What You Fail To See

“You think you know yourself don’t you? You might see all the positive things, but you’re overlooking the cracks in your persona. The things that truly make you human.”

I lean forward on the desk matching the shaky gaze of the man in front of me.

“When you don’t see those things, that's when you plateau. You stall. You talk about your life extensively, but never find the answers to what’s holding you back because words only achieve so much.”

I lean back with a smile to put him at ease as he mirrors me. Basic psychology.

“That’s where I come in. A picture’s worth a thousand words. So as my patient you’re getting three.”

His shoulders relax noticeably less tense than a moment ago. I stand up and shake his hand, giving him the last bit of confidence he needs before we begin.

“Well thank you Ms…”

He looks down to see Emilia Hart on the name plate on my desk.

“Ms. Hart, I really appreciate your confidence. I certainly can relate to what you’re saying. So what do we do next?”

He’s more comfortable than before, but he’s still feeling out of place. He’s a worrier. Concerned with what people think of him. Even in the most familiar of places he would still think he’s doing something wrong.

To calm him, I give another smile and lead him to the therapy room.

“Take a seat and let’s discuss your lifestyle starting with your home. Would you say you’re a clean person?”

He must be considering he doesn’t want anything to be incorrect just in case someone were to see it.

“Yes, I like to keep my place spotless. I always do my dishes after eating and laundry is always in its place.”

He must make his bed every morning and tuck it in like a hotel maid.

“What do you like to do when you’re home?”

He’ll stall on this because he does nothing but wait for contact from others. Likely doomscrolling to distract himself from his surroundings.

“I guess I don’t really know. I mean what does anyone ever really do at home besides chores, cooking and cleaning?”

My pen clicks before writing some notes down even though I've nailed everything down so far.

“You could play games, read, make music…even spending time on your phone is technically an activity.”

He leans back on the couch melting into it a little looking like he’s lost in the thought of what he actually does at home.

“You’re right, I suppose I spend most of my time on my phone if I don’t have house duties to take care of. Otherwise I’m at work.”

Just as I suspected.

“How do you feel about that now that you’re realizing your personal life.”

He’ll have to confront himself to get this answer.

“Pretty disappointed. I never realized I was so boring.”

It’s good that he can recognize it so easily.

“You bring up work, what do you do for a living?”

He’s here in office clothing. Slacks and a dress shirt. Definitely not from the higher end of the spectrum. Middle class if he can afford my time. He’s a clean person so a desk job in computers.

“I work as a web developer doing backend coding. It’s a pretty quiet workspace.”

I nod and note that specific detail.

“Do you have any friends at work, or any associates you spend time with?”

He looks uncomfortable answering this.

“This is a safe space, there's no need to worry about anything you admit leaving this room.”

He eases up again letting his shoulders broaden once more.

“I don’t really have any friends. No one really talks to me at work unless they have to.”

Another note confirming my thoughts.

“Why do you think that is?”

A difficult question to answer, but something that must be confronted.

“I guess…they don’t find me interesting? Maybe because they see this quiet guy who sits and works all day without interacting with anyone.”

That’s putting it lightly I’d say.

“Would you say you were a quiet kid growing up? Not really one to talk to others?”

Hard to believe he wouldn’t be with his current work description.

“Yeah, I always kind of kept to myself. Not to say I didn’t want to make friends, but I guess the way I was raised didn’t really teach me how to do that.”

His interest in making friends is a curious note.

“Tell me more about how you were raised.”

He leans back more and stares at the ceiling reflecting on the past.

“Well honestly my parents kind of raised me with a speak when spoken to mentality. They were pretty strict about how I behaved. Always wanting me to be clean and presentable for their guests.”

This is clearly what started his current day habits.

“I constantly lived on praise by meeting their expectations so I just did exactly as I was told.”

And this explains why he hasn’t grown beyond those habits.

“Is there anything else you’d like to share about yourself?”

He’ll say no because he’s not being asked to share, but instead being offered.

“Umm…no. I…guess not.”

I can already see all 3 paintings. As soon as I’m home I’ll begin while it’s still so clear.

“So Mr. Beckett, the next part of the process is easy for you. I’m going to take the information I’ve collected and paint you 3 portraits of yourself. One is a reflection on how you see yourself, the next is a reflection on how you believe the people around you view you, and the final is how you believe your parents see you.”

I reach back and grab a document from the drawer behind me.

“If you could just fill this out, that would help me do a clearer painting. Just some details about yourself, your parents and some of the things we talked about.”

I hand him a clipboard as well.

“When you’ve finished, exit the room and you can send me the payment through Vendmore. I’ll reach out to you in a few days when I’ve finished. You can return and we’ll go over the results.”

To give him some silence and focus on the details, I step out of the room. Twenty minutes go by as I type some ideas on my laptop.

Mr. Beckett walks out and places the clipboard on my desk. He pulls out his phone as I hand him my business card with the QR code.

“Thank you, we’ll be in touch, take care!”

