Sometimes I end up with a nature landscape in disarray. Occasionally I catch myself drawing people I swear I’ve only seen a glimpse of in passing, who my brain subconsciously stored away for later.
A few hours must have passed before my sketch of a black cat lounging on a battered ottoman is to a point of satisfaction. The drawn interior of the room is dark, with the cat’s and the cushion’s definition solely relying on highlights I’ve created.Outside the drawing’s window, though, is a sunny summer day with a bird running across the neighbor’s lawn.
There’s probably some deep meaning behind illustrating a dreary, lonely cat staring off into brightness. Someone else might unravel this and connect it to me being a tortured poet or something.
I release a sigh into the silence of my art studio. I’m pretty sure I’m just bored.
Having freedom from a job during college should be a blessing. It is, in retrospect. More free time means more hours to spend on my art and degree. I can take three classes instead of two because I’m lucky enough to have my living situation paid for. I remind myself of those late night shifts I spent in my early years of university trying to keep my grades and my financial situation afloat.
But no job meanstoo muchfree time and less friends. Being employed would give me something to do, at least. And someone to talk to. Like Liliana.
The skin of my lip stings where I chew on it. I still relate seemingly nothing, to something, to her. She might be stuck at a job half of her week, but her laugh echoing around Caramel & Latte’s walls while she socializes with Kameron reminds me she’s busy, but never alone.
The cat on the windowsill is starting to look pretty pathetic, on second glance.
I toss my graphite pencil into the drawer of my drafting table and lean into my office chair, pulling out my phone for a distraction.
There are two messages in my group chat with Heath and Paris, one in all caps emphasizing how adorable their daughter is. The other is a video of Clem dancing at her Pre-K recital. She misses every beat, and at one point tries to run off stage, but Istill reply with “She’s the cutest baby in the world!” because she is.
I check my chat with Derek, but like weeks before, it’s completely dry. The last few messages were sent by me, read by him, and replied by no one. My finger twitches to text him again and ask if he’s free today, but I decide against it. The chances he’d reply are too low to waste my energy on.
There’s another pile of unread messages from a group chat I have muted.
The blue dot next to “McCarthy Family” is almost mocking, with my father getting my car detailed yesterday. I don’t see those random acts stemming from kindness in Keller’s heart. It’s usually followed by a request to go somewhere or do something. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is another attempt to reel me in, with Locke feeding information to my father.
New messages fly by in preview. The most recent is only there for a few seconds before it’s replaced, but my name stands out. It could be my father demanding something, or Locke snitching on me. Both are my worst case scenarios and equally fill me with worry.
Sighing, I click into the group chat, scroll to the beginning of today’s messages and start brainstorming excuses.
Keller: Hello. It seems Billie’s birthday is on the horizon, so I’m arranging a dinner meeting that day. My business partners will be in attendance. My assistants will inform you of date, time, and dress when available.
Keller
Am I understood?
Locke
Yes, sir.
Billie
this dinner is supposed to be for my birthday? with your business partners?
Keller
That’s correct. Please keep your schedules clear accordingly and do not make any plans to interfere with this dinner.
Keller
Grant, please confirm you’ve read this.
Billie
my friends already planned a weekend trip for my birthday
Keller
Cancel it.
