Fly with Me: Volume 1
A sea of waves waltzes briskly to the edge of an anchorage, washing away the taste of this sweet breeze. A shimmering beam shines from foam-painted stones on the icy coast, warming for barely a moment in the sparkle of a leaky rose. Champagne locks row on the ease of an embanking coast, fighting their way through the blow of the morning's mist.
Iron-cast skies prie the clouds to shift in a flowing manner. Jetting songs flow in and out of the birds that fly into my heart, eating me. They stab and tear into the flesh of this cold, dried core I can no longer thresh. I wail and scream and shake as I am torn into. I then sink into the silver rocky sand and suffocate, fighting with my arms stretched far out. I go nowhere.
I hear him.
I hear his soft, kind voice above my head screaming for me. Longing to save me, as if I am in his shoes. In the dreadful lake abyss, dried in place to search for my lifeless love. Dear God help. Help.
9:11am- My tan sofa in my one bedroom cottage.
Nearly hanging off the side of this cheap Big Lots sofa Laurie gave me about a month ago, I whimper at the sight of the time.
Shit. I was supposed to be off to work like 45 minutes ago.
Bear has pissed all over the kitchen linoleum and vomited on my new welcome mat I saw for clearance at the Walmart not too long ago.
The hell? A paper corner is poking under the broken “weather-proof” front door. Opening the door a huge gust of wind pushes my hair back. A bouquet of beautiful orchids lie in a tall, silver vase.
“ Hi Misty,
Sorry for being so late on this whole welcoming neighbor thing LOL. I’m Jake from state far- HAH got you. But no, I’m Jake from across the street in 1104. I heard about your boyfriend and I am deeply sorry. My wife works with you at Martha Savages. Laila? Not sure if you know her but she has also been a bit worried, It can be very hard to lose someone. Trust Me! I lost my pet hamster last month and I’ve grown to love him so much and- “
What the fuck corny asshole. I throw the paper in the recycle bin and place the orchids on my pine coffee table.
Laila is a snobby bitch who can’t paint for shit, and wins all these awards just because she donates loads of money to help keep the lights on in that shithole– Okay, I actually really love it there. It’s just shit keeps bugging me on and on I can't catch a break-
I step on Bear's vomit.
I lean my head back and take a deep breath. Holding in all the screams and wails I need to release.
*BUZZ* “Graham, Hank” Aw hell, My 9:15am client.
Sometimes, being a private paint instructor can be stressful as hell. It can be like teaching a child to finger paint a goddamn sunflower. It’s just a black circle and then seven yellow petals around it. There. Now that’ll be $95.99. Thanks!
9:18am- 1 new voicemail “Hey Misty you said be here 5 minutes prior to my appointment and I see no sight of you… No one else has either apparently. This isn't the first time this has happened. I'll definitely be saying a word to the manager of this place.”
I take Bear outside to pee, well… whatever is left in his bladder. He barks up a storm to a rabbit that's gotten through a small hole in the bottom of the fence.
“Bear come on! BEAR.” He runs back inside leaving a trail of muddy paw-prints, and jumps on the white loveseat.
“Oh come on!” I slam the door shut and raise my hand to spank him. But see his pouty eyes and I realize how angry I’ve gotten.
It’s just a bad morning, I remind myself. It’s just another bad morning.
9:37am- At the longest light ever in my Silver 1999 Volvo V40
I already ran two redlights. Maybe I can run another.
An old lady pulls up next to me and is motioning her hands to roll down my window. “You motherfucker! I oughta call the police on your sorry ass! You nearly hit me!”
I roll my window back up and turn right instead of straight on to work. That’s legal right? I turn up the volume on my stereo as I can hear Enya come on. I never knew she played on the radio.
It’s Only Time. It’s my favorite. It was our favorite.
“Who can say when the roads meet?
That love might be in your heart?”
This song always reminds me of that Keneu Reeves film, Sweet November. Mike and I had our first date at his mom’s thanksgiving dinner back in Morristown, TN. We were just seniors in highschool but very mature I’d like to say.
Michael was a sweet-heart. A hopeless romantic. Blond wavy hair, but not too wavy. Most beautiful smile I’d ever seen, and ever will. His laugh still resonates with me. His cries still elevates my mood.
10:09am- Martha Savage Studio Gallery
I pull into work approximately one hour and fifteen minutes late.
Hannagan gives me a lousy crippling look. Her crinkled eyes rolled up, then to the side.
“Where the hell have you been? This kind sir has been waiting for his instruction.”
“I swear to you, this is the worst painting gallery in New Haven!” Mr. Graham whines.
She takes him back to her office to discuss a refund, I assume. I’m only a month into this job and already might be getting fired. I need a drink.
