Chapter Eight
Jonah showed up and Laynie’s with an armful of canvas boards and a duffel bag full of paints and brushes.
Jonah sat his things down in the computer room and looked at Laynie and I. Laynie was on the phone talking to Bryce lighting up like a birthday candle. He looked at me curiously and I shrugged with a smile.
He hugged me. “I missed you.” He said into my hair.
I nodded and pulled back to see his face.
“What did you do yesterday?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I hung around the house. Remember how I told you about my dad complaining about the chickens?” he asked.
“Yea. What happened?” I laughed.
“He made me chase them out of the garage in my underwear.”
“What?” I yelped.
“Yup. I had to go out in my skivvies!”
I blushed and covered my face with my hands. “That’s disturbing.” I joked.
“It’s all good. After that I watched America’s Next Top Model reruns with my sister. She came to town yesterday. She’s staying with us for a little while. I think my parents might go to DC with her in a few weeks too.”
“Are you going with?” I asked, not knowing what I was getting at.
“Eh, I don’t think so. I wouldn’t want to miss you being here.”
I blushed. “That’s your sister, you haven’t seen her in forever.”
“I see her a whole hell of a lot more than I see you.” He said, unzipping the duffel bag and pulling out pints of paint.
I stood there with my arms crossed over my chest.
“You’re ridiculous.” I said, sticking my tongue out childishly.
“Your point?” he laughed.
“I don’t have one.” I said mutely.
Laynie came into the room, walking strangely, her hands down at her sides, her fingers pointed outwards. My eyes bulged, she was going to explode.
“Bryce called me!” she screeched. “He got everything set for our date tomorrow.”
I had never seen Laynie like this. Laynie was the type of girl that always saw things how they were, she didn’t see things that weren’t there, and she didn’t over express her emotions unless she was absolutely sure that her feelings were being returned in the exact same way. Bryce was the real deal.
I shrieked excitedly with her.
She calmed herself. “It’s just a date. Nothing huge.” She breathed in and out, trying to calm her nerves.
“It is too a huge deal! I didn’t even think you liked that boy until like… a few days ago and now look at it!” I hugged her.
“I could say the same about you.” She said under her breath, sending her elbow into my ribs.
I yelped and glared at her.
Jonah stood with his back to us, continuing to unpack everything he had brought, acting like he hadn’t heard a thing we were saying.
I rolled my eyes and glared at the back of his head.
“So what are you going to paint today?” I asked Jonah as Laynie and I searched for pictures on the internet.
Jonah was the type of person that didn’t need to see what he was doing in order to paint. He could hold an image in his head and take off without a second to think about it. Laynie and I on the other hand, surfed different pictures on the internet until we found suitable subjects for our paintings.
Laynie printed the picture she had chosen, a picture of a rebel angel with his back to the camera. It was common work for Laynie, she always chose scenes that showed different detail and textures.
I continued to surf, trying to find just the right picture.
“That one.” Jonah said, pointing at the screen.
I considered the picture he was referring to. It was lush and green, an open landscape with a tree off to the left and a little stone bench to the right. A red balloon was tied to the arm of the bench, and only a single white cloud was in the sky. I hadn’t even noticed it as I was skimming through the pages upon pages of different pictures. Of course Jonah would be the person to find the one miraculous thing that I had overlooked.
I clicked print and our painting day began.
Laynie and I exchanged mischievous glances. Jonah was zoned in on his painting. I didn’t think he could see Laynie or I now, he was so wrapped up in what he was doing. I walked over to his easel. He twisted it away quickly.
“Don’t even think about it.” He said with a laugh. “You either Laynie. You can see it when it’s finished.” He huffed.
“Just a second.” I said, trying to hold in my laughs. “I think you have a little something…” I approached him with my hand outstretched. He steadied himself.
I swiped my paintbrush against his cheek. His shoulders tensed and his jaw dropped. His brow furrowed.
He looked down at his palette, dipped his brush into a pool of red. The fine hairs slid around, sucking up the pigment. He swished the brush around, wiping off the excess paint.