I maintain my positive supporting voice until the moment he exits the office. My account balance has increased and my job is now to return home and do what I love most about my job. Paint.

1.2

The time is 6 pm as I head to the car. Later than usual. I take a seat in the front and rest my hands on the steering wheel exhaling deeply after a long day.

The drive home isn’t too bad. Not as much traffic, surprisingly. After arriving at the building’s garage I notice the first of the 2 reserved spaces is taken. The car doesn’t look familiar either. I park before heading upstairs with my work bag and purse.

The door unlocks quietly and creaks open as my heart beats faster. There’s a smell in the air. Potatoes…onions…carrots… Is that lamb? My stress levels drop as I tilt my head back in relief feeling comfortable. Still trying to remain silent, I close the door.

My bags go down first. The heels come off next. I can’t have any excess sounds give away my presence. Total silence if I’m going to succeed. I peek around the corner for a look at the setting. Standing upright in his suit staring into the fridge is the man of mysterious perfection. Just as he’s about to close the door, I creep up from behind and whisper in his ear.

“There you are….”

I wrap my arms around from behind hugging tightly like he’s a stuffed animal whose head is about to pop off.

He shrieks in fear before realizing who it is and calms down.

“Hey bonnie, how have you been!?”

I jerk my head back in surprise at his question.

“Me? Colin, you’re the one who's been in Ireland for the last 2 months, I know it was technically for work, but your family comes from there. You must have learned a lot about the culture during your time off?”

He laughs at my turn around dodging his question.

“I am in fact currently making a new Irish stew from a recipe I learned over there! There will be plenty of time to talk about me over this.”

Curious about this new dish I lean against the counter to peer into the pot.

“Yeah this seems like the usual stew you make, but instead of mutton you’re using lamb?”

He chuckles at my claim.

“Okay you caught me. It’s not that new, but the use of lamb was something I was taught over there. It tastes great! Should be done in a couple minutes. Would you mind setting the table for us?”

I grab the mats, plates and utensils to place on the high table we have in the living room of our large apartment.

“So what’s the situation with the new car in the garage?”

Colin hangs up his cooking apron and pours stew into a couple bowls for the two of us.

“Oh, I had to take a loaner car from the rental company. When I got back this morning I took the car to the shop and they told me it would take a day to fix so they hooked me up.”

Surprisingly efficient to take care of a problem like that on his first day back, but he’s always able to make the most of his time.

“Careful it’s hot as heck.”

He places my bowl down in front of me and sets his down right after. He takes a moment to pull out my seat and motion for me to step in. Flawless manners.

“Such a gentleman.”

He chuckles before taking a seat opposing me.

“So please, why don’t you start us off. I know I’m the one who went on the trip, but I missed you so much and have wanted to hear what’s been going on since the moment I left.”

I roll my eyes with a half smile. Partially because it’s sweet to show he cares, but also because his perfection can be irksome.

“Well with you gone I had a lot of time on my hands so I spent most of it in my art room.”

He smiles widely at the idea.

“That’s great! Did you come up with anything you’re interested in sharing?”

His eager puppy-like curiosity is cute, but I’m not sure there’s anything I’m ready to show him.

“Maybe. I’ll have to go through my recent works and let you know.”

He smiles understandingly before taking a bite of the lamb in his stew.

“Mmmm…so good! Almost as good as the work you do. Don’t worry, you’ve done so well over the last couple years I know you’ll reach your goals.”

His reassurance is like a steady reminder I keep hitting snooze on. I don’t necessarily want to hear it, but it’s important to have in order to actually follow through with the task.

“Yeah, maybe.”

I mumble unsure of myself.

“How has work been? I’m sure you’ve had plenty of clients interested in your brilliant art therapy.”

My teeth clench at the thought of talking about myself again.

“Work has been good. Plenty of clients. I’m actually pretty backed up so I might have to finish dinner a little early.”

He just got back, but even in this short span of time I already feel like I need some personal space.

“Maybe you can tell me about Ireland before bed.”

That might be too close…

“Or at dinner tomorrow when I’ve caught up on some of my work.”

The stew is still warm as I slurp it up like I’m finishing a ramen bowl in Japan. He eyes me with surprise, but still a smile.

“That’s fine, good luck with your work. If you need anything just shout!”

I head to the spare bedroom turned studio. I shut the door behind me and lean back against it. It’s nice to be in my own silence again.

1.3

I flip the switch and the main lamp in the center of the room flickers on to light up most of what’s directly beneath it. It’s not excessively bright here and there are no windows to let sun in. The outskirts of the room are dark…but that’s not always a bad thing.

Directly beneath the light sit 3 empty easels and a stool. I look around for my stack of blank canvases. The room is cluttered with a mixture of used brushes, empty paint tubes and dirty pallets. On the left hand side I shuffle things around and find a stack of canvases. Flipping from top to bottom there’s nothing but failed attempts at past portraits.

