To Forgive Is Divine, but I’m Not That Type

Three months had passed and I was on the road, passing random towns to sell sketches or paintings. I did not make that much money, but I was happy people liked my art and bought it.

I didn't have to go to school and face any hassle, for one thing. Plus, for once, my life was simple, and on the up side, I wasn't getting beaten anymore. I laughed darkly at the thought. (Yes, many people have told me I have a sick sense of humour but hey, I don't care.)

I would stop at motels and rent a room so I could shower and rest for the night, but I always made sure I was gone by morning.

Mom had filed me under "missing" two days into my trip. Everywhere I looked, there were missing posters of some kid or another, but this was different. Those kids didn't have the annoyingly persistent mother that I had. Mom even went on TV and made a plea for me to come home.

But I didn't; I hated life at home. I never had any confidence when I was at home, probably because dad was always bringing me down. But now I was free from him, and completely happy and confident. He was yet another reason for me not to go home. Mom would probably forgive dad and "work things out", according to her. I loved my mom but she is far too trusting, and I was in no way wanting to go back to a life of restrictions and rules.

Now I was carefree and wild. I couldn't care less about stability; I just wanted to draw, and paint. I wanted to be on my own; I wanted to see what being independent felt like, and for the first time, it felt good. No more rules for me; I wanted freedom.

I went to the reception desk of the latest motel I was staying at. Sitting behind the desk was a woman around 40; she looked up and smiled kindly. I smiled back and paid the woman the money.

"You know, luv, if you wanted a place where you could stay permanent-like, then you should head to Santa Carla. There are plenty of runaways who go there. The police don't check because of the missing people."

"Ho...How did..?" I was confused.

She chuckled. "Honey, you arrived with only a rucksack and two changes of clothes, and pay with cash riding a motorcycle, in the middle of nowhere. My woman's intuition tells me you've got to be running from something."

She smiled kindly at me.

I returned the smile. "Thanks."

So that's how I ended up in Santa Carla; I've been living here for a two and a half months now, and it's pretty awesome, to be honest.

I found a job at the boardwalk, I have a little market stall and I sell my paintings and artwork. So far I only work days because the families come during days and ask for drawings of them all together. This wasn't really my favourite way of drawing but it makes money and money was what I need to pay for my hotel room. Sometimes I do get to sell my own creations, but there's not that much time because of the deadline I have for the portraits.

Tonight, like most nights, I was drawing. But tonight I was drawing the boardwalk and beach; I was halfway through my drawing when I felt like someone was staring at me. I looked around, and sure enough, on the railings of the boardwalk four guys were staring at me. I shook my head and went back to my drawing shading and smudging then sketching another part of the view. I was so engrossed in my work I didn't notice the same guys walk over to me.

"Wow, she's good!" I heard someone say.

Without looking up from my work, I saw the four guys out the corner of my eye, standing around me In a circle around me. Now, that would probably have intimidated a different person, but I knew that I could handle myself. I didn't spend half of my time fighting at school and not learn how to defend myself for nothing. It had come in handy sometime after all.

I ignored them hoping they would go away. When they didn't I looked up from my drawing.

"Got a problem?" I asked coolly.

"No, we're just checking out your work."

It was the same one as before. He had wild blonde hair and wore a tuxedo jacket.

"Yeah, you're really good," said the smallest of the four. He caught my eye, mainly because of his amazing jacket. It was covered in bright coloured patches and badges, as well as trinkets and tassels on the shoulders. But also his eyes were so bright, I felt like I could get lost in them. I shook the thought from my head. For all I knew, these guys could be psychopaths.

I tried not to smile, but I couldn't help it. Something about this boy just made me want to smile.

"Thanks," I said turning back to my work.

"How come we haven't seen you around here? Are you new to Santa Carla?" This was the one with the colourful jacket.

"No. I've been here for about two and a half months, of course. You probably won't have seen me unless you pass by my market stall every time. Plus, I doubt that you spend your time looking for an artist to draw portraits of your family. I haven't had much else to draw, but day-trippers, that is since I got here."

"How about you do a portrait of all of us? I bet it would give you something else to draw apart from little kids and their moms -- namely, something different, of course," suggested the one with wild hair, grinning maniacally. I smiled; it would give me something to do that was different for a change. I had basically finished the picture of the boardwalk anyway.

"Sure, sit down then." I motioned to the space in front of me, they sat down and I began to study them, each line I could draw, the shape of their faces, the way that their clothes creased .

