Thursday, February 8th 5:30 PM
The colors on the canvas danced as Arnold moved is brush through the paint. The color's mixed as a collage of beauty. Arnold worked like this. Focusing on the minute details allowing for the painting to be pulled together as he pulled his view to see the entire work. Arnold looked closer and closer changing detail after detail. He dug through the changes in color as if he were an archaeologist discovering a set of bones. The vibrant colors of the canvas started to jump off the canvas as Arnold continued to obsess about his colors. Arnold worked feverishly at his work. He only came to this level of energy about a print when he was going through a moment of inspiration.
"The Wifi here sucks," Helga said from across the room.
Arnold looked over his shoulder to see his greatest muse. Helga sat intently staring at her screen. Typing what Arnold could only assume to be a paper by the speed of her fingers. Arnold smiled at her. Arnold loved looking at her. He loved to see her as she worked on something. "I don't know where she finds her passion sometimes," Arnold said to himself.
Arnold found himself staring at her. Arnold couldn't help himself. "She's a living painting," Arnold thought to himself.
"What?" Helga said as she raised her head and noticed him staring. "Why don't you paint a picture, it'll last longer," Helga said.
"I have, I mean, I might have," Arnold said without thinking.
"If you painted a picture of me without telling me, I'm gonna smack you," Helga said going back to her laptop screen.
Arnold put his brush down and walked towards the couch she was sitting on. Crossed legged with the laptop in her lap, she stared at the screen. Her hands swiftly moving up and down the keyboard. "Helga the typist," Arnold thought to himself.
"What are you working on?" Arnold asked craning his neck to see the screen.
Helga pulled her screen away and smirked. "Go away, you nosy moron," Helga said changing her position to laying down. Arnold sat at the other end of the couch. Helga stretched her shoe-less feet onto his lap. Arnold noticed the small smirk on her face as he started instinctively massaging her feet. "Didn't know you were a feet guy," Helga said, still typing.
"Maybe I'll paint a picture of your feet," Arnold said.
"Hey man, no judgments here. I do think if the people who buy your work see pictures of feet they may be less inclined to give you money," Helga said.
Arnold smiled again. He got up and walked around the table to the other side of the couch. He leaned forward taking Helga's chin into his hands. He kissed her deeply for a moment, and then stood straight. Helga smiled again up at him, and he returned the smile. Arnold turned and went back to his canvas.
He started examining the painting again. He seemed to have lost his train of thought. He looked over his shoulder again and smiled. "Worth it," Arnold said to himself. He picked his brush up and started to work on some of his lines. Making sure the shaping lines were lighter than his detail lines. Arnold, as he always had when painting, had smooth jazz playing in the background. All that could be heard in the room was typing and the music. Arnold felt centered. The combination of his music and the noise indicating his lover was in the room brought peace to his world. Arnold felt whole.
Arnold went back to his canvas, wondering where he should take his next step on this journey of color. He kept losing focus on what was in front of him. He thought a fly had gotten in the apartment. He kept hearing the buzzing and it continued to pull him from his work. Arnold started looking around, wondering where the fly, bee, or whatever it was that was making the sound was flying.
"Arnold," Helga said pulling him back to the ground. Arnold looked over at Helga who was holding up his phone. "You're dad's called like three times. You may want to call him back," Helga said.
Arnold crossed the room and grabbed his phone. He looked down at the screen to all the missed calls. "I wonder what's going on," Arnold said. Arnold went to press the redial button when a text message from his father came up on the screen.
Arnold, no idea why you aren't answering your phone. You need to get your butt home. Now. The message read.
"My dad seems mad about something. He was like this morning too," Arnold said. His brow dipping as he started to worry.
"I'm guessing this is the big conversation," Helga said. She stood and closed her laptop. She walked to Arnold and faced him. "Don't worry so much," Helga said. Arnold looked down at her. She smiled up at him and he felt a little better. Helga captured his lips in a tender kiss. Helga wrapped her arms around his neck. Arnold wrapped his arms around her hips.
Arnold and Helga held their kiss for a few moments. Helga got off her tiptoes and rubbed his chest. "You know when we were younger you were always shorter. Now you're all tall and muscley. I hate it, I have to stand on my toes to kiss you," Helga said smiling. "It'll be alright. Just talk to your dad. Just be honest," Helga said.
Arnold looked down and felt his stomach start to churn. "What do I even say?" Arnold asked.
"You just be honest. Let him know how you feel about your life and that you're maybe thinking about art school," Helga said. "You still want to go to art school, right?" Helga said.
"Yeah I do, I really do," Arnold said.
"Then you say that. Just be honest," Helga said. Arnold looked down at the floor and let out a large breath. "Can you drop me off on your way home?" Helga asked.