I head to the opposite side where a desk sits parallel to the wall. Less used for work, more like a set of drawers to hold miscellaneous items. Two drawers are filled with clean brushes and fresh paint. I grab numerous brush types to cover all possible styles before sorting through the paints to find titanium white, ultramarine blue, quinacridone magenta, hansa yellow, and burnt sienna. After digging around I finally find the last tube of cadmium red. Enough to last me a couple weeks.

A third drawer is filled with a massive variety of palette knives. Some blunt and flexible, others stiff and sharper for more detailed work. I carefully sift through them until finding a sharp one that allows me to be precise.

My mind is already jumping to the next task as I lean on the dusty desk half focused on the bottom drawer. My lack of attention while thinking of where the blank canvases are in this dimly lit room causes me to inaccurately reach for the knife, cutting the palm of my left hand. Not enough to be concerned, but enough to need a paper towel.

There aren’t any in plain sight so I walk over to the door and open it slightly.

“Hey, Colin, could you bring me some paper towels and a cup of water please!?”

I try not to shout and alarm him, but raise my voice loud enough to be heard. About thirty seconds pass.

“Here you go.”

Colin holds the two of them ahead trying to pass them through the crack in the door.

“You know what, just leave them on the floor and I’ll pick them up myself. Thank you so much for doing this.”

I blow him a kiss to reward his actions before he places the two items on the floor, smiles from satisfaction and leaves the hallway.

After opening the door enough to pick up the paper towels I wrap a few around my palm to soak up the slowly dripping blood.

My mind returns straight to work, grabbing the water for my painting before shutting the door behind me once more.

This time more cautiously I grab the palette knife and place all the items on the small stand beside my stool in the center of the room. I check beneath the paper towels and although it’s soaked, the bleeding has stopped. All that remains for preparation is to find the canvases I was originally looking for.

The only space left is the back behind the easels. I keep my eyes down avoiding the wall and watching the floor. Sorting through the area it looks like there are still some more used canvases here. Finally I spot a tarp protecting all the new canvases from getting dusty and splashed with paint.

Relieved by not having to go out and purchase more I stand up right to stretch in relaxation. That’s when I make the mistake of staring at the wall. It’s not just a wall though…it’s perfection. It’s the reason I’ve achieved the success I have. On this wall hang the three most recognized paintings I’ve done to this date.

I face away and grab three canvases from behind before walking forward. The blanks go on the easels and I avoid looking at the perfection that is Colin Hayes.

I take a seat on the stool beneath the light as the three canvases build a wall from my other thoughts. All I have to do is focus on what’s in front of me.

I turn to the first painting on my right, the perspective of Mr. Beckett’s parents. After talking to him and reading the profile he left for me I got some more ideas of what his world must look like.

He sits alone at work, he cleans his home for no one and he spends all his time on social media because he lacks social skills. His parents don’t even look down on him, they look away from him with the hope he’ll stay small until they need his presence. A quiet and lonesome world as his “speak when spoken to” upbringing controls every decision he makes.

The best way to capture his existence is to place him at his neat and organized desk lonely on the bottom corner of the canvas. The space around him is dark besides a blue glow of light splashing his face from his computer. He sits in silence with a shock collar around his neck as a three dimensional steel cage encapsulates the bottom corner he and his desk are at, placing him in darkness.

That darkness around him fades as you go farther away on the canvas revealing his parents bright and well dressed, conversing with others not even acknowledging his existence. His parents will be painted larger and more recognized than he himself will be. His mother will be in charge of the collar holding a button to activate it when he’s needed.

Now that I’ve envisioned the reality of who Mr. Beckett is from the perspective of his parents and how he was raised I grab my brush. The palette is set up with all the appropriate paints.

I start by dipping into the white to capture Mr. Beckett’s face. He needs to be a certain level of pale so that the blue glow from his computer really washes over his face. Mixing a dominant amount of white, with a touch of yellow, magenta and sienna gives me a peachy color. After developing the base come the details. Adding the blue glowing tones followed by bloodshot eyes. I paint for hours as time stands still in the room. No outerlight to show the darkness creeping up.

Checking the time I realize it’s already 11 pm after just finishing the first painting. There’s no way Colin is awake at this point. Coming home from Ireland is an 8 hour difference, he must be asleep.

My phone shows one notification from him. A message saying goodnight with a kiss emoji. I’m on too much of a roll to stop right now. I don’t have to go into the office tomorrow either so a nap should make up for my lack of sleep tonight.

After spending the next 6 hours finishing both of Mr. Beckett’s other paintings I leave the canvases up on the easels to dry. I head to the door taking one last look at my results. I’m excited about how much I’ll be able to help my patient. I flip the lights off and creep out the door.

I head to the bedroom with no intention of brushing my teeth or changing clothes. I simply undress and crawl under the sheets. Colin lays on his side facing me. I can’t help but notice how cute he looks in bed all tuckered out. He’s flawlessly beautiful too. Even in a state of exhaustion there doesn’t seem to be a single thing that makes him less than perfect.

I grind my teeth and turn over to face away before my mind gets obsessed. It’s so late at night that as soon as I close my eyes I fall deeply asleep.