“HIII! How have you been Misty Loo!” Ugh. Laurie is the sweetest being alive but God, somedays I just can't handle her presence.
“You look a mess Misty, everything alright?”
No. Everything is hell.
“Yeah girl I’m just a little tired.” I say with a forced smile.
Laurie laughs and sips her Starbucks. “Same girl. I need like 3 cups of these to survive the morning.”
I laugh and grin, easing back to walking to my office.
“Hey! I almost forgot.” She grabs my shoulder poking me with her neon-orange fake acrylics.
“Fu-” I stop myself, still trying to be a decent human.
Spilling a little coffee, she chokes out her sentence, “Did you still wanna go to Laila’s 30th birthday party? The one at elm city social, tomorrow at 9”
Hm. How do I wanna spend my Friday night? With a snobby whore who gets everything she wanted her whole life, or laying in my bed of a thousand tissues. “Uh, yeah of course I love her.”
“Great! I cannot wait. She is so cool.” She smiles and turns to walk to her office.
Opening the door to my office, I smell something fishy. No literally.
Oh. My. God.
I look up to see my paintings splattered. Which smells of...holy fuck.
Five empty bottles of fish oil are tossed on the floor. Someone did this. This gray shit is glazed all over my art. What the actual fuck.
This same thing happened about two weeks ago. When my art was at the top rankings, I was getting more clients to be taught, someone splattered white paint all over my pieces.
My favorite ones too. The one my boyfriend inspired me to paint back in 2018. A lovely shrub of corianders. I later realized corianders are a symbol of heartbreak. A symbol of passion that is no more.
I need to paint more. I’ve only got 2 canvases left and all the others are vandalized. I have no one to blame. I just know it was that Laila bitch.
10:27am- Voicemail from Bethany Roberts
“Hiiii, I’m so sorry but you are my 3rd choice for a substitute for my client! Her name is Jami Silver and is doing Intro to Paint, the 3rd course for 1:30pm. Please give me a call back if you accept! Thanks!”
Not in the mood. Maybe I should be in the mood. I have a noon appointment for one hour. I could easily fit this in. But do I want to?
I begin to clean the fish oil and scrub the floor, pondering on teaching this girl on my lunch break. Jami sounds like a sweet name. That was the same name as my pet turtle back in 4th grade. She wandered off outside one day and I never saw her again. How can a turtle be so slow, yet so quick. It’s like she fell off the face of the earth.
11:13am- In the squeaky chair across my old easel.
I wet the thick brush in some tap water and then rose red oil paint. I smear it across the threaded canvas in a soft stroke.
His rosey cheeks lit up whenever he laughed at my corny jokes. They’d then fade back to a soft pink then his peachy skin tone with a light touch of freckles.
I was painting a heath of roses but it was as though I could see his face in art. It was always like this.
A tear sheds and shimmers down my cheek then in my palm, as 4 and 5 more shimmer. Art is a beautiful thing. I love my job, for I can spread this skill to others and get paid for it. It’s not much but it’s surely something.
I should call back Bethany.
“Hi, if you are calling for the client substitution, she is already taken by Laila Grant”
“Oh my bad, I should've called sooner.”, I say in a sigh.
“You're all good, Misty! She is in good hands.” she chuckles and hangs up.
Here Laila goes again. Taking my life. Taking my job. Okay I need to shut up. I am overthinking and being overdramatic. If I don't get my act together I won't have any job to be taken.
11:58am- Cleaning, and pulling out a fresh canvas
$50 per canvas and $40 per session goes to me. If I’m right, the math doesn't add up. Aren't I losing money?
A knock at the office door catches my attention.
“Hello? Is this Ms. Stone’s room?” a soft, tenor male voice calls me.
I get up and open the door to a charming young man, about 15-16 “Hi yes hello. Please have a seat and soften your brushes haha.” I pull a chair and sit next to him. “So I hear you are on Level 9 Paint. That’s pretty impressive. Especially since you started only 3 months ago.”
He laughs as if he’s flattered, “ Yea you could say that. I love painting, it just speaks to me, you know?”
“Oh definitely, It is how I speak my words in a way.” I grab and place down more brushes and sponges. “I’m sorry, what is your name again?”
“ Leonardo, but I like Leo. I don't know, it’s such a baby name to me so I normally just have people call me Leonardo.” He smirks, and looks up to the left. “Woah did you paint that? It’s astonishing.”
It’s the field of roses with eyes in the sky. I couldn't help but paint Michaels copper eyes into it. He was just so present in it.
“Yes, thank you so much. It’s just uh, well it’s a very special person’s eyes.” I say proudly.
His jaw closes back from the awe he was in, “Sweet. I need help on brush strokes for clouds. You think you could help with that?”
