One of the teenagers, Lucas, raised his hand and said, “I draw, but I don’t show anyone. I guess I’m afraid because once my brother found my drawings and laughed at them. So, I feel like I can’t share that part of myself now.”
“If you’re telling yourself you can’t do something, change the story in your head. Visualize a different outcome. Change the story. That’s the beauty of art, too. You can create your own interpretation of anything. Take a sad or awkward memory, for example, and rewrite the ending. I actually did that with this painting. The real story behind it didn’t go as smoothly.”
Since I had missed his painting segment, I had no idea what he was talking about. Then, I heard one of the teenagers ask, “So, Chelsea didn’t really like your dogs?”
What?
He continued, “Actually, when I first met her, we got off to a rough start. She gave me a bit of an attitude, so I dished it right back. She had this impression that I was this mean person. She came over one day smelling like bacon…”
When everyone started to laugh, Damien said, “I know. Who does that, right? Anyway, the dogs go absolutely nuts over that smell. They got excited and trampled her. She didn’t like it. They’re harmless, but they’re pretty big. So, I couldn’t blame her.” Our eyes met, and he smiled when he realized I was listening to every word. “Anyway, she didn’t realize it, but I was mortified that day.”
My heart clenched. He was?
He faced his audience again. “So, anyway, in a perfect world, maybe she would have been laughing like in the picture instead of almost in tears.”
When I finally got a good look at the canvas, I covered my mouth, not knowing whether I wanted to laugh or cry.
It was the spitting image of me.
My wavy blonde hair was spread out all over the floor as Dudley and Drewfus lay on top of me licking my face. It was a lot like what actually happened, except he’d depicted me with the hugest smile, as if I were laughing hysterically, unable to get enough of the big goofy animals.
He changed the story.
I couldn’t take my eyes off of it, and now I was wearing a similar smile that matched the one in the painting.
The kids were flocking to Damien for the better part of an hour after the presentation ended, asking more questions and trying their hands at spraying on some blank canvases that he’d brought. Damien had invited them all to the building to look at his mural in progress whenever they wanted. I never dreamt that his filling in at the last minute would leave such an impression on them, but his words were truly inspirational.
When the crowd had dissipated, Damien was packing up his things when I approached him.
“That was amazing.”
“It was nothing.”
“No. It wasn’t nothing.” I touched his shoulder as he glanced briefly down at my hand on his arm. I looked him in the eyes. “You’re amazing.”
I didn’t know why I was feeling so emotional in that moment. He’d just awakened a part of me that realized it was craving so much more out of life.
“It was one of the best presentations we’ve ever had. Seriously, I owe you dinner tonight.”
His mouth curved into a smile. “You’re gonna burn me dinner?”
“Hell, no. I’m gonna buy it, and I’m not taking no for an answer. Do you have plans tonight?”
His eyes momentarily closed. “Actually, I do. I’m sorry.”
Trying not to let my disappointment show, I nodded. “Oh. Maybe tomorrow.” Quickly realizing that tomorrow was Friday night, I said, “Oh, shit. I just remembered. I have a date.”
“Really…”
“You sound surprised. You’re the one who set me up on that website.”
“I’m actually not surprised at all, Chelsea. Where are you meeting him?”
“The Starbucks on Powell. Same place that Damien guy stood me up.”
“Good ol’ Damien.” He grinned. “Are you headed back home now? You want a ride?”
“Sure. I usually walk. But today was exhausting.”
Damien opened the passenger side door to his black pickup truck and let me in before he packed his supplies into the back. The car smelled like his cologne mixed with air freshener. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath in. I looked at the backseat and smiled at the towel he’d put down for the dogs.
The ride to our building took all of three minutes. Damien pulled the truck into the special spot reserved for him. Once he put it in park, he didn’t move.
It was quiet for several seconds before I asked, “You mentioned your father passed away. What happened to him?”
“He died of a heart attack when I was thirteen. He was only thirty-five.”