He tells me he doesn’t have a security deposit since he owns the apartment. The way he says it is very unassuming, but I make a face. How could I not? “Must be nice,” I say, though I’m happy about it because it means we can have a marvelous time shaking up this place.
Hopping up, I say I’ll be back in a few, that I need to run some errands. I zoom over to the craft store down the street and load up on paint, balloons, and glitter. Then I pop into the Patriot Saloon and swipe some darts. It’s quite a rush and doesn’t even make me feel bad, which makes me feel good that the new me can still enjoy illegal activities on occasion.
“Time to create some masterpieces on the blank canvas of our lives,” I tell Chris as I unload the art supplies back at his place. Filling the balloons with paint, I tape them to the wall. Then I roll up the edge of his expensive-looking rug and lay down some plastic bags so we don’t fully trash the place. Not that I’d mind, but Chris wouldn’t like it.
I put Arnie in his crate so he doesn’t eat the paint and get sick. He gets all pouty and I tell him that I know, cages are the worst, but we just have to help his dad feel better and then I’ll give him extra treats later.
“Give it a try,” I tell Chris, handing him a dart. “Nothing is permanent,” I remind him because I can tell he’s making an internal list of all the things that could go wrong. “We can always start over without actually starting from scratch.”
Chris doesn’t join in my philosophical musings. He just takes off his button-down shirt so he’s only wearing the T-shirt underneath. He looks better than good. The first dart he throws hardly makes it to the wall, just grazes the very bottom.
“Weak,” Chris says, which is exactly what I’m thinking but I don’t like it when he’s mean to himself.
“Decent first attempt,” I say. “You just need more velocity. Try again.”
He does and it’s a little better but not much. He’s still holding back like there’s a blockage in his body.
“Watch this,” I say, because I can’t resist showing off. I throw a line drive right into the middle of a balloon. Bull’s-eye. Neon green paint splatters out and runs confidently down the wall. The whole apartment instantly brightens. It’s almost like water has been poured over a patch of parched earth, soaking into the cracks.
Picking up the winning dart, I put it in Chris’s hand. “Okay, try this,” I say. “Pretend like this little dart has never been outside this apartment. And this throw is its one and only chance to break out and fly through the sky, feel the wind, taste the air.”
I’m speaking in my theatrical voice, getting all carried away with the drama because I guess I’ve still got an itch to perform. “And you, Chris,” I say, “are in charge of this dart’s destiny. Are you going to make it count or what?”
Chris evaluates the dart like he’s trying to imagine my story coming true. Then he nods, bites his lip, and throws it like he means it, like he’s trying to drill a hole through the wall. It punctures a balloon, and red paint drips down on top of my green. The best part of it all is the look in Chris’s eyes as he throws it.Tenacious: There’s no other word for it.
“How’d that feel?” I ask. He doesn’t answer, just picks up another dart and does it again and again and again until the wall is a glorious splatter paint creation. A colorful slice of the cosmos blending the inner world and the outer world until there’s no delineation between the two.
“Now that’s what modern art should be.” I applaud. “We could open our own gallery in Williamsburg and charge tens of thousands for our work.”
“I’m not an artist,” Chris says. “I’m just an accountant.”
“False,” I say. “Everyone’s got both parts inside of us. The problemis that society makes us believe that we’re actually only a half circle on our own, that we need another human to complete us. So people go around clipping their own wings so they don’t ruffle someone else’s feathers. Or worse yet, they never even realize they have wings. They just waddle around like flamingos, birds that can’t fly their whole lives.”
“I’m a flamingo then,” Chris says, all dejected.
“Of course you’re not,” I snap, a bit harsher than I mean to be. “That wasn’t my point at all. You’re on a brave and colorful flight, and moving on from Olivia is part of that journey.”
I wish I hadn’t brought her name up. Chris’s energy slumps and I know he’s thinking about her, feeling her absence and all the lonely days that are on their way. “I should get some sleep,” he says.
“Okay, sure,” I say quickly. “I’ve got to get home anyway.” I’m wishing he’d offer up the spare room, but it’s best for both of us that he doesn’t. “I have morning yoga with Tara tomorrow,” I add. “I can touch my toes now if I bend my knees. It’s pretty impressive.”
After giving Arnie his treats, I pocket one of the darts to keep as a souvenir and show myself out.
Chapter 39
In the days and weeks that follow, I check in on Chris here and there, and we go on a couple walks with Arnie, but I make sure I’m not his emotional crutch. That wouldn’t be helping anyone. I understand more now about the value of grappling with the silence inside yourself before you can figure out who you are, what you want, and all those other juicy existential questions.
It means I devote more time to the Redstockings. I tell Hal and Jenni what I remembered up at Breakneck Ridge. Hal brainstorms different businesses I could start—a nonprofit or a sexual offender tracker app or a song production platform to help people heal through music. I have no desire to pursue any of those, but it’s still nice knowing she’s on my side, seeing my own fury and hurt bubble up in her blue eyes. Jenni hugs me for about two hours straight and then showers me with gift cards to expensive vegan restaurants, which is pretty great too.
All of it helps the Redstockings spring back from the dead with weekly potlucks in the garden all fall. Attendance is pretty good and there’s a lot to celebrate. Hal and Astrid raise fifty thousand dollars in pre-seed funding for their app. That sounds like a shit ton of money to me, but Hal says it’s just baby dollars, that they’ve got a long way to go.
“Okay, Hal, but don’t be so laser focused on the destination thatyou forget to do some cartwheels on the journey,” I advise, because I’m quite the sage these days.
Jenni’s got updates too. She’s thriving as a new mom, says she’s found her passion after all this time. The way her whole body lights up when she says it, I can tell it’s the path that’s truest for her, at least in this season, and I feel some guilt for all the judgmental things I used to say about stay-at-home moms. I probably stunted Jenni’s path a bit, but she got there in spite of me and it makes it all the better.
Tara and Niles are going strong, and I ask Tara if he might want to move into the Inn. It would help me save on rent but it’s more than that. I want to show that I approve of their relationship so I don’t wind up pushing Tara away like I did with Jenni and Hal.
“Niles and I are actually thinking about getting our own place,” Tara tells me, looking sheepish as can be. “It’s obviously nothing against you or the Inn. We just feel like we’re ready for that step.”
