I wake up to a full bladder, beside Viloria, not quite remembering how I got there, but my legs remember the dancing. They nearly cramp as I climb out of bed and cross the floor to the bathroom where, halfway there, I trip over a pair of shoes and catch myself on the wall corner before falling. Behind me, my girlfriend stirs, “Good morning.”

“I’ve got to piss.”

“So kind of you to keep me informed.” She slides her feet to the floor and sits on the edge of the bed, watching me.

“Communication is key,” I turn the corner then stand before the toilet, only to finish with less aim than I’m proud to admit, and logging yet another reminder to clean as I rejoin Viloria in the main room. She is seated on the couch looking my way, but I can't tear my eyes away from my easel. The same canvas still waits for me there.

“Davinci?” Viloria’s voice startles me, and I turn.

“Yea?”

“You ok?” My girlfriend's eyes go to the art corner then back to me - with concern.

“I'm fine.” And it washes over me. My muse. An itch, really. I go to my art corner and grab a brush. “Refill my water, would you?”

“Okaaay…” Viloria slowly stands from the couch and I realize how short I had sounded.

“Sorry… I didn't mean to sound rude.”

“It's ok. So, what are you painting?” She grabs my cup and pauses to watch me before going to the kitchen sink, unanswered. I hear the water running and move my eyes to the window. The sunlight streams in from the morning, casting a shadow of the wooden panes at my feet. I can see them, the shadows, but something else as well.

Viloria returns with my cup and sets it down on the easel ledge; A bit precariously, but I pay no mind as I quickly dip my brush then go for my paints. Red, yellow, blue, a lot of darker brown, and some black. The colors are not from my apartment but from wherever it is I paint; away from here. I can see a different window, and her in a pale yellow gown. The redhead.

I paint her elevated on the window ledge, looking through the dirty panes. One of her legs is up between the grasp of her arms while the other reaches, bare, for the floor. Some of her red hair is swept over her shoulder and the rest hangs loosely along her side. I can't see but the edge of one ear and a small portion of her face, as it’s turned away to the glass. Beyond, in the bright morning of a day so long ago, something waits for her. I paint it in the trees, as a big black shadow of a beast with bright green eyes.

All while I'm painting, the day passes beyond my own window, and I fail to hear when Viloria leaves. I've got no attention for anything but what's beneath my brush, another masterpiece. When it is finally finished, I set my brush down, but cannot pull my eyes away from the scene. It is so real that I reach out to touch her hair, expecting to feel how soft it must be. But, instead, I smudge the wet paint. “Damnit!”

My phone rings as I go for my brush to fix her hair. It rings again. And again. But, I am fixated as the call goes to voicemail. After I’ve finally gotten it perfect, my phone rings again. It is as if she is there, with me. I can hear her whispering - calling me - and I am pulled into the painting as her face turns.

“You were out there...” Her eyes go back to the world beyond the window panes, speaking to my reflection in the glass, “I knew.”

I try to respond, but exist merely as a witness to some scene. She has the only lines. Besides her soft voice, there are no other sounds and nothing but the window - all else is fog. A thick white fog, allowing but a small glimpse of this world. The same small glimpse I had painted. The girl is posed in the same manner, her red hair falls in the same way, but no shadow awaits her in the woods. Outside the window, the world appears flat, and the shadow is gone. She turns, allowing the hem of her yellow dress to trail on the floor. “I’ve been waiting for your return.”

***

I wake to my alarm. An occurrence to remind me to meet for coffee; this time, at the right time. I am lying on the floor in my art corner, near the easel - where I stood the night before. On the bed, near my pillow, my phone blinks from a hundred missed calls and texts. I grasp the device on my way to turn off the alarm and press to illuminate the screen.

The first and second calls I missed were from Viloria while the other one was just this morning, from my mother. Aside from those, there is also a wall of texts from my girlfriend, most of which don’t seem kind. Instead of clearing any of the notifications, I turn off the screen then drop the phone back on the bed before pulling on a new pair of pants from my mother’s bag. Today, I am wearing yesterday's boxers, a pair of dark wash denim with holes in the knees, and a satin button up - left open to expose my chest.

I run my hand through my hair as I stand and walk around to view last night’s work before grabbing my shoes from the middle of the floor, then locking myself out for a cup of Joe. This time, I am waiting for Viloria when I make it to the coffee shop. The barista behind the counter waves upon my entrance, then starts on my order. “Can I smoke in here?”

“I’m afraid not.” The young girl’s eyes don’t waver from my chest. “Will you be taking it outside then, ...your coffee?”

I notice a slight smile before she busies herself with my drink and I reach into my pocket where a pack of cigarettes had been stashed on my way out of the apartment. I pull one free, raising it to rest between my lips. The barista looks at me hesitantly before I wave my hand, “No worries. I’ll wait to light it up.”

“Haven’t seen you smoking in a while,” She fills a cup with some dirty brown liquid, then goes for a bottle of caramel and another with almond milk. “Why start again?”

For moments like this, I suppose. I’ve always disliked small talk.

