Smarter Chance

“Can I do you next?” he repeats, my mind rushing like a hurricane or typhoon if it were in the Pacific Ocean. “Sketch you, I mean.” Michael says with a tone that implies my face has betrayed my inner thoughts again.

“Go ahead.” I squeak.

He just nods and rests his sketchpad against the edge of the table, his hand is far looser and further away from the paper than I thought it should be.

At first we sit in silence, I am a statue made of flesh and sweat, but he breaks the silence, “So how was your trip over here?”

It’s…mundane, woefully so, “Not bad but I had to change trains.”

“Really? I can get here directly. How do you normally get to the museum, I thought that station was on the same line?” He speaks so charismatically even while paying more attention to the image of me than me myself.

“It is, I walk to the museum from work then walk to a different station that goes directly home.”

“Oh, part time job?”

“Full time.”

He finally looks up at me again, paying so much attention I can feel his gaze drilling through my t-shirt and jeans.

“You…Are a student…Right?”

Ah. I see why he might have thought that and I never meant to deceive him but I have, “I mean…I was…once.”

He shrugs, as if my horrifying deceit means nothing to him, “I just figured you must be a business student or something, with the suits and all. T-shirt and jeans suit you though. Less suave, more approachable.”

I can’t help but laugh at the idea of me being suave but in that moment he looks at me like he's caught me slipping up on something but it flicks away and he turns his gaze back to the sketch at hand.

“You’re a natural sitter, you know, very…static.”

“Years of trying to blend in with walls.” I am a human pane of glass; brittle and see through, plain at any angle and deliberately made.

“I got more of a statue vibe. You draw my eye.” He spoke softly , distracted, his hand moved so quickly yet so on purpose it was intimidating. I feel like a small animal in front of something much larger, more impressive, daunting and a little unknowing.

“So what are you going to do with me?” I ask, nodding to the sketchpad.

“Not sure yet, might just keep it as a sketch, might paint it, might try to learn sculpting and keep you in a jar on my shelf. Might enter it into a gallery.”

“A gallery? I don’t think I could take that.” I tried to be honest, just in case he meant it.

His slender fingers stopped their waltz for a moment so he could look me in the eyes, it hurt, like pale lasers blinding me.

“I’d only do it with your permission. Don’t worry. But I do need something.” Michael tapped his pencil on the edge of the sketchpad a few times, would that break the lead inside or did that not matter with pencils?

“Something for what?”

“The uni does an exhibition for our finished projects. The mid-year one is coming up. You don’t have to but sometimes they invite industry professionals so it’s good to be there even if you don’t have work on display. I missed my chance last year and some guy actually got offered a gallery spot. It’s in a few weeks so I’m gonna be screwed twice if I don’t get it done.”

I nod, listening, art seems very cutthroat, it must hurt more when you’re doing something out of love oot just duty, “Is there a…theme?”

Michael spins the pencil between his fingers, it’s red and has no eraser on the end, professional, “Yeah but it's vague so we can be creative. This module it’s memories. But I don't know. What memories could I pick?”

“For me memories are either really crisp or just colours and shapes. Murky.” I try to offer him a solution even though I barely understand the question.

“Hmm,” Michael leans back in thought for a second before closing his notepad, softly, carefully, “I have an idea but I should probably go home and actually pick up some paint instead of procrastinating.”

“Ah, sorry.”

“For what,” he reaches towards me for a second but pulls his hand away at the last moment, “You helped me get the gears going. And I got to practise some still life.”

I said an awkward goodbye and we parted; him all but running for the door and me left alone to sit and try to gather my thoughts. I pay for the both of us and step out into the alleyway; its cramped but much brighter than the inside because here the sun reaches.

I take my journey home slowly, enjoying the brief glimmers of sun on my face; the café was pretty, I think, it didn’t need so many windows because there were hundreds of paintings instead.

Just as I was at the station my phone buzzes in my pocket;

Sorry for bolting, Tiff said you paid for me so I gotta pay you back, come to the exhibition, my treat! I’ll guarantee you get to see my work on a wall!

I couldn’t help but smile at that, even if I was being used as some kind of motivation or bribe. I think maybe that’s what friends are for? To make you want to do better for them.

Another buzz but I wouldn’t notice for a while as I had wandered onto the train by instinct. Tunnels muted the radio waves and my happiness muted the world around me just enough for everything to be nice and soft; comfy.

I forget it by the time I get home until another buzz prompts my neurons to start up again.

Make that the week after too, imma be a while.

I probably won't be able to make it to the museum Wed, I think this might consume me. The exhibition is end of the month so guess I’ll see you then. Message me to let me know you’re still alive.

I thought I’d be devastated by the news but the joy of the…date is still lifting my heart up. I lean back, my head hitting the wall behind my sofa but ignore the slight pain to stare up at my white, but textured ceiling; I already had one thing to look forward to and now I have two. How lovely.