hands, as if to embrace the falling water, but I interrupt with a:
“No way it’s raining! It’s been hell on earth the past few days!”
“Your dress was going to get ruined either way.” The tinge in his eyes and the quirk of his eyebrow let my mind roam on the possibilities. Would it be too much to think of his big palms spreading on the straps of the dress, pulling them down before settling a chaste kiss with his plump bottom lip to caress the skin across my clavicle? “The rain makes me feel safe.” He adds, now a bit more seriously. The wind rips his cap away, but he seems oblivious, or perhaps indifferent, as he stretches his arms wide and smiles up at the sky. “It reminds me I’m not the only one with some gloominess inside. Even the universe has its down days.”
