The Artist

I sat on the corner of the street watching a girl set up an easel. She had paints with her. As soon as there was a piece of paper on that board, she began her work. Of what, I didn’t know. But it must have been something sad. Her eyes didn’t look focused. She wasn’t really into what she was painting. Like something had been taken from her a long time ago.

Myself being an artist, I immediately wanted to draw her. It was perfect. She was perfect. She was wearing every possible piece of jewelry, and clothes you might find in a designer store. She looked expensive, but at the same time, I could tell that her clothes didn’t depict who she once was, or still was. I took out a piece of black chalk and a sheet of blank paper. I started with her hands. Then her arms. Her torso. Her legs and feet. And last her neck and face. It wasn’t much, but it was a picture. And now I had it to look at if I ever felt lonely.

I hoped I wouldn’t have to. I hoped I would see her again.

***

The next day, I sat on the same street corner. I waited for her to come. And she did. She had the same bored expression, the same tired eyes. Nothing had changed. The same image was set up.

It was like this everyday, and I never got tired of watching her paint the same horizon. I never got tired of drawing her. I always needed more chalk. But the only chalk I could get was black and white. And I so desperately wanted to color her, bring her to life. I thought that if I tried to put some color into my drawings of her, maybe she’d get out of this state she seemed to be in.

I was wrong. I couldn’t color her unknowingly hoping that she’d come to life. It wouldn’t change anything but the image. I had to talk to her. I knew that I could find a time.

What I wanted to say was the hard part.

***

I lived underneath the Golden Gate Bridge. I got my art supplies and food from a really good friend. I paid him back with whatever he wanted. And that was usually sex. Gay sex.
I wished I had money of my own.

I had been observing this girl for about a week or so, and I still didn’t know her name. I couldn’t sleep. I got up from my moth eaten blankets and climbed up the orange staircase to the top of the bridge. You can’t see the stars from underneath the Golden Gate Bridge. But you can if you’re on top of it. I found a bench to lie down on, and just stared at the night sky. I found all the constellations that my dad had taught me when I was a kid, and identified some star names, as well. There were so many that night.

I heard panting from a far distance. It grew louder and louder. Footsteps soon joined and last, weeping. I could hear that symphony pass me, and I sat up. I saw the girl running toward the middle of the bridge. I got up to follow her.

***

“Please don’t,” I said upon seeing the girl gripping two orange bars behind her, hanging off the side of the bridge.

She whipped her head around. “Excuse me?” was her meek reply.

“Don’t jump. Please,” I whispered looking into her eyes.

“Why shouldn’t I? There’s no reason for me to live anymore,” she snapped.

“What do you mean? There’s so much to live for,” I said looking at her in disbelief.

“No there isn’t.”

Her knuckles were slowly turning white around those bars. But I distinctly remember how stiff her body was. She wanted to jump, but she didn’t. She only had two options, and she wasn’t sure which one she wanted. I had seen this before. I had felt that stiff before.

“Well, I guess if you feel that way, go ahead and jump. But I’m gunna jump in there after you, maybe see if I can save you,” I sighed.

“Don’t be stupid, I don’t want you to die,” she said as a sudden fear entered her eyes. She realized that by choosing death, she was putting someone else’s life in danger. I could tell that it was the last thing she wanted.

“I’m a decent swimmer,” I answered taking off my shoes.

“Just jumping would kill you,” she said.

“It’ll hurt, but not too much. The temperature will hurt more, though. That’s what I’m worried about,” I said looking at her. She looked at the water and then back to me.

“What do you mean, ‘temperature?’” she asked.

“Well, it’s the San Francisco Bay, right? The water comes in from the Pacific Ocean. That ocean is pretty damn cold. So when you jump that fast into cold water, it’ll hit you so hard, that you won’t be able to think, breathe, or swim. It’s like knives stabbing you all over your body, and they keep stabbing you until all the feeling is gone.”

She really looked scared now. I could tell that she wasn’t leaning as much towards death as she was life at this point.

“Well, if I don’t jump, which I’m not saying I will, what will I do with my life? It’ll just go back to being boring, won’t it?”

“Not necessarily. I’m not gunna tell you what to do, cause it’s your life, but only you can make it exciting. You choose how to live. But sometimes life throws the greatest opportunities at you that only come so often. You should take as many of those as possible. For instance, I had the opportunity to save you tonight. I could have just lay on my bench and let you do your thing, but that wouldn’t have felt right to me. And you have the opportunity to live, and maybe get to know a new person,” I said. All the while, she looked at me, and her expression got softer, sadder. She knew that jumping would be her greatest regret.

“Just give me your hand,” I said stepping forward, “I’ll pull you over.” I offered my hand to her. She turned away, and looked at the water one last time. Slowly, one of her hands let go of the bar. She quickly reached across her torso, and grabbed mine tight. It felt good. Her hand felt right in mine. They fit together.

I sighed in relief, “Whew. That was a close one. Here, let me help you over.” I put my hands under her arms and lifted. She went up easily, and put both her feet on the bar. Then she gently jumped down while I held onto her waist.

“Paulette Ericksen,” she said holding her hand out for me to shake. I let go of her, chuckling at my embarrassment.

“Adrian Monroe,” I replied taking her hand.

She smiled, and let a small laugh escape her chest. It sounded like it had been trapped for a long time. I smiled and laughed with her.

As she smiled, I saw the color and spark she had lost return to her. She had come to life.