My days in California were numbered to roughly over a week. I was thrilled about my opportunity to finally begin college, and even more jacked about the cross-country road trip I was never able to make. I was a little bit nervous, however, and a certain piece of me was disappointed about not sticking it out on the west coast. I knew it was best for me, but in an uncanny, and most characteristic way, I managed to grow extremely fond feelings for Rachelle.
We had been rather close friends since meeting each other at the surf shop in October, but somewhere through the course of those six months, our friendship began to progress. We never so much as kissed, and I think the closest we came was one night in January when we watched her favorite movie of all-time, Funny Face, with Audrey Hepburn and Fred Astaire. We sprawled out on the couch, pulled the coffee table close enough to kick our feet up, and we shared a blanket and a bowl of popcorn. At the end of the night she asked me if I wanted to stay over, but I declined, worried that things might go beyond a kiss or two. Most guys will cringe when they read this, but I am still glad that I made the decision to go home. It reassures me, even now, of my respect for her.
Anyway, like the rest of my new friends in L.A., she had no idea that I was returning to Ohio for college. I intentionally refrained from telling anyone, similar to when I left Youngstown, for two reasons: I don’t like endings, I never have, and so I would rather see an ending to one situation as a beginning to a new one, and the second reason is because I hate how people begin to act when they find out you’ll be leaving—it’s unnatural. Every time you hang out with certain people it is inevitable that by some point in the night everything will turn to Oh, this is so sad…This could be the last time we do this or that.
So I was sitting around the apartment one night with nothing to do. I didn’t want to watch TV, and I didn’t have any desire to go out, so I decided to paint. I had a couple of canvases that I obtained at some point in high school, but I never made any attempt to use them. So I rummaged through Bennie’s closet where he kept his artwork, and I found an unused brush set, and a set of oil paints. I didn’t think twice about it; I just painted.
I started on the top, doing my best to re-create a Van Gogh like sky. It was a rather lame attempt to say the least. But there’s something funny about painting. Even when you set out to do one thing, and it miserably fails, you somehow end up with something else that completely works.
After the sky, I started on the horizon of the ocean, and then the beach. I had no idea where I was going with it, but I kept going anyway. I worked fervently for five days straight, but at the end, something was missing. I thought about it, and within moments I knew what it was. So I painted a little girl, with red hair, right where the tide came rolling into the sand, holding up her white dress just enough so that the water wouldn’t touch it.
I finally finished the painting around 2 AM, and I only had about twelve hours left in California. I didn’t think twice about it, I just got into my car and drove immediately to the grocery store. I bought a bouquet of flowers, and continued to Rachelle’s place in Venice. When I got there she happened to be up, watching a movie.
I knocked, and she peaked out of the side window to see who it was. Then she opened the door.
“G.C. what are you doin?”
“First off, here you go,” I said as I handed her the flowers.
She smiled bashfully and said, “Thank you, they’re beautiful.”
“It’s not all that I have. Come on,” I said as I motioned her outside.
“Hold on, let me put on some slippers.”
Then we walked out to my car on the street. I didn’t even realize it when I began the painting, but her birthday was less than a week away, which was ironically the day before mine.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Just be patient, and close your eyes.”
She closed them, and I opened the door, reached in, and grabbed the painting. I turned it around so that it was right side up and facing her.
“You can open your eyes now.”
As soon as she did, they lit up, and I felt like a million bucks.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
She took the painting, held it up, and I watched her as a single tear escaped the eye and began to run down her cheek. She set it on top of the car roof, and then reached in and bear hugged me.
“I love it! It is, by far, the best present anyone has ever given me.”
I just stood there and held her as close to me as I could. I smelled her hair; I smelled her skin; I ran my fingers across her back, but she didn’t know I was leaving in the morning. I remember not wanting the moment to end. I remember thinking, while she was still in my embrace, that maybe I could stay in California. Once we pulled apart, the magic that is intimacy, ceased.
“Hey,” I began, not so eloquently, “There’s something I have to tell you.”
“What?”
I tried, but at first I couldn’t get any words out of my mouth. All that I wanted to do was hug her again, close my eyes, and pretend that anywhere I was going she was going, too.
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“What? For where?”
“Back to Ohio. I got into Ohio State about a month ago, but I didn’t tell anyone.”
She didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say anything more. I just grabbed her and hugged her again.
“Well,” she began through a sniffle, “You gotta do what’s best for you.”
Once again, I didn’t have a response. I just led her down the street, to where the beach began, and I took the blanket she had been wrapped in, and I spread it across the cool March sand. Then we just laid there, not speaking much at all, until the sun came up.
When I realized I had better get home, I knew it was over. I walked her home, kissed her on the cheek, and I left. It was the first time in my life that I left someone.
Every now and then I wonder what my life would be like had I stayed in California. But when I do, I remember the first and last painting I ever completed, and I realize that a piece of me never really has.
