A Person, a Painting, a Promise

Her hands were stained with a rare sapphire paint, the kind you mix by hand to get right. On her thumb, there was emerald. Her ring finger, ruby. The apartment smelled of stale coffee and turpentine. The middle of the living room had a worn-out bed sheet laid over the rug because of her anal roommate, Frances.

"Come on in," she said, motioning to me. She smudged the paint on the canvas. The sapphires and emeralds blended into each other, the sprays of white glimmering like stars. I cautiously stepped inside. The sun sprayed into the room, the blinds blocking most of its rays. "It's hard to paint something dark when it's so beautiful and sunny outside."

"I can imagine." She picked up a brush and swept it across the bottom in an arc. "How do you get inspiration for this kind of stuff?" I pointed to the mass of paintings in the corner. A woman looking into the mirror, disappointed. Kids spraying each other with water guns. A sunset in the Arizona desert.

"It just...comes to me," Miranda said quietly, putting a finger on her chin. The paint left a sapphire smudge on her cheek. "It just kind of happens."

"I wish that kind of happened to me." We laughed. Her arms were slashed with emerald, her blonde hair smattered in ruby. The turquoise box shifted in my pocket. "Are you busy tonight?" I asked, brushing her stained and sweaty hair out of her face. "I thought maybe we could go for a walk or something."

"Yeah! Let me get ready." She shoved the brushes into my arms and sprinted into the bathroom.

> >

Under the dim streetlamps, Miranda's hair still had flecks of ruby, her hands tinted a sapphire hue. She zipped up her jacket and turned to me, our fingers intertwined.

"It's funny; I was going to paint something like this today." She looked up towards the stars, the moon shining down on her face. Miranda laughed. "I'm sorry that sounded so cheesy."

She was always the bright and sunny one, and I was always the shy loner. Our relationship never made sense to anyone, not even my parents. They raised their eyebrows when they first shook Miranda's hand, her palm coated in gold and chartreuse.

Miranda glanced at me, concern reflecting on her face. "Are you okay?" she asked, squeezing my hand. "You look pale."

The box slid around in my pocket.

"I'm fine," I replied, pressing my lips against her cheek. Miranda tightened the scarf around her neck.

"Hadyn, do you believe in love?" she asked, the neon yellow taxis zooming past us. She shivered. "I don't mean love like the way your parents love you, but...a soul mate kind of love." Miranda eyed me. "You know what I mean?"

I nodded.

"So do you believe in love?"

"I don't think love is the stuff you see on television." A man shoved past me. "I think love is fighting for something you truly think is special and worth keeping."

"But I don't like fighting." She took in a deep breath. "Hadyn, I think fighting is stupid."

Miranda could've been so much more than a starving artist; she could've run for Senate. Worked at Wall Street. Been a lawyer. No. She and I promised each other that our art would be displayed everywhere; hers in museums, mine in bookstores. We promised each other we would go somewhere, that we'd be discovered.

"The art show's tomorrow," Miranda said, perking up. Her lips part into a smile, and her teeth glistened under the neon lights. "Dress appropriately; I don't want my boyfriend to look like a bum."

I looked down at my dirty shoes. "I should take you back home; you need to finish that painting."

"You're right." She frowned. "But I can always finish it tomorrow," she said, holding onto both of my hands. "I haven't seen you enough. Please, let's go somewhere quiet," she begged, dragging me toward the shabby coffee shop.

We settled down near the window, Miranda ordering two cups of black coffee. I took a sip and grimaced, reaching for the sugar. "You know, five years really flies," she said, tracing the rim of the mug with her finger. "I mean, I feel like we were seventeen a couple months ago..."

"Like they say, you're always young at heart." We laughed, the corners of my eyes wrinkling. I could feel my skin lift into its younger self, the face that had a bright future. The Hadyn that could've been anything.

"Miranda, I want you to have something." My hand fumbled in my pocket, reaching for the box. I pulled it out and opened it slowly, her eyes widening. "Let's not call it a wedding ring yet, but...a promise."

She raised her eyebrows, mouth half open at the ring.

And there, in that coffee shop, Miranda and I promised each other that no matter what our parents say, no matter how much money we make, no matter how hard life may seem, that we will pursue our dreams.

And we did.