“Why not?” I give her my own version of a smile as she sets my finished coffee on the counter between us. “If Viloria gets here. Tell her I’m out on the patio.” Her eyes tell me she wants to ask about us, but her mouth turns up professionally with a nod before going about cleaning her mess.

I turn away and exit the building through a side door that leads to a small sitting area. It isn’t that warm out yet, so I choose a table without a canopy, resigning myself to enjoying my coffee alone. I know Viloria won’t show. It has happened before. Back when things weren’t always that great between us. A lot of mending has happened since then, and a lot more joking to fill in the gaps. I light the cigarette between my lips and inhale deeply, then send those thoughts into the open sky with an exhale. I’m unaware of the chemical complexities of what causes nicotine to calm me, but I can’t deny that it works. In the least, it helps me down my coffee in silence without questioning the shitstorm that awaits me later.

Once I’ve finished my coffee, a quiet hour later, I re-enter the building to toss it and my cigarette butt into the trash. “Nicole, is it?” The girl behind the counter perks up when I turn toward her smile.

“Yes?...You need another coffee? Or… maybe a joint?” The girl nods her head toward the end of the counter and I follow her there. She reaches into the pocket of her jeans beneath a white corporate apron, pulling out a hand-rolled mary jane. “My replacement’s shift doesn’t start for an hour and a half. I can turn the sign to ‘closed’ for a bit.”

I hardly know the girl, aside from having coffee in the same place for nearly five years; on most mornings. But, she seems not to mind as the divider is lifted between us and she pulls me toward a back room. “Sit here. I’ll be right back. And don’t worry. There are no cameras.” The girl tosses me the joint and leaves the room. I can hear her flats pad over the floor as she crosses the main seating area; headed for the front door.

While she is gone, I light up the joint and take the first hit before she rejoins me and closes the door. It’s been years since I’ve hit the stuff but it doesn’t hesitate to react in my head; possibly due to the caffeine.

Nicole takes a hit and passes back to me. We go back and forth till there is little left between our fingertips, then she snubs it out beneath her shoe. “So. What happened?” I already know where the girl is headed. I’ve seen it a hundred times in the last five years. She’s smitten, but I’m too stoned to care either way.

“I indulged her silly idea to go to Prom, painted a while, then she was gone.”

“The Prom? Aren’t you older than that?” A great question - likely to test her chances.

“Much older. She’s probably nostalgic because I’m leaving for London in…” I go to check my phone for the time, but realize I left it at home. Luckily, there is a small Chinese-style calendar above Nicole’s head and I read it instead, “...about four days.” I must’ve lost a day somewhere. No wonder she’s mad, I think.

“London?” Her eyes are glassy, but still an attractive shade of hazel.

“Yes, London. I’m to become a successful artist, just like my parents always wanted.” The words don’t even sound real as they leave my mouth, both because I’m stoned and because I still can’t believe them.

Nicole just stares at me for what feels like forever till she suddenly blushes and sits up straight, tugging at her apron to smoothe it around her waist, “Wow.”

I never noticed till now how much makeup she must wear over her face. Being so close, I can now see the lines where her foundation ends just below her chin and up to the end of her jawline. Beneath, I can see the tail end of her teenage years raised on her cheeks and forehead, in the form of small bumps. That was probably her Prom Viloria and I had gone to but not because she is a student. I finally recognized her. “You were there, too.”

“What?”

She appears confused as I hold a finger up in a eureka gesture - I’m sure it was her, “After the Prom, cleaning up. With a dude.” I know I’m not wrong. I recognize the way she wears her hair, and in a small town - it’s obvious. Her blonde curls are pulled up tight into a messy bun, with a light sprinkle of glitter that I now recall sparkling in the cheap school budget lighting.

“Oh…” A flush rises to her face again. Then she does her best to hide her face, “You saw?” Viloria might’ve been wrong about the cats. I don’t spot a single hair on the girl’s uniform.

“Your boyfriend?” Not that I really care.

“No…” She closes up. Perhaps Viloria had been right about the wife. But, I don’t ask.

Instead, I dispel the awkwardness by focusing it on me, “I had always thought you liked me.” I laugh at myself after hearing how ridiculous I sound, and after seeing the look on her face. It doesn’t exactly scream admiration anymore; possibly because now I look like a creeper. Even though I didn’t see her for more than a few seconds at the school, something tells me she wouldn’t believe me if I told her that.

She laughs, “You are cute. But, I’m taking a break from that whole scene.”

For once, I can say that it’s a relief to be shot down. I came only for the coffee. “Good thing. I appreciate the joint, though.”

“Anytime. You’re welcome to come back again if you need it.” Nicole rises first and I follow her out the door and back into the main space where a customer is waiting at the entrance. “Shit.” She reaches into the pocket of her apron and pulls out a bottle of perfume, then sprays herself quickly. “Turn the sign on the way out, would ya?”

“Sure thing. I’m positive it won’t look strange.” Nicole stays behind the counter as I head for the door and turn the sign.