I started drawing I drew the one with the mullet first; he seemed like the leader. Maybe he was.

For what seemed like forever I just looked at the group, drawing each boy, shading the shadows on their faces. It was extremely easy to draw the first three I had them draw relatively quickly. Then I started on the boy with the curly hair and colourful jacket, shading every patch on his jacket with care; he had his mouth turned up in a sort of half-smile.

When I was finally finished, I ripped the drawing from my sketch book and handed it to the platinum blonde guy with the mullet.

They all looked shocked that I had drawn this.

"You can keep that," I said.

"Awesome! Thanks, by the way," said the one with the wild hair. "How did you learn to draw so good?"

I replied,
"I just can, that's all. I suppose it was just a way of helping me deal with… now, how should I put this... stuff, to be exact."

I stood up and brushed the sand of my ripped- jeans, I looked down at my watch. It was 11:47 pm. I had to go.

"Guess I'll see you later. I really gotta go," I said to the now standing boys.

"Yeah, see ya," they muttered. I barely heard them as I ran as fast as I could toward the steps.

I walked up the stairs of the boardwalk weaving in between people; I hadn't made nearly enough money from my paintings this week, and I felt I needed a bonus of some kind. I looked for dollars on the sidewalks and streets (finding a few fives and three tens in the process), and picked several people's pockets without them noticing, sliding the wallets into the rucksack that was hanging on my arm by my elbow.

I reached my bike and jumped on, not noticing the same boys watching me again as I sped down the boardwalk stairs.

I raced toward my hotel. If I wasn't back by midnight, the owner would lock up, and I would be stuck without a place to sleep.

I forced my bike to go faster still, ignoring the bumps I hit, causing my bike to fly through the air. At some points, I kept my balance easily. The lights from the hotel sign came into view. I relaxed upon noticing I was on time, or early, to be exact. I skidded to a halt outside the front office and ran inside.

"You're cutting it a little close aren't you, Roxy?" Sally asked, pointing to the clock; it read 11:55.

I grinned at the receptionist. "Where would be the fun in being on time?"

She rolled her eyes. "You know, one of these days you are probably going to fall off that awful contraption of yours, and I will just sit and watch."

I laughed and walked away to my room.

*************

'Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!'

I rolled over and punched the alarm clock; groaning, I crawled out of bed.

I glanced at the time. It was 12:00 pm already. Man, I really ought to change the alarm setting.

I shrugged out of my too-large t-shirt that served as my pyjamas, and changed into a pair of acid-washed tight jeans with rips in the knees and thighs, a overly big Depeche Mode t-shirt and a black military jacket that was a lot like the one the guy with wild hair was wearing last night. I pulled on my black motorcycle boots that reached about an inch and a half below my knee. This was practically the same outfit I wore every day; I just changed my tops and jeans around. I now had three changes of clothes and only one pair of shoes -- namely, the ones that were on my feet. I had to make sure that I didn't keep too many clothes, so that if I needed to leave in a hurry (for instance, if my mom or the fuzz found me), then I could just up and go.

I grabbed the paintings that I had finished and needed to take to the stall for the families to pick up, pushed them into a big backpack and slung that on my back before heading.

"Hey, Roxy. You heading to work, Hun?" Sally called as I walked out of the door.

I turned around to look at her. "Yeah, I gotta get these paintings to the boardwalk. I got three families waiting for them. Also, I got a couple asking about my independent work, so I got my paintings with me. Selling my paintings should earn some cash for me."

She smiled. "That's good. It sounds like you have a passion for art."

After thinking for a moment, Sally then suggested,
"Say, do you think you could pick up some comics for me?"

I had to laugh; Sally was 27 and still into reading comic books. However, hearing this did bring up a twinge of pain. It made me think of my brother Sam; he was really into comics. Even though he was sixteen, he couldn't stop reading comic books. They were his passion, like art was mine. Michael's passion was his exercise equipment.

"Sure," I replied. "What would you like?"

"Oh, just get me some Superman comics, Hun," she replied, smiling at me. She handed me the money for the comics. "And here, take this too, for your trouble." She handed me another note with a smile; I tried to hand the note back, saying that she should keep her money.

"No, honey, you should have that. A little extra money does come in handy sometime; I should know. Plus, I'm sure that I'll save someone their wallet getting pinched -- am I right?" she said with mirth glittering in her eyes. I smiled sheepishly and took the note.

"Yeah, you're right," I replied.

I hopped on my bike and sped away to the boardwalk.