II. in Languid Contentment

PAST

I was seventeen when I first found Paradise, a small town just past the California border and into Oregon. I left home that summer vowing to never turn back. With an ounce of weed, my favorite faded black sweatshirt, a bag of clothes, some pills, and my favorite CDs, I pulled away into the mist-filled wonders. All I needed was to find a legitimate job somewhere, doing anything and I would be fine. I’d meet people. I’d live the life in Paradise. My car was my home for the first week. It wasn’t too cold and every morning the mist would hide me and my car and no one bothered us. I applied to every damn restaurant I drove by. I applied to Wal-Mart, K-Mart, Target, and every other place I thought a runaway like me could find work at. It was a Friday night and I had to get out and mingle. See what this town was all about. Someone had left an invitation to an art exhibit on the passenger side window and I decided I was going to check it out.

I arrived at the gallery and they served me some wine without checking my ID so I kept coming back for more. The whole gallery was crazy. Huge inflated neon balloons decorated the middle of the large white room. Light shows were being displayed in one of the dark rooms. Crazy abstract shit was thrown on the walls and looked like they were peeling off to turn into something completely different. It was out of this world. I had never been around art like this. I watched people converse with each other. They weren’t all pompous and shit like art talkers are out in Los Angeles. Nah, these people were real. I didn’t talk to anyone until a man, maybe in his early twenties came in and glanced at me. I smiled and he came over to start small talk. He said he didn’t think I looked old enough to be drinking, and I told him he looked too old to be enjoying any type of contemporary art. He laughed and told me his work is actually displayed upstairs and motioned for me to follow his lead. I rolled my eyes, but found myself getting up and actually following him. The first picture we passed was a picture of land when the Native’s still owned it. The next picture showed new colonies arriving. The next picture showed an Indian burial service. There was one image in that particular picture that I don’t think I could ever stop thinking about. It was of an old Native American woman and she was crying. Her face staring straight at you and a single tear was just about to roll down the side of her cheek. The rest of the pictures were just as depressing. Documenting the fall of the past century, showing through art that technology has created a high-strung, race for riches, concrete jungle. And if we don’t get rid of this shitty type of living and go back to our roots, the world will not be able to adapt to these changes and humans will find that living will become a very hard thing to do. Or at least that was what the art spoke to me. After having all of that come to my mind as I stared at this man’s beautiful art, I realized that this was what I needed in life. I needed to see these works of abstract art that ties into humanity; the work of simplicity, the work of the dark and dreary. I needed all this art to look into and understand. I needed it for guidance. I needed it for reassurance; for surfacing my own inner emotions. There was so much inside of myself dying to come out. And I think I found the man who could bring out my buried ardor.

His name was Franz Lumbar and he lived in a beautiful art studio overlooking miles and miles of evergreens, blanketing below his entire southeast window. There were huge fluffy pillows by this window and, of course his Penny which was his pride in shining wood, yet nothing more than a plain old art easel. I thumbed through his paints and brushes and told Franz I wanted to be his apprentice. He laughed at first, but turning back he realized I wasn’t joking around. This could work, I told him. You bite me, I bite you. We could be a team. Franz still didn’t know what to make of me but I had no time to play the let’s-try-to-figure-each-other-out game, or did I? The point was there was nothing I needed to find out about him and nothing he needed to find out about me. The first night he brought me back to the studio he fucked me on his futon. I have had a few sexual experiences in California, but Franz was different. He was delicate. He made sure I was being pleased at every moment during our love making. His hands were constantly running through my hair, his mouth kissing every inch of me from my lips to my neck and down to my breasts. The thing with Franz was that he cared. He really fucking cared…but maybe too much. I moved into his studio and the first few months were amazing. I remember waking up and watching him sleep, listening to the funny noise his nose would make after each breath. I’d make him breakfast naked. Eggs--sunny side up, two slices of bacon and toast with jelly. Always marmalade. We bought a fish and named him Cobalt because he was this beautiful shade of blue. Sometimes we’d wake up just before the sun came up, both of us running out to the balcony to paint the colorful sky. And at night, before bed, I’d sit on the couch and watch Franz create the most beautiful paintings I had ever seen. He was so focused and dedicated; it was a beautiful thing in itself. But those moments quickly changed. He wouldn’t let me go out by myself. I had to stay at the apartment while he ran errands and if he came home and I wasn’t there he would flip out. At first it was cute because he was so over-protective of me. I never had someone that actually cared about where I was or who I was with.

