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The Portrait
It had come with the flat.
Decadent, surreal, tones of jewel blue and jade green splashed across a roughly sewn canvas. Purples clashed with reds in an angry attempt to vent through paint and its tool, the brush. Everything about it was on purpose. The bubbles of blue and green popping off the impression that had dried into hardened crusts of color, the greasy streaks that were almost all acrylic oil and nearly no dye, spots left unpainted, spots speckled by accidental splashes.
It had been nailed into a wall of decayed, peeling brick, and centered in a makeshift frame that was rotting from the inside out. A dead spider had curled its body into a corner of the rotted cedar, up-side down in the fetal position of his demise.
I dropped my box of meager belongings and set my laptop on at the peak of the pile. The previous owner had left me a mess to clean up, eight smashed windows, a moldy chair, and a painting. How sweet. I squatted down to my box and rummaged through it, trying to dig up my coffeemaker and my cigarettes. The coffeemaker was found, the cigarettes were not. I could almost feel my eyes twitching simultaneously. How could I have forgotten my most precious nicotine rolls?
I trundled into the kitchen, stuffing the plug of my nine-year-old Coffee-Mate into a socket and producing a dangerous spark. Faulty wiring as well? This place had everything.
I set the time on the machine and shifted around the apartment, trying to make a layout of the place and get to know it. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, one kitchen, and one big living/dining room. Built for two people, but who gives a s**t? I’m the one paying a hundred extra in rent. Not that the landlord keeps track of who forks it over and who doesn’t.
I found a decent mattress in the biggest bedroom, a couple springs out of place… maybe a little soft, but good to sleep on. The bathroom had a few bottles of cleaner under the sink and a shower curtain. The smallest bedroom had a giant dresser that sat crooked because of a short leg in the front. At least one broken window in every room; all smashed to bits and the remains on the floor. One chair in the living/dining room and a whole s**t load of drywall decorating the carpets everywhere. I felt covered in dust and like I needed to sneeze or take a nap. But my fingers were twitching for a cigarette and I felt jumpy.
The wonders of tobacco and nicotine in your system.
My memory of the walk down here from the old apartment said there was a Mini-Mart just two blocks away. I threw on my threadbare jacket and hustled down the stairs of the apartment building, making sure to test each stair before I put my full weight on it, just in case it decided to finally give out and fall through.
The first floor landing was a bare entryway that tried so hard to look decent it settled on trashy instead. There were fake plants in almost every corner, two squashy chairs made of uncomfortable leathery material that clung to everyone’s skin when it was hot, and a front desk with a balding old man behind its plastic window. The front door leading out had a neon red ‘EXIT’ sign over it and one of the school door bars that had to be shoved on to open. Plus, to top it all off, it always smelt like a bad microwave burrito and weed. Charming place to live, you know?
I popped the door open to reveal fresh air and a city around me that never slept. I think I was smiling, until I took the first step out of the doorway and fell into a man leaning over the railway.
“Sorry—” I said hurriedly, pushing myself backwards off of him.
He turned to look at me with sad eyes and a half smile. “It’s fine.”
Upon closer inspection, I noticed that he was just a tall, skinny teenager. His eyes were dark purple, of all colors, and so deep that they looked like the end of a sunset. I found myself staring until he looked away and bent back over the metal bars that followed five stairs to the street. I leaned against it too, right next to him. He didn’t even blink.
There was a pack of cigarettes in his hand. He kept smacking it against his palm, as though preparing to open it and take one. The label was an expensive brand, one that cost next to double the amount of good old Marlboro’s. I felt daring, so I asked “Can I bum a cig?”
To my surprise, he tossed the package at me. “Have it. I don’t smoke.”
I caught it and smiled. “Why buy it then?”
“I don’t know.” he said, something bitter and angry hiding in his tone. “Felt like being rebellious, I suppose.” He looked at me, half smiling again, but sarcastic instead of sad this time.
I picked off the cellophane wrapper and popped one of the white sticks from its packaging. “Got a name kid?” I stuck my hand in my pockets and glared at the sky. I couldn’t find my lighter.
“James.” He said quietly.
“I’m Alex.” I said, and held out a hand for him to shake. He took it and gave me a breath of a touch before pulling away. His hands were ice cold. Almost immediately after letting go, he took a disposable plastic lighter from his shirt pocket and flicked it for me. I smiled through the smoke.
“Thanks.”
He just nodded and continued staring down at the sidewalk six feet below us. Suddenly I wondered about this strange boy in front of me. Where had he come from? Did he live in this building? Was he a runaway? Did he have a place to stay? I shook my head slowly and smiled at myself.
Getting involved with the life of a stranger, and I’d barely met him five minutes ago.
“Got somewhere to go?”
“I’ll find one.”
I took another drag and blew it away from his face. “Doesn’t sound to promising. January in Queens? You’ll freeze.”
“Why do you care?”
I smiled and sucked on the tobacco, exhaling purposefully in his face to be a jerk. “Because I’m not completely heartless.”
He smiled at my joke. “I’ll find somewhere.” He suddenly jumped over the railing and hit the pavement as quietly as a cat. Tugging at his tiny orange sweatshirt, he waved and smiled at me. “Later.”
As he started to walk away I called after him, gnashing the butt of my cigarette into the bar of the railing. “Hey kid.”
He stopped and looked back. “Yeah?”
“You have beautiful eyes.”
I walked back inside.
 Niyari · Sat Nov 03, 2007 @ 01:30am · 0 Comments |
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