Page 36 of For a Goode Time Call…
“The story of me drawing it, or the story within the sketch? The…context of the moment story.”
“The context of the moment.”
“Cass…”
“Why’re you scared, Ink?”
If you knew, Cass…if only you knew. If only I was capable of talking about that. But I’m not.
I forced myself to speak, to push past the emotions and stand in my truth. I closed my eyes and let the story pour out—a fiction, an imagining. “There’s a spot, north of here, way up in the bush, where it’s totally wild. About twenty miles from the nearest road or trail. Only way to get there is hiking, off-trail, and to know exactly where you’re going. It’s a favorite spot of mine. I have a little cabin out there. There’s a river, and I like to fly fish on it. Sit and draw. Just breathe. But if you hike upstream from my cabin a few miles, there’s a little waterfall. Nothing spectacular. Just this spot where there’s a hill and a quick drop, maybe ten or twenty feet at the most. But it’s a beautiful spot, that waterfall. Like something out of a painting. Trees around it, a little pool of swirling water. The fall roaring all the time. Birds like to flutter around, singing. If you sit somewhere real quiet and still, you might see a deer coming to take a drink, if you’re lucky. It’s a hidden place, tucked in against a fold in the hills, surrounded by thick forest. Trees muffle the sound if you’re more than a few feet away, and after the falls, the stream is pretty quiet and slow and gentle. So you just wouldn’t know the waterfall is there unless you know where to look.”
I paused. I knew she was wondering what this had to do with my sketch of her.
“The way I saw it, the way I’d finish that drawing, is you’re in the pool, near the waterfall. You’re standing there, the water is shallow near where the fall hits the pool, so it barely comes up to mid-thigh. Gets deeper before the river continues on, but right near the fall, it’d only be about thigh-deep for you. You’d just be standing there, looking at me. The spray would be slowly making your skin wet, making your hair damp.”
I couldn’t help it. I snatched the pad from her, flipped to a new page, and started over. Sketched her, just an outline at first, no details, just the lines and curves of her body, her hand in her hair and one across her privates, a hint of eye detail just because her eyes mesmerized and hypnotized me, and I could just draw them a million times and never capture all the thoughts and emotions and virulent, passionate, fiery personality in her gaze. I got lost in it, in drawing her. Forgot she was there, almost. Just drew. The waterfall, trees around, big tall pines and spruce and fir. The pool, swirling and eddying. Her, in the water up to mid-thigh. A muddied hint of her reflection. The perspective was that I, the viewer, was a couple of feet away from her, watching her enter the water.
“You’d be about to jump in,” I said, muttering half to myself. “About to get your hair wet, and you’re—you’re looking at me. Waiting for me to come in, too. To swim with you. That’s the look in your eyes.”
Silence, a fraught space between words. A world of unspoken things between us.
“When I first asked you if you this is how you see me,” she said, “your response was that there’s more than one way to take that. What did you mean?”
“It’s how I see you—could be positive or negative. I drew you how I see you—beautiful, sensual, and… elegant, and you were wondering if that’s how I see you because you don’t see yourself that way. Or it could be, isthishow I see you, as just an object, a body to be objectified. As…as a sexual object.”
“You put that last part, you seeing me sexually, as a negative?”
“Well. Seeing you sexually ain’t the same thing as seeing you as a sexual object.”
She nodded. “I see the difference.” A pause. “So, which was it for you?”
I sighed. “Neither, and both.”
She snorted a laugh. “Gonna have to explain that one.”
“It was a compulsion. I had to draw. There wasn’t any kind of thought-out intention to it. But the thoughts Ididhave, the reason I had to draw, was because I was having…um. Thoughts. About you.”
“What kind of thoughts?” she whispered.
“Thoughts of wanting to see more of you.” I swallowed hard. “In more than one sense. See more of you, as in I like spending time with you, talking to you. But more of you in a literal sense. I’m not judging, but appreciating, and admitting my own issues when I say that what you were wearing at the laundromat did a number on me. Made my brain go haywire.” I licked my lips. “Turned me on. And I know, I realize very clearly that you weren’t dressing to be provocative. Or to turn anyone on. Just for comfort. I just…I’m attracted to you, big time, so I guess it just doesn’t take much.”
Once again, she chewed on the inside of her cheek, thinking. “Ink, I…” trailing off, she looked into my eyes, a million thoughts obvious and at war in her gaze. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“Wherever you want. Say whatever is true.”
“Whatever is true, hmmm?” She bit her lower lip. “What if whatever is true is…risky? Dangerous?”
“Dangerous how?” I asked.
“Dangerous as in it could open a can of worms I’m not sure either of us are quite ready for.”
“I think I already opened that can, Cass. That drawing opened it.”
She nodded. “Yeah.” A weighted pause. “I’m flattered by the drawing. That’s one thing that’s true. I don’t see it as objectifying me. I see it as a tasteful, artistic, and flattering depiction of me.” She looked at me. “It’s also obvious in the way you drew me that you see me…in a way I’m not sure anyone has ever seen me. That you’re attracted to me.”
“You damn well better see yourself that way.”
She laughed. “I have a healthy self-esteem, don’t worry. That’s not it. I’m fit, I’m good-looking, I’m comfortable in my skin and I love who I am. I know I’m a lot to handle. I have a big personality. I can be loud. I can be opinionated. I have a lot of energy, and a lot of thoughts, and no filter. No patience for bullshit. I’m a physical person. I’m touchy. Most people aren’t comfortable with how physical I am, even just with my friends.” She glanced at me, away, then back to me. “I’m intensely sexual. I know what I want, and I know what I like. I don’t hold back in that arena any more than I do any other aspect of my life. And for most people, that’s just too much—Iam just always too much. But the way you see me, as evidenced in that drawing…it’ssensual. I’ve never identified as sensual. Sexual, yes. Sensuality is different.”
