Page 24 of Pour Decisions
“Okay, I think this is everyone who signed up,” the man at the front says. “My name is Hugh, and I’m going to help you delve deep tonight. Deep into your wells of self-expression through the physical art of sculpture.”
I can’t resist taking a glance at JD and have to hold back a snort. His micro-expressions of displeasure always get me.
“As you can see, each of you has the tools you need.” Hugh wanders around between the tables. He smells like patchouli and weed.
“I’ve never done any sculpture before,” a middle-aged woman says, almost panicked.
“It’s okay. We’re here toexperience, not perfect. I’m going to prompt all of you with a particular emotion, and you’ll dig deep within yourself to find an animal that evokes that feeling for you. Then, we’ll sculpt it.” He stops in front of the table that has bottles of wine on it. “And we’ll experience a range of wines as well as inspiration.”
“Or is he just going to get us drunk so we can play with clay?” one of the women sitting across from us says in a not-so-quiet whisper. I snort.
“Intoxication can allow you to lose your inhibitions, but please drink responsibly. It’s more of a flight than anopportunity to get drunk,” Hugh says, grabbing a bottle and giving the woman a pointed glance. “Our first wine is a pinot noir. Your first emotion prompt is bewilderment. Find your animal and sculpt. I’ll give you all fifteen minutes—constraint breeds creativity.”
“Bewilderment? How fitting.” JD’s eyebrows creep up higher and higher as Hugh heavily pours our “flights”. Hugh is playing fast and loose with the definition of sample. At least he gives us all bottled water too.
Hugh hands out the wines and turns on some jazz that sounds like someone falling down the stairs while holding a bunch of instruments in a garbage can. He disappears into the hallway.
“Bewilderment…” I grab a lump of clay and cock my head to the side, sipping my wine. It’s an odd wine, so the prompt is fitting. “Couldn’t I just leave it as a blob? Like a Ditto?”
“Ditto is a Pokémon,” JD says, as if this isn’t obvious.
“Aren’t Pokémon animals? In the Pokémon world?” I start shaping it into a wavy blob. “Could you eat one? You totally could.”
“It sounds like you would try to.” He frowns as he pulls a few chunks of clay off the big one in the middle of the table.
“It’s a world where there are rodents who can create electricity. Who’s to say I couldn’t eat any of them?”
“Why is this where your head goes, Katrina?”
His face is mostly serious, but I recognize the tinge of amusement in his eyes. It brings me back to when we first met and clicked immediately, despite being so different. A tiny sprig of hope pops up in my chest. Maybe we can actually have fun tonight.
In a completely platonic way, of course.
“Because I’m a little hungry.” I take a sip of water. “And I should have eaten a proper meal before I got here. So I guess I’m just going to go off the rails with this thing.”
“Regardless, I don’t think it matters here.” JD starts shaping his clay into a blimp shape. “We could do literally anything and I don’t think Hugh would notice.”
Hugh returns, the scent of weed following him like a dress train. I make my blob more into the shape of a Ditto, and I watch JD’s big hands awkwardly shape what looks like a dog.
“Is that Bubba?” I ask.
“No, it’s Wes’s dog, Murphy. He’s generally bewildered by everything.” JD’s frown deepens as he tries to shape what I assume are ears on a block of clay. He sighs and takes a long drink of his wine. “Fucking hell, this looks bad.”
“If Hugh doesn’t notice anything, then does it matter?” I sip my wine too, slower than he does.
“It matters to me.” JD grunts, then sits back. “I can’t believe Nana chose this. She knows I’m not artistic in the slightest.”
“Maybe she chose this because it’s outside of your comfort zone completely.” I carve a face into my blob. Close enough. “It’s out of mine.”
“You dance.” He glances at me for a moment. “Or did dance.”
“My knee scar?” I ask. He nods. “Yeah, I can still dance. Not nearly as well as I did before, but an injury brought me to physical therapy. In a lot of ways, it was just what I needed. But either way, dancing and whatever we’re doing aren’t the same.”
“They’re both art. Different kinds, but still.” He rests his hands on the table and sighs. “What the fuck is this?”
I hold back a snort and look at what he’s created. It’s sort of dog-like, if the dog got melted.
“It’s the essence of bewilderment. Like Picasso or something.” I show him my blob of clay. “Like mine.”