“Of course Leo, here grab a Filbert brush from the bottom drawer.”
We paint a bright, beautiful sunset, or sunrise. Leo said it’s a mystery for the art viewer to determine. I liked to think of things like that. A gloomy day can be for the depressed, but also the happy, to play in the mud puddles and splash around.
1:15pm- Wendy's Drive-Thru with bacon-a-tor in hand
A tomato falls into my lap as I bite into this juicy burger. God, I should've eaten breakfast. I munch down more.
The traffic is a lot lighter around lunch time.
I enjoy taking the scenic route since it is full of beautiful trees and flowering shrubs that genuinely inspire me. Not that stupid self-help book for creativity Laurie got me. I believe that creativity stems from your experiences, not from foolish psychologists who believe they know everything about your brain.
Driving into the parking lot of the studio, a silver Jenson passed right in front of me, cutting off the closest parking spot to the door.
Asshole! What the hell. I had to either park in the ”No Parking Loading Zone” or goddamn 100 miles down the road at the Pet Supermarket. Fuck it. I pulled into the loading zone and stomped on.
I open the front door to see the most lovely hair strung from such beautiful skin. I think it was the girl from the car that cut me off.
“I’m here for Mrs. Grant at 1:30pm. Is she ready?” the softest, most reluctant voice I ever heard says. “I’m Jami Silver” A pair of gray eyes glance over with a sparkle, then motion back to the receptionist.
I walked passed and couldn't help but smell the fragrance of lavender.
I go back into my office eagerly trying to find purple and gray paints and a fresh canvas.
2:03pm- A masterpiece lays
On a lavender encrusted canvas of art, are silver eyes of tranquility. Staring into you as that of a haunted museum piece.
I could've sworn Da Vinci or Picasso could have painted this, but the paint brush was in my hand.
She has inspired much so, to write a small poem along with the painting.
under the lids of mine eye,
are the murders of thine lie.
falling off the cliff of your soul,
I am now free of a soaring toll.
I believe it has something to do with Mike and how his death continues to haunt me. But I'm not sure about the rest. I'm not sure where it came from or what it all signifies.
3:57pm- Popping the cork of the J. Lohr
I poured some wine. Very much needed wine. The warm sensation leaks down my throat, hugging my blood with ease.
I start to dance a little. Hole came on my earbuds so I couldn't help myself.
Someday you will ache like ache, Courtney Love cries.
I had 3 guys I talked to for the past 3 months between about January and last week. They were mostly, well, very much so rebounds.
Rebounds are when you lose someone, like a partner, and you are so desperate to feel loved that you’d do anything.
Oh, my god I’m tipsy at 4 in the afternoon. Aren’t you supposed to wait till like 5 o'clock? Well, most importantly I’m still at work for another hour drunk and have 3 paintings due Monday at 10am. Do I really want to work on the weekend? I’ll work extra hard tomorrow. Yes.
The second I sit down on the gray sofa of my office, I doze.
Mike and I are laughing and posing in front of the Statue of Liberty. I tend to dream of memories. Which is a very good thing, until the memories are bad ones.
2018 October 2nd- New York Trip at Battery Park
An idiot on a bike nearly hits Michael and he falls over on me in front of a dozen people.
“Oh shit!!” he says leaning over me, just before he gives me a small kiss on the lips.
We were chaperoning my niece's 8th grade field trip to the Natural History Museum. It was so fun. I remember going to see Lion King on Broadway and this beautiful art studio. I knew I wanted to do painting, but I wasn’t sure how.
I had been accepted into Savannah College of Art and Design, but my parents said it was far too expensive. I didn’t think so. I thought it was what I wanted to do and you can’t put a price on that.
Luckily, they gave in and helped pay for the tuition and studied studio painting with a minor in teaching in Savannah, Georgia.
5:05pm- Wheeling out my shit into my old ass car.
Ok. I may seem like I'm in a bad mood, but I’m just a little cranky. I mean, who isn’t? This world feels like shit 24/7.
My heel gets caught in one of the tiny potholes in this old parking lot. I hold on my scream and carry on to my car. Thankfully, there is no ticket. Just a stupid yellow leaf that scared the shit out of me thinking it was.
My car can barely crank up. After a huge battle in and out of the car shop. I am not going through that again.
On my way home, I passed the bar that Lauries party will be at. It's a pretty, modest paris-style restaurant. A few fountains on the outside wash the color accent of the stoned entrance.
A lavender color flower hit the left side of my windshield and swung off and more showered over. Must’ve been from the blooming tree at the front of my neighborhood. They were gorgeous. My mind is painted with these tasteful colors produced, smearing down the side of my car from the dazzling sprinkler that sprung past.
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