Glorious Day

An interaction between two impressionable people. One is an artist and the other is still looking for something to grasp.

Hello, hello. Such a glorious day to interact with nature and behave carelessly towards each other. You feel the truth that I speak. You must live it. You must breathe it in effortlessly.

What does it mean to be human? What does it mean to have needs? Perhaps nothing; perhaps everything. One can only know for certain if one embraces old notions. Sounds primitive but oh so viable.

Last month involved some amount of effort on my part but it was worth the stretch. That was right around the same time that I first encountered her. Her and her beautiful hair.
Her name was Charlotte. A common name assigned to an uncommon woman. It sounds cliche to admit this but she wasn't at all like other girls. Of course she openly admitted to me that she thought I was spastic upon our first meeting. When I asked her to define spastic she replied, "You know... spastic." I adored her answer. I adored it because she answered truthfully. Much more truthfully than most people.

She was also very independent. On our first official date she insisted on paying for everything. I tried my best to offer to pay but she would have none of it. We were kind of setup by a mutual acquaintance. We were both reluctant to meet at first.

The date took place at a local seafood restaurant. The lobster looked particularly delicious and so did she. She wore a slinky little red dress that clung to her body like a rich man clings to money.
"I think I'll order the chicken fingers." She said while playing with a strand of her brunette-ish hair.  "Chicken fingers? Why would you order chicken fingers in a seafood restaurant?" "I don't know. Why wouldn't I?" I couldn't decide if I found her adorable or annoying.

The majority of the evening involved her going on and on about the office she worked at and how much she hated everyone. Then she briefly mentioned her likes and dislikes. Her likes included dancing, drinking, chatting with friends via facebook, chatting with friends via cell phone and the movies of miss Catherine Hepburn. Her dislikes included dancing too much, drinking too much, people who don't like facebook, people who don't like to chat and the movies of Adam Sandler.
"What is it that you do, Pike?" She asked me; dipping a chicken finger in some ketchup. "Oh I do a little of this and a little of that." "What does that mean?" She crinkled her nose. "Well, it means many things." I tried to sound aloof but not too aloof. "Are you sure it doesn't mean you're unemployed?" She batted her eyelashes. "Oh I am quite sure. But what does that have to do with anything?" "It actually has a lot to do with everything. But it's no skin off my nose." She took my hand and studied it.

"Why are you studying my hand?" I asked. "Oh I've been taking this art class and we've been sketching the human hand lately." "Oh really? That sounds cool. So how long have you been sketching?" "Not too long. I actually consider myself an amateur but I do hope to get better at it." "Well I definitely have to see your sketches some day." I bit into a buttered roll. "Yeah. Hey! You can model for me."

"I seriously doubt you'd want me to model for you." "Sure I do. Why not?" She popped the last morsel of chicken finger in her mouth and smiled. It really was difficult for me to believe that a gorgeous female like her would want a shlub like me to model for her own artistic vision. But I figured it couldn't hurt.
Let's fast forward to a week later. I found myself in the cavernous warehouse she called her studio. She had recently acquired the building through some fortuitous circumstance. A rich aunt of hers had succumbed to the ravages of cancer and left the majority of her wealth to her only living kin.

"Hold that pose! Like that. Yes." Her voice echoed throughout as she sketched away vigorously. "Oh ok. Like this? Is this good?" "Yes! That's a great pose." I held my arms up over my head as if reaching for some anonymous sky object. Even though it was the first time I had posed nude for anyone I felt surprisingly comfortable.
"It's a really gorgeous day today. Don't you think?" "Yeah I guess. You could say it is positively glorious." The studio fell silent. It was as if we were both trying to nonchalantly disconnect from the whole experience. An hour passed before either of us said another word.

"Okay. We'll I'm done sketching. Sorry it took so long." She threw down her sketch pad and charcoal pencils. "I don't mind. It was an interesting experience for me. It isn't everyday that a beautiful girl such as yourself wants to sketch a guy like me." "You really think I'm beautiful?" "I don't just think... I know." She blushed then moved closer to me.
We made out with each other for about five... ten minutes. Next thing I knew we were rolling around in a pile of old rags and sheets. I did not feel at all like the seducer, no. I had fallen under some unique spell of hers. I could not control myself but I liked it.
When our consummation came to an abrupt end she proceeded to comb out her hair. It was so lustrous and shiny. I could see my own reflection in it. I kid you not.

"Is it okay if I send the sketches of you to the gallery for my upcoming show?" "Gallery? What gallery?" I knew what she was asking but I was deliberately trying to lose myself in her reflective mane. "I have a gallery showing coming up in two weeks. I forget the name of the gallery but it's somewhere downtown." "Oh. Aren't they all located downtown?" "Uh yeah now that you mention it they are all downtown. Hmm." She gently applied a ruby red lip-gloss and puckered onto a torn sheet of paper. She then handed it to me.
"Here's your invite. The address is on it and so is my phone number." She smiled and winked. "Oh all right. I thank you."

