If- Nina G. Jones Page 0,23
if my joke was insensitive. This was his home, in a way. But he smiled, looking down and away. If you could strip away our surroundings, and drop us anywhere else in LA, we might look like two young people flirting.
“Oh!” I said, as if it wasn’t the first thing I thought of as soon as I saw him. “I have something for you.”
“You do?
“Yes. You told me you like to paint.”
“I did.”
“And, you said it was expensive. So I got you some stuff. I thought, you know, when you need a break from all this, you could come to my place and paint.”
“You really shouldn’t have done that,” he said, shaking his head. His beard had started to come in thicker again, and I wished I could see his face more. He had on his old uniform: beanie hat, white-T, torn up jeans, and a canvas jacket.
“I wanted to. Merry Christmas.”
“I don’t know what you got me, but that stuff can add up, and I know you’re trying to get by on your own.”
“Let me thank you,” I said. It was becoming a way for us to shut the other up.
He held in a smile. “Okay.”
“So do you want to see the stuff? If you don’t use or like something we can exchange it, but there’s not much time left. I bought it a while ago.”
“How about today?”
I didn’t expect such a turnaround.
“Well, I’m on my way to work, but I get off early. How about three? I have a show to go to later. Jordan did the choreography.”
“Alright. Three.”
I scanned his face, and I couldn’t resist the comment: “You’re going full beard again.”
“You don’t like it?” I realized it was likely not a fashion choice and maybe insensitive to say.
“I mean, you look good, I just liked how it looked on Thanksgiving, being able to see your face.”
He ran his fingers through the reddish-brown coarse hair and nodded.
“Alright, well I need to get to class. Three?”
“Three.”
BIRD
I GOT HOME at around two-thirty. I thought I might catch Ash on the way back home, but he was nowhere to be found. I called Jordan to let him know about the impromptu visit, but he would be gone all day prepping for the show that night, and he wasn’t thrilled. He asked me to try and reschedule, but how does one reschedule with someone you can’t get in touch with? Ash would be at my doorstep and that would be that.
As soon as I stepped through the door, I pulled everything out of the plastic bags that had been noncommittally lying right by the front door. I set up the easel and arranged all the paints, pastels, and brushes on one of my wooden TV trays, the closest things I had to a dinner table.
I sat on my futon with a cup of hot tea at three, expecting a knock at any minute. Three came and went. So did three-fifteen, and three-twenty-five. I knew I had been stood up, and I was pissed. But I was also tired from my early wake-up and dozed off, snuggled into my afghan.
A knock jarred me out of my sleep. I glanced over at my phone. Three-forty-five. I shot up, trying to get out of my post-nap daze, and walked over to the door. I observed Ash fidgeting through the peephole.
“You’re late,” I said, opening the door.
“Sorry, my ride was running behind.” These little hints about his life only intrigued me more. “Whenever you need to me to leave, just say the word.”
“The show’s not until seven.” I gestured to the area I had set up for him by the window. “Here’s all the stuff.”
He let his bag slide to the floor and he walked over to the easel, flipping the pages of the pad that I had leaned against it. He ran his fingers along the paints and brushes resting on the TV tray.
“This is too much, Bird.”
“Thank you would suffice.”
He stared down at the implements, almost in a daze, looking tense and unsure. He said he had lost his vision and I wondered if unease had something to do with that.
“Why don’t you mess around with it? Draw or paint something.”
“You keep a clean home and art is messy.”
“I don’t mind. I wouldn’t have invited you here and got you that stuff if I did.”
“I told you, I don’t paint anymore.” He was going to fight me tooth and nail, and I was up for the challenge.
“Well, that’s not true. I’ve seen the