"Of course," Arnold said as he put on a reluctant smile. The two gathered their things and headed towards the car.
The ride was quiet. The long day already emotionally draining for the pair. Arnold's thoughts were all chaotic as he drove. He looked over at Helga several times. She looked back at him once catching him staring. She smiled at him and ran her hand through his hair. "I can do this," Arnold thought to himself as she smiled at him again.
Arnold pulled up to Helga's house. They both looked up to see Olga smiling widely and waving. Helga rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag. She looked at Arnold once more. "Remember, don't let him or anyone push you around. You're human, but a great one. You are because you are, not because you need to act like one," Helga finished. She leaned in and Arnold kissed her goodbye. She got out of the car and waved at him. Arnold felt a little colder in the car suddenly. Arnold shook it off and sighed heavily. He put the car in drive and drove towards the Sunset Arms.
Arnold arrived at home. He pulled into the back road so he could park. He grabbed his bag and looked up at the house he grew up in. He hesitated to go in. He looked behind him for a moment, wondering if he should extend his absence from the house a little longer. He finally opened the door and headed inside. The house was quiet as Arnold walked through the back hall. No one was in the kitchen when he poked his head in. He kept walking towards the stairs to put his stuff away.
"Arnold?" Arnold heard his dad's voice from the living room. He walked past the kitchen and walked into the doorway to the living room. His dad was sitting in the living room chair with papers and his computer in his lap. Arnold looked around the living room. The same small television the focal point of one wall. The walls were covered in the same brown wallpaper Arnold had known his whole life. The chair fairly new while the old couch right next to it looked particularly old right next to the chair.
"Hey dad," Arnold said nonchalantly. His father gave him an annoyed look. "Um, I saw you called me and I wanted to get home like you asked," Arnold said.
"Hey there, son," Miles started. "Arnold, do you know why I look annoyed?" Miles said, putting down his computer and crossing his one leg.
"Uh, not really," Arnold said. He hoped he had hit the fence again or had broken a jar of jam and not told anybody. Then Miles might have some other reason to yell at Arnold. Anything to avoid this conversation.
"I'm annoyed because we had an incident and we never discussed it. I'm annoyed because this incident and even the way you're acting now is just another piece in a pattern with you," Miles said.
"What pattern, Dad? What are you talking about?" Arnold said.
"This pattern of hazy lingering through your future and the perpetual laziness. Arnold since you turned sixteen, you've devolved into this absent figure in the house. Apparently just content with floating through life without direction," Miles said, curtly. "Arnold look at me, honestly," Miles stood and walked in front of Arnold. He looked into his father's eyes. "Are you doing drugs? What are you on?" Miles asked.
Arnold felt like his father might attack him again. He froze for a moment. "Arnold, are you understanding what I'm asking you?" Miles said.
"Yeah I do," Arnold said shaking out of his paralysis. "I'm not doing drugs. Why would think that?" Arnold asked, suddenly taken aback.
"Arnold, I see this all the time with some of my students. They start out young and bright, then get on something. Pretty soon they're not in class more than once a month. Then they drop out altogether. Sound familiar?" Miles was standing now.
"Dad, I'm not one of your students," Arnold said. "I'm also not on drugs, just because I'm going about my life in a different way than you think I should doesn't mean I'm hooked on something," Arnold defended himself.
"Alright, let's talk this out. Let's start with your abhorrent behavior at the restaurant a few weeks ago," Miles' voice started to go up in volume as he spoke. "Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was? Do you have any clue who that man was that you just walked out on?" Miles asked.
"Dad, I just," Arnold started when miles cut him off.
"You just what? What the hell would cause you to just run away like that? Where were you gonna go to avoid talking about this? You do live here after all!" Miles yelled.
"Dad, I just couldn't sit there anymore. I felt so trapped that I had to leave," Arnold said.
"Trapped? By what?" Miles asked wearing a confused expression.
"By this," Arnold said waving his hands gesturing around the room. His father looked perplexed. Arnold Took a deep breath. "I felt trapped by you. By you taking my future into your hands and splitting it between you and your connected friends. Like you were dividing up some treasure you found," Arnold said.
"Arnold, what the hell are you talking about?" Miles asked. The perplexed look still fresh on his face.
"Dad, I don't want to go to some Ivy League school. I think I'd rather go to art school," Arnold said.
"Excuse me? This again? You want to throw away a golden opportunity to make something of yourself to go paint?" Miles said.
"It's not just going to paint dad. It's going to study something that I love to do!" Arnold yelled his own anger starting to well up to the surface.
"Oh really? That's not something you make a future out of!" Miles yelled back, matching his son's anger.
"Dad, it doesn't matter if you think there's no future in it. It's my life!" Arnold yelled.