I didn't see her again until two weeks later at her gallery showing. The gallery was indeed located downtown and was called Le Gallerie. Which I assume is French or something for The Gallery. There were many sketches and paintings being exhibited. The first one I came across was a painting of a deformed man eating some sausage links. I couldn't tell if I found it humorous or ridiculous. The next one I noticed was a life sized sketch of a nude woman with six arms moving about. I admired the painstaking charcoal strokes produced by the artist. Each line appeared to jump off the paper.

"Hi! I'm so glad you came!" Charlotte literally ran up to me and gave me an enormous hug. "Oh uh yeah. I almost didn't make it due to other obligations but then my schedule suddenly freed up." That was a blatant lie. I guess it was my way of trying to be aloof. I smelled her hair as she hugged me. It smelled glorious.
"So where are your sketches?" I asked. "Over here. Follow me." She guided me past a couple of strange, metamorphic sculptures then pointed to a blue painted wall.

I stared at myself in sketch form. I didn't look as awful as I normally do. "So what do you think?" She stood right next to me; in between me and the sketched me. "Oh it's a really good likeness." "You can tell me you hate it if you want to. I'll understand." "Huh? No, no. I do not hate it. Not at all." "Are you sure?" "Of course I'm sure. Very sure." "Okay. Thanks. I'm sorry I must seem insecure it's just that most people dislike my work."  She rubbed my arm gently then turned towards an approaching art patron.

"Hello, Charlotte. Long time no see." He was an awkward looking fellow. He was painfully thin and pale. He wore some kind of blue-ish wig that seemed to sparkle under the meticulous lighting of the gallery. If it weren't for the black Armani suit he had on one would mistake him for some diaphonous being from another realm. "Oh! Hello, Germaine! Yes it has been a while since we last saw each other." Charlotte quickly embraced him and pulled away back to me. "I must admit your latest work appears to be reaching towards something... familiar." Germaine wiped his brow with a bright purple handkerchief. "Oh? You really think so?" Charlotte appeared to take his words to heart.

"Are you going to introduce me to your new friend here?" Germaine asked; his eyes displayed a silent fire within. "Oh I'm sorry. Germaine this is Pike. Pike this is Germaine." "Pike is it?" "Yes my name is Pike. Well, it's my given name at least." "Ha, ha. Yes, I don't enjoy my given name either. I never did." He glanced back and forth between me and the sketched me. "Oh so Germaine is not your given name?" I asked. "Well it is and it isn't. If you know what I mean." He winked at me then winked at Charlotte. He exhibited an almost flamboyant bravado.
"Germaine is an artist too. He's way better than me." Charlotte interjected before I could thoroughly analyze his answer. "Oh?" "Yes I suppose one could say I am an artist. But if one did say so one would also have to say that I am the greatest artist of the 21st century." I know that what he said may seem arrogant to most people but I swear I did not detect even the slightest hint of arrogance in his voice.

"So is your work on display here, Germaine?" "No it is not. And I am glad it is not. Nothing could be more damaging to an artist's vision than having his work exhibited for all to gawk at and ridicule." "Really? Well I don't understand but I can imagine where you are coming from." I don't know why I said what I said but I believe Germaine had no trouble following along.

A young cocktail waitress passed by us in a flash but Germaine was able to grab her by the elbow and retrieve two glasses of champagne from her tray. He offered me one of them but I declined. He quickly inhaled both glasses then smiled at Charlotte. It wasn't a smile with any hidden agenda.
I spent the next half hour listening to Germaine prattle on about his so called "vision" and what he wanted it to inspire in people. Some of what he divulged made a lot of sense but most of it sounded like he was just talking straight from his a*s. The whole time I stood there I kept thinking that he should write a novel. He certainly had more than enough material to write the next great American novel. Maybe the next great world novel.

"It was very nice to meet you, Pike. I am afraid I must depart from here due to prior obligations. But I trust I will run into you sometime in the near future." He shook my hand, smiled at Charlotte then waved goodbye. He glided out of the gallery at an abnormal speed. I never saw him again. Two months after that Charlotte told me that Germaine was arrested for possession of an illegal firearm. At his hearing the judge asked him what he planned on doing with it. His response was, "I want to annihilate all art!" He was sentenced to ten years without parole. A year into his sentence he hung himself in the prison showers. Apparently he had a friend burn all of his artwork before he was incarcerated so the only personal affects he left was a collection of vibrant, sparkly wigs.

Charlotte and I ended up dating for a year or so then eventually went our separate ways. To tell you the truth... I don't know what she saw in me. I'm not one to criticize myself nor do I want to. I just really believe that people like Charlotte exist to remind the rest of us what life is all about. You see, there is indeed a reason for everything. I say this not from a state of great spiritual clarity but from a state of pure unadulterated being. Not all of us are like Charlotte but we all have the potential to be.

I wish I could say that I was able to reignite the spark I originally had for Charlotte but no I cannot. I didn't know then but I know now that we were only meant to be together for a short period. Most people tend to believe that the best romances are the ones that last a lifetime, but not me. Nope. I say the best kinds are the ones that end just as quickly as they started.

Within each new day exists the potential for greatness. So live it up! You never know when you may find yourself enjoying a glorious day.