I didn't know she was an artist at first. It took time and long talks for her to show her actual artistic side. Everyone called her an oddball, a weirdo, but she was just a bit out there, that's all. I thought I knew her. She was my girlfriend after all. Well, kinda. It never was official, but only normal people were official nowadays. We'd had fun times and serious times. We laughed, we cried. Only I survived.
"What's all this?" I slurred. We were drunk off some weird alcoholic concoction her older brother gave us. She had led me to her room. She turned her head around and let out an unladylike giggle.
"Oh this?! It's my room silly!" she exclaimed a bit too loudly.
I laughed with her, overtaken with the euphoria that the liquor had brought.
"No, no no no, baby, I'm talking about the...s-stuff on the walls."
She looked up and began swaying on her feet. Then she burst into ugly, drunken tears. "It's my artwork. You shouldn't be in here. Why?" she finally croaked.
She landed more or less on the bed and I followed. I was very unsteady in my words but I genuinely said, "I love them." We kissed. And kissed some more. I don't remember the rest of that night but I think I eventually blacked out to wake up hungover and cursing myself.
She was still asleep so I got up, got two bottles of sparkling water and like, eighty aspirin. The poor girl was awake when I got back.
"Did we drink last night?"
"Did we protect?"
She fell back to the bed just to exclaim profanities.
"So, an artist, huh?"
She made a sour face. "Don't say it like that."
"What do you mean?"
"Don't say it as if you're not one and that I'm the talented one."
I smiled and sat down beside her. "But I'm not one and you are immensely talented. Have you seen your work?"
She exhaled exasperatedly. "No, you are one. I can just put my artistic nature to canvas. You're of the even more special breed where you have to find some other outlet for your art."
"Where is that at exactly? I can't play sports, paint, play an instrument, sing, for heaven sake's, have you even seen me dance?"
She laughed and then felt her probably pounding head. "Exactly. Those types of people can easily show their individual gift and others can embrace it. But people like you, people who burn macaroni and make blobs on canvas and dance like a dead hippopotamus and make the poor flute cry with squeaks, people of that kind possess not a weaker artistic nature, but a stronger one. It doesn't come out in one solid outlet. It comes out in everyday life. You just brought me aspirin. That's very kind. It's not only kindness and compassion." She huffed out and took a moment.
"It's the way you walk. The way you talk. Who you talk to. The way your eyes move and absorb life. Just...you in general is the greatest piece of art there is. My paintings are nothing in comparison to the absolute art you possess deep within your soul."
I scrunched up my eyebrows. "Okay...Well, you know I'm not smart either so most of those words went over my head. But maybe I'm artistic like that because I'm head over heals in love with a beautiful artist."
"NO!" she shrieked. "I don't want to be the artist! I don't want to be the canvas! I didn't show you because you in all of your artistic essence would say exactly like that! I didn't want to show you because I don't want the recognition! You are utterly the best human I have ever made and if you look at me without the stereotype of artist in your head, you would look at me like I am actually. But now, now you won't..." she faltered.
"What? You're causing such a ruckus for this?" I grabbed her shoulder.
She jerked away. "Stop! Look, it's hard to explain. We both know that we weren't going to last much longer. I will be off to finish college at Wimbledon and you'll stay right here in New Jersey. Never moving. You'll meet a woman like you and have artistic kids bursting with energy that will make you rich when they broadcast their skills. And you will die not believing a word that I am saying to you. You will die in your sleep one night perfectly in peace and not give me a single thought. But I'll be there. I'll be watching you in heaven or wherever we end up. It doesn't matter. I'll be your guardian angel in the place of pure serenity.
"This is just a spurt of youthful love that will never matter. I'll die young and will always remember you. Always. You'll pay your respects with your new, normal girlfriend on your arm. Maybe even a baby in the oven. Maybe a ring on her finger. I don't know the exacts. But this will never, ever matter to you. It'll make all the difference in the world for me. You'll be my biggest mistake, my largest loss, my moronic move at normalcy by letting go of the one boy I have ever loved. But this will never work. You will leave this relationship a boy turned man and I will go from the mature woman to a broken girl like that." She snapped for effect. Tears rushed down her eyes, making her makeup smear even more.
"Do you get it at all?"
I sighed and paced a little. "Why does it have to be like that though?"
She let out a little cry. "Oh you marvelous human being. Did you really look at me in that grimy pottery class and really think that I was going to walk down the aisle in a pure white wedding gown and meet you at the alter and we'd exchange vows and years later have a beautiful growing family? Did you really see that in our future?"
I honestly shook my head. She instantly ceased her sobbing. "Exactly. We were put together to teach each other one lesson and one lesson only. Nothing more. Nothing less. I think that we have each been wholly enlightened. So, if you'll kindly leave me to my hangover."
She laid down and I let myself out.
I was the one to find her. I found her and the pregnancy test. I found the note. I'm the one who read it and then burned it.
Hey whoever finds this AKA Trevor,
Well, I'm dead at this point. And I did it for you. I was pregnant. I was going to be forced to become that girl in the vision. I didn't think I was fit to do that. So I took my own life to ensure yours was full and filled with happiness. I'm leaving you with one of my paintings. It's in my studio. Greg (do you even know about my other older brother, Greg? Probably not) will show you. The rest however will need to be at my cremation ceremony. I know, kinda weird, but my death will be as weird as my life. Just know that I loved you. And I hope that lesson is good. Ha, yeah, I know I'm lame. You've got dibbs on all our old trinkets laying around the both of our rooms. Well, I hope your life is full and happy as I said before. I had a lot of fun and I'm glad I finished my life out with you of all people.
Yeah know, love and stuff from Di
The painting was beautiful. I never showed anyone. Me and Greg had the understanding it was personal for the two of us. But the rest I helped load up and take to the funeral home where the ceremony would be. And that officially ended her life.
I didn't know she was an artist at first. It took me long enough. Then she washed away her Wimbledon scholarship and threw everything away hoping to save me from a truly attractive life with her. She was an artist, that was true. But her art wasn't in smarts. It was solely on canvas. And in love, I'll give her that much. But if she hadn't been an artist, I don't think we wouldn't worked out for as long as we did whether or not I knew every about her. But her ashes were soaked in her paint and I took one for the team. So I had two paintings from her. And this one actually looked good thanks to her. I was no artist. But I don't think she was either. I don't think anyone truly is. That would be too much to take. That's why they all die young. Too young.