“Don’t you dare.” I warned him.
He stayed eerily quiet for about a second before he ran towards me with the paintbrush raised in the air like a sword. I ran into the kitchen screaming, trying to find somewhere to hide. The bathroom door was currently blocked with tons of miscellaneous things so to avoid death, I turned instead for the door leading to the basement. I scrambled to rip it open, but the second I did, a trash can overflowing with garbage stood between me and my face not getting smeared with red paint.
Jonah grabbed my hand and spun me around laughing maniacally. He pushed me up against the door, his chest pressed against mine. I blushed, unsure of what was happening, my head spun around with a thousand possibilities.
His arm came up next to my head, his hand pressed against the wall. With his other hand, he lifted the paintbrush up lightly and brushed the bristles against my cheek. I felt the two gentle lines as he drew them. The bottom line was full and thick with a small divot in the middle. The top line was a little thinner, with another divot.
“Lips?” I questioned him.
“Maybe.” He spoke softly, and then kissed my other cheek.
“Would you stop that?” I mumbled, my face red.
“Are you just saying that or do you really want me to stop?” he asked, completely serious.
I looked up at him, his eyes looked pained, like he only wanted to hear one answer, but his words were still sincere.
I didn’t know how to tell him what I wanted. How to tell him that I’ve been thinking about his lips for days, about the sinews in his arms, the ropes of muscles that created him. So instead of telling him, I grabbed his hand. I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed his hand to my forehead, like we always did when we needed strength, strength to put ourselves out there and either be received or turned away.
Jonah brushed my hair away from my face and looked me in the eye.
“Do I stay or go?” he asked, his voice rough and warm against my ear.
Pain at the very thought of him leaving, shot through me. I imagined all of the times anyone had ever walked out on me. I thought about every man that had ever told me that they loved me and then left. I squeezed Jonah’s hand in both of mine, pressed it to my face.
I fought back tears and managed to choke out my one small plea. “Stay.”
He hugged me fiercely there in the middle of the kitchen, with red paint smeared on our faces. The lips that he had painted on my face were now smeared all over his shirt.
He pulled me back to look him in the face. I pressed my forehead to his chest and grabbed both of his hands in mine, leading him back into the other room so Laynie didn’t come looking for us.
“Laynie gets to see it first.” Jonah said almost smugly.
Laynie clapped and danced around to the other side of the room to take a peek at what he had been working on for the past two hours.
Laynie looked up at me, and then back at the canvas, back at me, and then at the canvas again.
“What?” I asked, curious about what she was doing.
She looked at Jonah, completely awestruck. She nodded at him and then walked to sit down.
“Is it like, Jesus?” I questioned as I walked over to Jonah who stood proudly by his easel.
“Not exactly.” Jonah laughed nervously.
I looked at Jonah nervously, unsure of what to expect.
And then I looked. My breath was sucked out of my lungs, I could see it all hanging in front of me, but I was unable to take it back into me. The canvas was filled with just about every color imaginable. There were deep violets, light peaches, oranges, greens, blues, reds, blacks, everything. The chunks and spots of colors alone were spectacular, but when I put them all together, I saw my face in the middle of a colorful explosion. The detail work was insane, especially for just a few short hours of painting. My eyes on the canvas were hazel, and in the reflection, I saw a small figure, barely visible. I assumed this figure to be Jonah.
I looked up at him, astonished at how he was able to create this, and how it was that he decided to capture me in his art.
In took in every inch of the canvas, letting it imbed in my memory.
“It’s beautiful.” I told him, unsure of how else to say what I wanted to say.
“I’m glad you like it.” He said, wrapping his arm around my shoulder.
I reached out to touch his signature, which he always wrote in white in the bottom right hand corner. When I brushed my fingers against its smooth surface, I noticed writing above the white etchings of his name. Together, the writing said.
Forever Yours- Jonah Collins ‘11
We stood there in silence for a few moments more before we packed up Jonah’s things and went to the living room to catch the end of some teen drama reality TV show.