"It's your life but it's my legacy. You think that you can quit achieving to go be a hippie without it reflecting poorly on me and your mother?" Miles asked.
"Dad, it's not your life," Arnold said.
"No, you're right. It's not my life. Despite that, you are my son and I will not stand by and watch you throw your life away thinking you can live some idyllic life you made up in your head. Those are nice weekend thoughts, son. It's not something you go to school for," Miles said.
"It absolutely is something you go to school for. That's why they have art schools," Arnold said.
"Don't be smart with me, Arnold. You're in enough trouble as it is," Miles said. "Where is all this crap coming from anyway? Since when are you an artist?" Miles asked.
"Dad, I've been painting since I was twelve," Arnold said.
"I've never seen you pick up so much as a sharpie to draw. Where is all this crap coming from that you want to throw away your future for it?" Miles asked.
Arnold's anger started to show. He furrowed his brow, and he felt his hands clench. He took a deep breath trying to keep his heart rate down. "Dad, if you bothered to pay attention or have a conversation with me that didn't revolve around what you think I should do with my life, you would have noticed what I do around here!" Arnold barked. He could not stop himself from yelling at his father. "In fact, if you ever bothered to be around when I needed you, you'd see a lot of different things about me. But no, you never saw a lecture, some insane jungle mission, some way to get your name out there that you didn't jump towards instead of being with your family," Arnold's eyes flashed, and his teeth began grinding.
Miles stood taken aback. He own anger grew with every back and forth. "What I do, for your information, is to set my family up for the best future they can have. I make connections, I put out research. That's the reason you can go to any school in the country. But you're so damn ungrateful, that you can't see the work setting up a legacy entails!" Miles swatted back.
The two men stood eye to eye. Glaring at each other. Arnold stood his ground while his father continued to vent. "If you think for one second that I'm going to allow you to throw away your life on some idiotic dream of painting then you've got another thing coming," Miles said.
Arnold's anger flashed in his eyes. "It's not some idiotic dream! It's what I want to do with my life. This is what I want. It has nothing to do with you!" Arnold yelled.
"What is this? Is this because of Helga?" Miles asked.
"What are you talking about?" Arnold asked.
"Some girl shows up to push you further down this road to ruin and you what? You just go along? Is she that distracting?" Miles asked.
"Dad, she has nothing to do with this!" Arnold snapped.
"Oh, I see how it is now. Some girl comes along and bats her eyes at you and you just run to her, don't you? So instead of focusing on school, you decide you just want to drop out of life and run away with her. Is that it?" Miles said pacing to the other side of the room.
Arnold's nails dug further into his palms. He felt his muscles tense up at his father's accusation. "Do not talk about her that way!" Arnold screamed at his father. Arnold's fury surprising Miles. "She is not some anything. She's my girlfriend, and she has nothing to do with this. This is my decision!" Arnold finished.
"Arnold, you better bring down that tone!" Miles yelled back
"Or what Dad? You'll hit me again? Because honestly, it seems to be the only way you know how to communicate these days," Arnold said.
"Who do you think you're talking to? Huh? One of your friends that you can just mouth off to?" Miles said enraged at his son. "I am your father and you show me some respect!" Miles barked.
Arnold tried in vain to swallow his anger and show the respect he knew to give to his father. Arnold's heart rate only climbed as he got angrier and angrier. "I don't respect you, dad! You're nothing but some automaton that I can't even relate to anymore!" Arnold yelled back.
"Do not speak to me that way! I'm nothing? Wrong son, you're nothing. I'm respected, I'm an educator. People listen when I speak. You, you are nothing! And with this painting crap, you're making sure you stay nothing," Miles said.
Arnold's anger at its peak he looked down at the ground. His eyes welled up. He looked up once more at his father. Prepared to swallow his pride and listen. "Dad, I'm gonna do what I want and there's nothing you can do to stop me!" Arnold said.
"Oh really? You think that I'll just let this go? You really think I'll let you keep a roof over your head when you want to go gallivanting around the country drawing? Go ahead and go, Arnold. But don't you dare come back!" Miles said.
"You don't own this house! I grew up here, you just live here!" Arnold yelled back.
"Oh son, trust me. You will not be welcome back here if you decide to throw away your life like this," Miles said. Miles walked to Arnold. They stared each other down. "Furthermore, I will not pay for you to live some bohemian lifestyle. You want to go to art school, go right ahead. You're gonna pay for it yourself then!" Miles said.
"Fine! I'll do all on my own! Like I've always done. You've never been there when I needed you, why would you start now?" Arnold yelled. Arnold could no longer take the argument. He needed to leave the room. At that, he grabbed his bag and walked towards the stairs.