The guy waiting outside is another familiar face. This town is far too small. He gives me a look, stopping at the buttons undone on my shirt, “You reek of marijuana, dude.”

“Have fun at the Prom?” The man’s eyes widen slightly and he turns to watch as I walk down the sidewalk toward my place. Then, past it. I keep walking till I reach the end of the street and take a left toward the residential part of town. It isn’t often that I leave my place, let alone walk the streets, and I haven’t been to Viloria’s place since high school. Though, I still know where it is.

On my approach to the small two-bedroom ranch style home, I wonder if her mother will welcome me. There was a time when she didn’t approve of my visits anymore than my parents did of her daughter. This time, however, she appears okay to see me. “Vin?” And she remembers how not to say my name.

I smile. “Is Viloria in?”

“She has been raving about you all morning. You sure you wish to see her?” The woman smiles - a perfect vision of how my girlfriend may look around her age, if she ever goes back to natural brown.

Behind her, Viloria’s voice travels down the hall. “If that’s him, I’ll meet him outside. Ten minutes.”

“Good luck, and you may wish to neutralize that smell. She’s already in a tizzy.”

I nod and turn away from the front door as it closes, then reach into my pocket for another cigarette, finishing it and another before Viloria finally comes outside. She is wearing my favorite look, as if to spite or intimidate me. A pair of fishnet leggings cover the skin between her knee high boots and a pair of black shorts. On top, she wears a maroon tank under a black lace bolero. Goth fashion at its finest, complete with dark makeup; She’s definitely brooding.

“Fancy seeing you here. You couldn’t just respond to my texts?” Her arms are crossed. Things are not going well for me. I think as fast as any high person might and come up with way more conspiracy theories than remedies to the situation.

One word does come to mind. A failsafe for any situation, “Sorry.”

“Why didn’t you respond to me?” A question, followed by a quick sniff of the air around us, “And now you are smoking weed again? Davinci, you disappeared after I left, and you didn’t answer at all yesterday. Where have you been?” She lets her arms fall to her sides and leans against the dirty vinyl siding of the small house. “Well?”

Suddenly, I am sober, “I was painting…”

“Painting, huh?”

“Yes! Painting. Isn’t that what everyone wanted? You included, Vil?” I know I am raising my voice when a corner of the curtain in the living room moves aside with the eyes of her mother behind the pane. It isn’t often that we’ve fought in the last year, but I can already see where she’s going with this. She’s got an arsenal of memories at her back, if she so chose to use them. All it takes is the perfect storm.

I see clouds on the horizon.

“Painting, yes! Not everything which has seemed to come with it.” Viloria pushes off of the house, “I mean...weed now too, Vin? I won’t even ask where you got it. I don’t want to know.” She holds her hand up before I can speak, then heads for her front door. “Four days. I suggest you come up with a good way to make it up to me.”

My girlfriend pushes past her mother who now stands there, watching her daughter leave down the hall before turning back to me. “Vin, Cigarette smoke doesn’t mask marijuana.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

I begin walking again. This time, with no particular destination in mind. I walk until I’ve reached the edge of the residential community, and the edge of the town beyond that. My feet take me forward till they ache and I'm forced to stop.

Looking around, the scenery is familiar, but I couldn't say where I am. As a child, I would sometimes leave home and see how far I could get before the inevitable fear of getting lost would drive me back home. This must be a place from back then. I pull another cigarette loose from my pocket, making it the fourth one today. Its comfort is mild but preferable to the anxiety otherwise running wild in my head.

One of the trees lining the ditch offers me shelter after I’ve left the road and leaned against its bark. A large puff of smoke leaves me with a sigh, dissipating before it hits the branches above me.

“I was happy being nothing. Being nothing ensured that I did nothing. No-one expected any more than that. With London will come a new world of expectations. So, thanks for that!” I talk to the wind. To myself. To whatever created me, just so that I could be here in this moment. A lifetime of just surviving in the shadows - undoubtedly wasted when I come back from Europe. There will always be something to do, somewhere to go, someone to impress.

It wasn't just a fluke. My second real painting is better from the first. Once my parents see it, my fate is sealed. “I suppose that I could disappear.” Just as Viloria had said I did. Disappear into my art. Piece by piece. Canvas by canvas. Till what I leave behind, in paint, is all that remains.

Only after I’ve finished my cigarette do I hear it. Behind me, there is a breath from somewhere in the shadows of the trees. A breeze plays in the leaves - they are rustling. It is a symphony of soft voices to me.

“Why do you follow me?” Why am I suddenly losing my mind over this? Like any dream before this girl, there is nothing special to note. Except, there is. Something is changing. The whispers are incoherent, but I know they call to me.

Suddenly, a car drives by and all I hear is the sound of exhaust as the vehicle fades into the distance. It ends the madness and there is nothing but a boring stretch of buffer behind me now, the butt of my cigarette is crushed in my curled palm. I open my fingers, staring down at the yellow paper, aware of a sweet smell of flowers brought in with the breeze, then it too is gone.

I close my fist and walk back toward home.