But one night really freaked me out. I had my first art show at Caprelli’s gallery and I needed him to drop me off before the show started to set things up. He dropped me off around seven and left to pick up some money a friend of his owed him. He promised he would be back in time for my opening, but he never showed up. Of course I was fucking pissed; I mean it was my first show. He was the man who sprinkled some of his talent dust over me for the past four months and his absence was like a slap in the face. Plus, I was now so dependent on him. It was like I no longer knew how to make decisions on my own and I needed him by my side. The show turned out to be bigger than I could have imagined. Three other local artists were there to display their work and crowds were beginning to form at every corner. Before I knew it, I was drunk. I only wanted to calm my nerves, but I let my anger get the best of me and I suddenly couldn’t resist the sparkling champagne being handed to me by various strangers complimenting me on my “true aesthetic talent”. Around ten the crowds disappeared and I tried once more to get a hold of Franz. I left him a long, drunk voicemail, yelling at him for being such a piece of shit. Then I chucked my cell phone against the wall and watched it break apart. I guess I was crying on the floor when Jake found me. He was one of the other local artists and his work was incredible. He didn’t have the same edge in his work as Franz had, but the softness his work portrayed was so soothing to me that night. He picked me up and asked me if I was alright. I don’t remember what I said to him, but he gave me a ride back to Franz’s studio and wrote his number on one of the art flyers, told me to call him if I ever needed anything. I walked up the stairs and Franz was passed out on the couch, an empty bottle of Jack next to him, and an unfamiliar bong on the coffee table. I kicked off one of my high heels right into his fucking face. That shit hit him hard and he was up in a flash. He started screaming and asked me why the fuck would I chuck a dangerous shoe towards his head. I stood there like a statue with stone cold eyes as he ran off to grab something to stop the bleeding. It was a moment of raw anger. Something inside of me took over and I had to physically hurt him. After the cuss storm died down he explained that he lost track of time drinking with his buddy and then they smoked some bomb Cali herb and that shit knocked him off his ass. He apologized and promised to make it up to me. Then he asked me how the hell I got home.

“ Jake dropped me off.”
“Jake? As in Jack Bellow?”
“Uh yeah, that would be him.”
And this was the moment I knew I had to get the hell away from Franz for the rest of my life. His eyes glazed over, turning bright red, and he was breathing really hard through his nose. His shoulders tensed up and he slammed his hand into the marble countertop. I took a step away and he came closer.
“You fucked him didn’t you!!!!” his rage fired out of his thin little lips as saliva sprayed across my face after every harsh word he spat out. “I did not fuck him, Franz” I tried to reason with him, but there was no point. “YOU ARE A FUCKING NASTY SLUT! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY PLACE!”

I ran into the bathroom and stared into the mirror knowing perfectly well I could calm him down and stay with him and continue living under his crazy roof. But I wasn’t going to do that. I grabbed all my shit that was in his studio and I took the bastards advice. Before I walked out of the door I told him good luck ever trying to get a hold of me again because my cell phone was scattered around in broken pieces back at the art gallery, and that once I walk out the door he will never see me again. It was a moment of liberation. No cell phone acting as my little leash, and no Franz at the other end controlling my every move. I had the art flyer in my hand and I read Jake’s full name out loud, wondering how Franz knew him. I looked at the number he had scribbled on the side of it and sighed knowing he was the only person in the world who could rescue me at this moment. I heard Franz yelling my name from the balcony, urging me to come back so we could talk about things. I’m sorry but there will be no more Franz in my life or even throughout the rest of this story. I walked all the way to downtown where I finally found a payphone outside of Denny’s. I called Jake and he answered on the first ring.
“Look, I am experiencing a dilemma right now. Can you pick me up?”
Within fifteen minutes of hanging up the phone, he was honking at me in the parking lot. I jumped in his bright red truck and he noticed I had all of my stuff. “Where we going?” he asked. “I don’t know; I need you to tell me.” Jake laughed and put his hand on my head, ruffling my hair. He did a few donuts in the parking lot, I guess to try to make me laugh, and afterwards he sped off. We drove for about forty minutes when I finally asked him where we were going. He said he knows a place that will make everything better for him and I up in the mountains. I shrugged upon realizing I had nothing to lose at this point. The street lights grew further and further apart and I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. Half hour later, I woke up to loud techno music and bright lights. Jake was smiling at me holding two pills. “What the fuck are these? And what is this place?” I asked as I took in my surroundings. “Relax. It’s just ecstasy. My friend Joe throws these underground raves up in the mountains. I had to stop a few times to find the secret codes and ask people the true directions. This shit is really kept quiet because no one wants the cops to catch word.” He handed me a pill and some water and I took it. “You like ecstasy right?”
“Uh we’ll find out I guess.” “Shit! So it is your first time huh? Well I am glad to be your guide for the night. You are in for a wild ride. Don’t worry I won’t leave your side, sweetie.” I drifted off into a whole new world. I had never felt more alive! Every cell in my body was thriving and my senses were heightened to the max. The music was literally running through every inch of my body and I had to keep checking the speakers to make sure it wasn’t my body that was generating the beautiful sound. The whole night was warm and full of emotion. I was so overwhelmed I didn’t know what to do with myself. Jake was right next to me the whole time, running his fingers along my skin and nothing had ever felt so amazing. I smoked at least a thousand menthol cigarettes that night and as the smoke danced through my lungs I knew I had entered heaven. He kept handing me water and I drank every last drop so I wouldn’t become dehydrated. I danced and laughed, cuddled and cried, until suddenly the sun appeared and it shot up into the sky as if god himself pulled the trigger. “Don’t stare at it! You’re going to hurt your eyes!” Jake said and turned my face towards him. He kissed me gently and his lips were perfectly in sync with mine. I felt butterflies escaping from my stomach and I grabbed his hand to keep from fainting. He laughed at me and told me it was time to go. I sat there perplexed wondering how I would ever be able to leave heaven. He helped me up and walked me over to his truck. We didn’t say a word the whole time, letting Jimi Hendrix fill the silence.