If- Nina G. Jones Page 0,40

until nine,” she said.

“Okay,” I replied, sliding on my jeans. Did she want me to ask her? Because of course I wanted to be around her at every waking moment, but I didn’t want to suffocate her.

“Do you want to hang out?” I asked.

“Mmmmhmmm,” she smiled, as if she thought I would never ask. “Crap, I need to get ready, I leave in twenty minutes.”

“Alright,” I said, walking up to her, staring in her eyes, close, so that we were nose to nose and I could feel it made her aroused and nervous. I kissed her. No tongue, just pressed my lips against hers and reached for the hem of my shirt that she was still wearing and whipped it off of her. “I need this back,” I said against her lips.

And now she was there, in front of me, completely naked, with the sun shining on her, trying to compete with her, but it was losing, and I could have taken her again and again and again. She crossed her arms like I hadn’t just tasted the salty sweetness of those breasts and moved her lips like she was going to say something but hesitated.

“What’s up?”

“I—I’m trying to figure out how to phrase this . . .”

“The way it comes out, however that is, is fine.”

“I don’t want you living out there.” Her voice wobbled, as if she was overcome with emotion that I don’t even think she expected. “I worry.”

Like a soft press of the brakes, her concern slowed my thoughts.

I worry.

The people who cared about me, that’s all they did. That’s why I tried to push her away, but she’s the sun and I’m just the earth and her gravitational pull is just too strong. I didn’t want her to hurt, or worry. I didn’t want her to have sleepless nights wondering where I had disappeared to. But the inevitable is inevitable.

With my shirt still in my hands, and her still naked, I walked up to her. I brushed her cheek, specifically the little freckles that were like sprinkles of cinnamon. “Don’t. I’ve managed so far. I’ll see you tonight?”

She nodded. I wondered if she realized what a mistake she had made. That I wasn’t going back to my place like a normal guy. I was going back out to the streets. The streets were my home. I wondered if she would even answer the door when I came back. I hoped she wouldn’t because I wasn’t stopping if she wasn’t. My momentum had built, I was already rolling down the Birdie Campbell hill, picking up speed with each revolution.

I slid on my shirt and headed for the door.

“Aren’t you going to eat something?” she asked.

Food was low on my list of priorities. She looked around the kitchen. “Here,” she said, grabbing a banana and some sort of snack bar and shoving them in my jacket pocket.

ASH

I WALKED AS fast as I could to the nearest art supply store. I filled up a cart with as many pads of 18x24 canvas paper and tubes of paint as I could and took it to the register, where a girl with one side of her hair shaved off rang me up.

“Are you a teacher?” she asked.

“Nope,” I said, wishing she would cut the small talk so I could get moving.

“That’s a lot of paper.”

“I’ve got a lot of painting to do.”

I pulled out a wad of money. All the money I had to my name. My savings had long gone by now, and most of my money came from my brother slipping me cash here and there. I saved most of it, spending as little as possible on food and other necessities.

When all was said and done, I only had twenty-five dollars and twenty-one cents left to my name. This was an investment. Food could wait. Art would be my food. Bird would be my food.

Next, I had to find a space. One where I could paint freely, attacking the canvas with no prying eyes. I didn’t want walls. I avoided them as much as possible. Bird made walls tolerable, but when I was alone, with only my thoughts, I often noticed the walls and how they made me feel like I was trapped.

I paced the streets of Downtown LA, grappling with my bag and the art store purchases I had just made. Time was being wasted and I needed a secure place I could visit repeatedly without needing to pay for transportation. Most importantly, I needed both privacy