"Where the hell do you think you're going? We're not done here!" Miles yelled at him as he started his way up the stairs.
"Well, I'm done talking to you!" Arnold yelled back.
"Fine go on up. You want to be a failure your entire life, go ahead! My son the failure everybody!" Miles screamed behind Arnold.
Arnold ran up the steps to his room. He slammed the door and locked it. He started to pace around the room. His anger not subsiding, Arnold grabbed his latest canvas and threw it across the room. He ran after it. He took his bright new scene and broke the canvas wood across his knee. He tore up the canvas in anger. He turned and destroyed the easel it was standing on. Arnold ran his hands through his hair. This was not a panic attack. Arnold did not recognize this side of himself. Arnold paced frantically trying to work through his confusion. He threw everything he had resting on his desk on to the floor. Arnold's anger still unsolved, he looked towards his bare wall. He set his feet and with eyes welling, he threw the strongest punch he'd ever thrown into the drywall breaking clear through it.
Arnold didn't feel the pain in his hand. The adrenaline kept it numb. Arnold felt nothing but anger. He flopped his back into the wall and sunk to the floor. He put his head in his folded arms. He felt the tears finally make their way to the surface, and stream down his face.
Arnold sat in his room and wept for a what he perceived as hours. The skylight had grown dark some time ago. Arnold looked up at it from across his room. He gazed out his window. The flying dream seemed like the best escape. Arnold felt the weight of the sky above him. The skylight seemed a cruel joke. Giving you a glimpse of what's out there from inside your box.
Arnold looked across from him. The pieces of his painting sat across from him, torn to shreds. He stared intently at them. "Ohhhhhhh," he groaned. "I'm so stupid!" Arnold said out loud. Finally, inhaling and exhaling deeply. He put his hands on his head and looked at the floor. He exhaled deeply one last time and started to shake his head.
He raised his head, looking one more time at what he wanted to be his most complex work. His face still dour, Arnold raised himself from the floor. He walked towards the pile and started picking up the pieces. He gathered them and threw them into his trash pale. He walked over to the pile of desk effects and started to pick up items. He picked up his drawing tablet, he looked nervously at the black screen. He found a large crack in the upper left corner. He looked into the cracked screen. His face reflected back at him in broken sections. "Damn," he said to himself. "That's $800 I'll never get back," he said, as he exhaled. He picked up his monitor, sans any cracks. "Thank, god," he said to himself.
He stood and looked around. The fist-sized hole the wall stared back at him. "Crap," he said. "I gotta patch that," Arnold said. He walked over and inspected the damage. He put his hand over the hole. "God… What am I fourteen?" Arnold said out loud. Arnold turned and shook his head. He walked over towards his bed and fell onto it with a plop. He laid down, legs bent over the bed. He looked up into the thick black sky. The light pollution in the city hid the stars. "The brightest things in the universe are also overshadowed by someone else's light. Helga would say that's poetic," Arnold said to himself. Arnold took out his phone. He dialed his lifeline, You up? he typed into the phone. Arnold sent the message. "Oh crap," he said to himself. He quickly opened his phone one more time and started typing again. I'm not asking for a booty call. I just need to talk, Arnold sent the message.
Arnold laid down, looking at the sky, for hours. His anger had abated. His stomach empty of any feeling at all. He had forgotten to eat anything, but he could not feel it. Sleep eluded him. The entire night his head filled with thoughts trying to empathize with his father. "Maybe trying to pursue something scientific might be for the best," Arnold thought to himself. "I could only imagine how Dad would look if his son was an artist. Plus it might be safer. I can definitely make money being an engineer. Although I make decent money as an artist already," Arnold said to himself. Arnold furrowed his brow, as the anger flared up again. He jumped once more to his feet and paced the width of the room. He ran his hands through his hair once more. "How is that even fair?" He yelled out loud.
"It's not his life! Who cares how he'd look?" Arnold yelled again. "Why can't I just live how I want?" Arnold yelled a third time. He grabbed his jacket and made his way to his skylight. He took his phone out to check if he had received anything. Hoping Helga had answered him. He exhaled dejectedly seeing his phone screen blank. He looked at the clock reading 3 AM. "She must have gone to bed," Arnold said to himself. He put down his phone. Arnold felt alone in the house he grew up in.
His plan to try and salvage his sanity with the light of his life was dashed. Arnold dropped his coat and stared at his bed. Arnold couldn't feel anything again. Only his shoulders as they felt heavier and heavier. He drifted slowly to his bed. He fell face first into his pillow. The heavy feeling going from his shoulders to his entire body. Arnold felt like he was sinking. He thought he may go through his mattress and the floor beneath it. Arnold stared at his sheets, confusion flying through his head. "What do I do?" Arnold said to himself, as sleep finally took him.